Page 28 of Wicked Believer

“You’re asking for trouble trying to go behind his back on this, Charlotte. He’s already given his answer, and you know he doesn’t want outside investors.”

My mouth goes dry, my ribs tightening.

Am I?

For a moment, I doubt myself ...

But then blood rushes to my ears at the thought of how long he suspected we were fated and didn’t tell me. Where was his protection then?

My chest expands on a full breath, strengthening me. “It’s no different than what he’d do to me.”

Imani gives me a side-eyed look. “If you insist. But I won’t keep your secret. Not if he asks.”

“I understand.”

As a mentor, she’s already done more for me than I could ever reasonably expect her to.

“See you, Thursday.” Imani’s nod is decisive as she watches me from the corner of her eye—like she’s seeing a whole new side of me—before finally she shakes her head and exits out onto Sixth Avenue.

Olivia is at my side a second later, like a reflection.

“Ready to leave?” she asks, her smile cheery.

She slips down the Miu Miu sunglasses on top of her head, a copy of my favorite pair, though it’s dark outside—their only purpose is to hide her identity. I glance toward the exit. Rockefeller Center’s lights shine overhead, illuminating where the paparazzi wait, but even this close, it’s uncanny how much she looks like me. The golden highlights in her hair. The red undertones of her cheeks.

She could easily be me.

We found her off a private casting call that some of Jax’s Broadway friends helped organize to place some distance between her connection to Lucifer and me.

It didn’t even take a week.

Olivia smiles, waiting for my response, her expression genuine and sweet.

Maybe in another lifetime she and I could have been friends. She clearly wants to be. We’re the same age, the same height, the same body type, and now with Sophie and Xzander’s assistance, the same everything.

Down to the tiniest details.

Except for the whole her being human, and me being, well ...

Divine—the memory of Lucifer’s voice echoes inside my head.

Or whatever it is that I’m becoming.

I offer her a return smile, but it fades quickly.

How easy would it be for Lucifer to replace me?

For his Mother to make someoneelsefor him?

I clutch my purse closer to my chest. “Yeah,” I mumble, too quiet. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Her grin fades. She seems disappointed at my clipped response, at the distance it places between her and me, but it’s better this way. Safer. For us both.

But then she’s back to smiling again. Ever the ray of sunshine.

Just like she was hired to be.

Her job is to smile for the press, after all. Be the perfect me. Something that’s starting to feel like an impossible task these days.