Chapter 3: The Deal with the Devil
The lady was beautiful, but naturally frail.
Because of this, no one had ever proposed to her. She moved through life as if she might shatter in a strong breeze—her skin always pale, her hands trembling slightly even in the sun.
At the spring garden party, Logan Callahan fell for her at first sight and asked for her hand as his wife. It was the kind of whirlwind romance that filled the pages of the society section in the Idaho Statesman, the whole town buzzing for weeks afterward.
They were deeply in love—a perfect match.
As her personal maid, I was genuinely happy for her. I helped her choose her dress, fixed her hair, stood with her at the altar as the mountain lilacs bloomed just outside the window.
But on the wedding night, the lady fainted in bed.
Logan, a military man, was too forceful. The lady’s body couldn’t take it. She collapsed, and the household doctor was summoned in a flurry, his black bag thumping on the stairs.
For three nights in a row, their marriage remained unconsummated.
In an instant, the lady became the laughingstock of the Callahan household. Whispers floated through the kitchen and across the manicured lawns, carried on the chilly Boise wind.
Everyone said she couldn’t satisfy her husband’s desires, and would soon be pushed aside by the other women.
It was only logical—Logan was in his prime. Even if he loved her, how could he abstain forever for her sake?
In desperation, she came up with a plan: substitution.
Each night, she would turn off the lights and have a maid take her place. In the shadows, it was easy to lose track of who was who—the old Callahan house had seen its share of secrets.
In the dark, Logan couldn’t see the face of the woman beside him.
Among her maids, only I most closely resembled her in figure and voice. I’d practiced imitating her laugh, her gentle way of saying goodnight.
The lady promised I only needed to substitute for her for three years; during that time, she would do everything she could to nurse her health.
After three years, she would give me a sum of money and send me out of the house. The promise hung over me like a carrot on a stick—freedom dangled just out of reach.
I was born into this household. My family’s fate was in her hands. My mother’s job, my sister’s future—everything depended on the Callahans’ goodwill.
I had no choice. Not really. Not with the snow piling up outside and my sister’s shoes patched with duct tape in the back hall.