The Clone In My Bed

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My husband saved himself for his first love, refusing to lay a finger on me.

Every night, without fail, he slipped a silk sleep mask over my eyes.

He would whisper that he was going to take a shower and get ready.

But when he returned to the bed, he was a completely different man.

A midnight stand-in, hired specifically to keep me occupied.

I played along, pretending to be blind to the switch. But tonight, I reached out and stopped his hand just as he was about to roll on a condom.

"We dont need that," I murmured.

I pressed myself against him, capturing his lips in a deep, slow kiss. "Why dont we have a baby, sweetheart?"

His breath hitched, and it didn't take long for him to lose himself in me.

Months later, when I gave birth to twins, Adrian cornered me, his eyes bloodshot with rage.

"Ive never even touched you," he screamed. "Whose fucking babies are those?"

For three years of our marriage, Adrian had kept this elaborate play going, letting another man play his part in our bed.

He even had him slip sleeping pills into my evening orange juice.

"If she won't let you go, just kiss her a few times, make it sweet, and get her drunk on that juice," I had heard Adrian instruct him. "Once shes out like a light, she won't know a thing."

They both thought I was dead to the world.

Adrian was so sure of his little secret that he didn't even bother to lower his voice in the living room.

He had no idea that in the pitch black of our bedroom, my eyes were wide open, drinking in every single word of their conversation.

For three years, I believed our marriage was blossoming, that we were growing closer day by day.

But it was all a lie.

Behind my back, Adrian had been treating me like a pathetic joke.

Every single night, the moment the air grew heavy with intimacy, Adrian would suggest turning off the lights.

Then, with gentle, practiced care, he would slide the sleep mask over my eyes.

At first, I had been confused. "Adrian, why do I have to wear this every night?"

He would stroke my cheek with tender, reverent fingers. "Because, Enid, you look incredibly beautiful and vulnerable like this."

A soothing, sweet incense burned on the nightstand.

His lips would trace slow paths down my skin, warming me up.

But just as the heat began to rise, he would suddenly pull away, claiming he needed to shower and "get ready."

And I, drugged and heavy-lidded, would fall asleep waiting for him.

When I woke up the next morning, my entire memory of the night before was pieced together solely by what Adrian told me.

Last week, he smirked and said Id been like a needy little kitten, clinging to him.

The day before that, he claimed I had drifted off almost immediately, my arms locked around his waist.

Yesterday, he told me I was getting more alluring by the day, whispering praise about my waist.

I had believed him. I had trusted him implicitly.

Until yesterday afternoon, when I received a bizarre, frantic call from what claimed to be my future self.

The voice on the other end was raw, weeping, and desperate.

"Enid, don't trust him!" the girl cried.

"Adrian is lying to you about everything."

"From the very night of your wedding, he hasn't laid a hand on you."

"That night, he ran straight to Megan. They spent your wedding night in a five-star suite, playing real husband and wife."

"And you? You were drugged by his double, sleeping the night away in a stranger's arms..."

"For three years, the man who held you every single night wasn't Adrian. It was a midnight stand-in he hired!"

Listening to her, I thought it was some sick, elaborate prank. "Who is this? Who paid you to play this joke on me?"

Sensing my disbelief, the voice grew frantic.

"Enid, I am you. Can't you hear it? Our voices are identical."

"Your parents divorced when you were small. You grew up feeling like an orphan, which is why you were so desperate for a family of your own."

"But Adrian is using that against you. If you don't believe me, test it tonight. Don't drink the orange juice he gives you. Just see what happens..."

So, when Adrian handed me that glass of orange juice tonight, the seed of doubt had already sprouted.

I pretended to drink it.

The moment he left the room, I slipped into the bathroom and poured it all down the sink.

Which was why Adrian believed I was sound asleep.

He had no idea I was listening to everything from the hallway.

"You didn't do anything stupid these past few days, did you?" Adrians voice drifted in from the living room, sharp and mocking as he gestured toward the security cameras. "Remember, I see everything. I know exactly what you do in this house."

"Im warning you, youre just a stand-in," Adrian said, the smell of cigarette smoke drifting under the door. I could picture him perfectly, lounging on the leather sofa, blowing smoke rings into the air. "Keep her happy while I'm with Megan, but don't you dare let her catch on. If she finds out, you're the first one I'm coming for."

A cold, suffocating anger bloomed in my chest.

I had spent three years believing my husband was the one holding me at night.

But for Meganfor a woman he supposedly left behindhe had let a complete stranger sleep in my bed. For three whole years.

A long silence followed. When the double spoke, his voice was hesitant, laced with a quiet tension.

"Mr. Griffith, she still has no idea," Darren said softly. "But how long can we keep this up? Im afraid... things are going to get out of hand if we continue."

Adrian laughed, a light, dismissive sound, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You're the only one I trust with this. When we first got married, I couldn't bear to leave Megan alone. Enid has no clue that our entire honeymoon was spent with you in her bed, not me."

He chuckled. "Its been three years. If she hasn't figured it out by now, she never will. Shes too naive, too desperate for love to question anything."

Darren fell silent, his shadow shifting under the door frame.

"But lately, things have been... different," he murmured, his voice tightening. "Enid... she..."

He trailed off. I didn't need to see him to know his neck was flushing red.

I knew exactly what he was trying to say.

Over the last few months, I had started clinging to him more aggressively during our nightly sessions. I was no longer satisfied with simple kisses and holding hands under the covers. I wanted more.

He was reaching his breaking point.

Adrian chuckled, a patronizing, locker-room tone in his voice. "I know what you're worried about, Darren. Don't sweat it."

He gave him another hearty pat.

"We both know you have... plumbing issues. You couldn't perform even if a supermodel was handed to you on a silver platter, let alone someone as plain and ordinary as Enid."

Darren didn't argue. But I could hear the sharp intake of his breath.

My mind flashed to the night before. I had been wearing a black lace nightgown, the silk clinging to the curves of my hips and chest. He had stared at me, his eyes burning, his breath catching in his throat.

Did he really think I was plain?

"Mr. Griffith, she is your wife. It isn't fair to her. Maybe you should stay tonight..." Darren pleaded quietly, trying to find a way out.

But Adrian cut him off, his tone sharp with impatience.

"I don't have time for this. Megan is pregnant. I promised I'd take her to her prenatal appointment tonight."

Adrians phone buzzed. After a brief murmur of reassurance into the receiver, he grabbed his coat.

"Play your part, Darren. And rememberno matter how much I despise Enid, shes still the woman carrying my name. You look, but you do not touch. Understood?"

Darren nodded, his voice small and obedient. "Understood."

The heavy front door clicked shut.

After a long, agonizing pause, the brass doorknob of our bedroom began to turn.

I scrambled back under the duvet, closing my eyes and forcing my breathing into a slow, heavy rhythm, mimicking the deep sleep of a drugged woman.

The bedroom door opened with a faint creak. The footsteps that crossed the hardwood floor were incredibly light, as if terrified of waking me.

Darren stopped at the edge of the mattress.

Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the intense weight of his gaze. It felt complex, heavy with an emotion I couldn't quite name.

"Enid?" he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

I didn't move.

He waited, the silence stretching between us for several agonizing seconds, before he reached out and gently slid the silk mask off my face.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint amber glow of the plug-in nightlight.

I kept my eyelids locked shut, relying entirely on my other senses.

Darren sat on the edge of the bed. For a long time, he just watched me.

Then, his fingers brushed against my cheek.

A shiver ran down my spine, though I fought to keep my body perfectly still.

His hand slid slowly down to my neck, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Adrian had warned him not to touch me, but was he breaking the rules? Was Darren actually... attracted to me?

As my thoughts raced, a soft, ragged sigh echoed above me.

"Enid... if only it were me who married you."

He paused, his thumb brushing my bottom lip.

"If only... I were Adrian."

Darren leaned down, pressing a light, featherweight kiss to my forehead.

Then he stood up and walked into the bathroom.

The rush of the shower filled the quiet room.

Unlike Adrian, who would linger for forty minutes to buy time, Darren was out in less than ten.

He climbed back into bed with extreme caution, as if I were made of glass.

He pulled the comforter over himself and slid his arm around my waist, pulling me gently against his chest.

His hold was restrained, polite.

An act of pure discipline.

Like a man executing a strictly defined chore.

I felt a cold smile touch my lips in the dark.

For three years, this had been our routine.

Whenever I "slept," he would hold me like thisdistant, respectful, a perfect gentleman until morning.

And if I happened to be awake before the drugs kicked in, he would follow Adrian's orders: kiss me a little, hold me close, make me feel loved, but never cross the line.

Because Adrian forbade it.

And because Adrian believed Darren was physically incapable of it.

I waited until Darrens breathing went deep and even before I opened my eyes.

In the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains, I looked at his face. He looked exactly like Adrian. A perfect copy.

But as I stared at his sleeping profile, a dark, brilliant idea began to take root in my mind.

The next morning, when I woke up, Darren was already gone.

A plate of pancakes sat on the kitchen counter next to a handwritten note:

Had to run to an early meeting. Don't forget to eat breakfast. Love you.

My eyes lingered on the signature at the bottom.

A slow smile spread across my face. He had tried so hard to copy Adrians sweeping, careless handwriting.

But you can't entirely erase a person's natural penmanship. If you looked closely enough, the slant of the letters was all wrong.

I ate my breakfast in silence, staring out the window at the empty driveway.

If I hadn't misheard last night, Adrian had mentioned a name.

Megan.

His college sweetheart. The girl who had supposedly broken his heart and moved abroad eight years ago.

I hadn't realized she was back in the country. Let alone that they had been carrying on an affair for the entirety of my marriage.

I picked up my phone and dialed my best friend, Zoe, who worked as an OB-GYN at Saint Judes.

"Zoe, does your hospital have a patient named Megan Harlow registered recently?"

Zoe sounded surprised, the sound of her chewing on a salad echoing through the line. "Hold on, let me check the database." I heard the rapid clacking of her keyboard. After a moment, she gasped. "Actually, yes. There is a Megan Harlow registered here."

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "Can you send me the security footage from her last appointment? Just a clip."

"Sure, give me a second."

The file landed in my inbox a minute later.

One glance was all it took.

The footage showed Adrian, tender and hyper-attentive, guiding Megan down the hallway. Her belly was heavily roundedshe looked to be at least five or six months pregnant.

Adrian whispered something in her ear, and Megans eyes crinkled into a radiant smile as she playfully tapped his chest.

The video had no sound, but the intimacy between them screamed louder than words.

My phone rang immediately. It was Zoe.

"Enid, did you see it?"

"Yeah."

"Megan..." Zoes voice dropped to a sympathetic whisper. "Shes six months pregnant. The father of record on her chart is Adrian Griffith."

My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles turned white.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. My colleague is her primary OB. She told me Adrian hasn't missed a single prenatal visit. Hes always there, playing the doting father-to-be."

Zoe paused, her breath catching. "Enid, has he been cheating on you this whole time?"

I nodded, staring at the empty kitchen. "Yes. And hes been lying to me for three years."

"What do you mean?"

"Weve been married for three years, Zoe, and hes never once touched me." My voice was dead, hollow. "Every night, the man in my bed has been a double he hired to play him. While Adrian plays family with Megan, his stand-in plays husband with me."

I heard Zoe suck in a sharp breath.

"What the actual fuck?" she spat. "Is Adrian even human?"

"No," I said quietly. "Hes a monster."

"What are you going to do? Do you want me to keep this footage? We can use it to absolutely ruin him in the divorce."

I smiled, a cold, sharp feeling blooming in my chest. "Delete the footage, Zoe."

Zoe sounded bewildered.

"Enid, are you out of your mind? This is ironclad proof of adultery! You can take him to the cleaners. Why on earth would you delete it? Are you just going to let them get away with this?"

I chuckled softly. "Divorce? Why would I divorce him?"

The world is full of replaceable men.

If Adrian could play me for a fool for three years, why shouldn't I return the favor?

Zoe tried to press me for answers, but I swore her to secrecy and hung up.

For the next few days, Adrian played the loving husband by day. But the moment the sun went down, Darren took over.

But now, I wanted Adrian gone. Completely out of the picture.

I paid a couple of neighborhood kids to scatter a bag of smooth, slick marbles across the private walkway leading to Megans luxury apartment building.

That afternoon, right on cue, Adrian received a frantic call. His face drained of color, and he grabbed his coat, practically running out the door.

I leaned over the banister. "Honey? Where are you going in such a rush?"

Adrian didn't even look back, tossing a careless excuse over his shoulder. "A client emergency. I have to go. I'll have the housekeeper make you dinner, and I'll be back to tuck you in later!"

Normally, he was much better at keeping up his doting-husband act. But panic had made him sloppy.

I smiled, turning toward the stairs leading to the guest cottage over the garage. That was where his loyal shadow, Darren, lived.

I pulled up the security feed on my tablet.

As expected, the moment Adrian cleared the driveway, he called Darren.

"Some idiot left marbles on the walkway. Megan slipped and she's in the ER. Im going to be at the hospital for the next few days," Adrian snapped, his voice tight with anxiety. "Darren, you need to cover for me day and night. Do not let Enid suspect a thing."

...

An hour later, Darren walked through the front door, pretending he had just come home from the office.

I looked down at him from the top of the stairs. He wore Adrian's face, but his shoulders lacked Adrian's arrogant swagger.

I smiled warmly. "Sweetheart, you're back early. Did the client meeting wrap up?"

Darren froze for a second before smoothing his expression.

"Yeah. I handed the rest of the account to my associate. I know you hate being alone in the evenings, Enid. No matter how busy I am, Ill always make time for you."

That night, when Darren tried to hand me the usual glass of orange juice, I took it from his hands.

And poured it directly into the potted fiddle-leaf fig.

Darrens eyes widened in surprise. "Enid... what are you doing?"

"I don't feel like juice tonight. And besides, we have a dinner party to attend."

I stepped close, wrapping my arms around his elbow. "Come upstairs with me. I need you to help me pick out a dress."

Ten minutes later, Darren pulled a sleek, burnt-orange silk slip dress from my closet and handed it to me.

"This color would look beautiful on you. You'd look like royalty."

"Oh?"

I arched an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across my face. "If my husband picked it, then it must be perfect."

With a slow, deliberate movement, I unzipped the back of my loungewear and let it slide down my shoulders.

Darren gasped, his face flushing a violent crimson as he scrambled backward. "Enid, what are you doing?"

I looked at him, wide-eyed and innocent. "Getting dressed, obviously."

I stepped closer, letting my eyes trace his collarbone. "Sweetheart, its not like you haven't seen me naked before. Why are you suddenly so shy?"

Darrens jaw clenched so hard the veins in his neck popped. He looked like a man trying to hold back an avalanche.

Seeing him on the verge of a total meltdown, I finally relented and let him slip out of the room.

When we returned from the dinner party, I went straight to the bath. While soaking, my phone buzzed with an incoming text from an unknown number. It was an image file.

It was a photo of Adrian asleep in a hospital chair, his hand holding Megans.

See this, Enid? the text read. Your husband is right here with me. Three years of marriage and you still can't keep a man. You're pathetic.

Im six months pregnant, and Adrian is already planning to take me to Switzerland for the delivery. When the baby is born, he's transferring the family estate to our son. You can keep the title of Mrs. Griffith all you want. You'll still end up with nothing.

Even without a name, it wasn't hard to guess who sent it.

Megan had never been content with being a secret mistress. This wasn't her first time trying to bait me.

Meanwhile, in the study downstairswhere I had hidden a small baby monitor earlier that weekI heard Darrens frantic voice over the speaker.

"Mr. Griffith, please, you have to come back. I can't keep doing this. Shes... things are changing..."

He was cut off by Adrians irritated sigh.

"Jesus, Darren, why are you always such a coward? Weve been doing this for three years. You should be used to it by now."

Adrian groaned. "Actually, I was just about to call you. Megan wants to deliver in Europe, and we'll probably stay there for her postpartum recovery. It could be a year before we return."

"Youll need to play my part for the next twelve months."

"Just remember the golden rule: Enid is my wife. You can look, but you do not touch. Got it?"

Darrens voice rose in panic. "Mr. Griffith"

"I don't have time for this. I have to go."

The line went dead.

"Who were you talking to?"

I stepped into the study. Darren jumped, spinning around to face me, his face pale.

"No one... just a client."

What a pathetic lie.

"Stop acting, Darren," I said, walking slowly toward him.

His eyes went wide at the sound of his real name.

"Hes taking her to Europe to have the baby, isn't he?" I asked, stopping inches from him.

Darren stared at me, paralyzed with shock. "Enid... how do you..."

I smiled, laying my hand flat against his chest. I could feel his heart hammering wildly beneath his shirt.

"If you have his face, his voice, and his life... why don't you just take his place?"

"What do you say, Darren?"