The grand ballroom was bathed in golden light, chandeliers casting sparkling reflections across the polished marble floors. Diplomats and high-ranking officials from neighboring nations mingled, their polite laughter masking the underlying tension in the room. For Nivea, this was her ultimate test: a major diplomatic event where the stakes were dangerously high.

Dressed in a gown identical to one of Celestina’s, Nivea stood at the center of the room, her posture perfect and her every movement measured. Security had already warned of a potential assassination attempt, but she couldn’t show even the slightest hint of fear.

“Remember,” Dimitri’s voice crackled softly in her earpiece, “you’re Celestina. Walk like her, speak like her, and most importantly, stay calm.”

Nivea swallowed hard, glancing subtly around the room. “Easier said than done,” she muttered under her breath.

“Just stick to the plan,” Dimitri replied.

As Nivea greeted a diplomat from a neighboring country, her gaze caught on a man lingering near the edge of the crowd. He wasn’t dressed like the others—his suit was slightly too large, and his hands fidgeted nervously.

“Dimitri,” she whispered, her lips barely moving. “I think I’ve spotted someone.”

“Where?” Dimitri’s voice sharpened.

“By the east wall,” Nivea replied, keeping her expression neutral as she pretended to adjust the bracelet on her wrist.

“Got him,” Dimitri said. “Stay where you are. Security is moving in.”

Nivea’s heart pounded as she maintained her composure, nodding politely at the diplomat’s remarks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two guards approach the man. Within seconds, they subdued him, escorting him out of the room without causing a scene.

“Threat neutralized,” Dimitri confirmed.

Nivea exhaled softly, relief washing over her. The room remained oblivious to the danger that had just passed, and she knew she had done her job well.

Back at the palace, the news of the event’s success reached Celestina quickly. The public was already buzzing with admiration for “her” bravery, praising her composure in the face of danger.

But instead of relief, unease gnawed at Celestina. Sitting in her office, she reviewed the reports from the evening, her fingers tapping against the desk.

“She handled it well,” Dimitri said as he entered, holding a tablet with security footage from the event. “Better than I expected, honestly. Nivea’s proving to be indispensable.”

Celestina looked up sharply, her tone colder than she intended. “She’s not me, Dimitri. Don’t forget that.”

Dimitri frowned, his expression caught between confusion and defensiveness. “I know that. But she’s the reason you’re still safe. You should give her some credit.”

Celestina’s jaw tightened. “I do. But this isn’t about giving credit—it’s about the risk we’re taking. The more she steps into my role, the harder it will be to step back out.”

“She knows her place,” Dimitri said firmly. “She’s just doing what we’ve asked of her.”

“Is she?” Celestina countered, standing from her chair. “Or is she getting too comfortable playing a part that isn’t hers?”

Dimitri stared at her for a moment before replying. “You’re worried about nothing. Nivea understands what’s at stake.”

Celestina didn’t respond, turning her attention back to the reports. But her unease lingered.

In the days following the event, Nivea continued her training, growing more confident with each passing moment. Dimitri often joined her sessions, offering advice and encouragement.

“You’re picking this up faster than anyone could have expected,” he said one afternoon as Nivea practiced delivering a speech.

“Thanks,” Nivea said, her smile faint. “But sometimes it feels… strange, you know? Like I’m living someone else’s life.”

“You’re not living it,” Dimitri corrected gently. “You’re protecting it. There’s a difference.”

Nivea nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think Celestina trusts me?”

“She trusts you more than she lets on,” Dimitri said. “She’s just under a lot of pressure. Give her time.”

That evening, as Celestina walked past Nivea’s temporary quarters, she noticed the door slightly ajar. Curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped inside.

The room was modestly furnished, with a few personal touches Nivea had added—a scarf draped over a chair, a small photo of her late parents on the bedside table. But it was the object on the desk that caught Celestina’s eye.

A delicate gold necklace lay on the polished surface, the pendant glinting in the dim light. Celestina’s breath caught. It was unmistakable: the necklace was identical to one Dimitri had given her years ago, back when they had first begun working together.

Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of it. Had Dimitri given Nivea this necklace? If so, why?