贾斯敏和杰德是一对同卵双胞胎，但她们的父母自出生起就达成了一项黑暗协议：她们将与其中一个在不同的世界中长大。贾斯敏在贝洛奥里藏特一个简朴的社区里过着简朴的生活，而杰德则在意大利的奢华环境中长大，被她的父亲亚历山德罗·莫雷蒂——一个权势显赫、令人畏惧的男人——宠坏。

尽管相隔千里，贾斯敏一直都认识她的姐姐和父亲——但仅限于冷淡而断断续续的视频通话的联系，让她明白自己永远无法真正被接纳。而杰德则以母亲和姐姐为耻，认为她们是无知的混蛋，提醒着她卑微的出身，她渴望抹去这些。

双胞胎的母亲玛琳突然去世，贾斯敏不得不前往意大利与她从未谋面的父亲同住。就在这时，杰德看到了一个绝佳的机会，可以摆脱与俄罗斯黑手党头目迪米特里·沃尔科夫的包办婚姻：强迫贾斯敏代她结婚。毕竟，她们是同卵双胞胎——谁会发现呢？

但迪米特里并非普通人。他冷酷无情，绝不原谅背叛。当这场闹剧真相大白时，替身新娘贾斯敏将被迫在致命的联盟、谎言和一种危险的欲望中为生存而战，而这种欲望往往在最意想不到的地方萌芽。

谎言的面纱 交换的新娘 发现残忍可以达到什么程度……以及怪物的心是否可以知道怜悯。

茉莉花***

– 最后的告别

我一直都知道我的父亲是谁。我也知道我有一个和我一模一样的妹妹，住在大洋彼岸，生活在一个完全不同的世界。每个生日，我的母亲玛琳都会把我的蛋糕放在厨房简陋的桌子上，说：“我的花儿，你永远不会孤单。你的妹妹在世界的另一边吹灭了蜡烛。”我坚信这些话，就像我紧紧抓住一线希望，不让自己沉沦。

我们家位于贝洛奥里藏特一个不起眼的圣费利西达德街区，虽然谈不上奢华，但却充满爱。母亲用我们仅有的一点家当创造了奇迹。虽然很多人批评我们简朴，但她教会我，财富不是你买来的东西，而是你内心深处构建的东西。而这一点，比我拥有的任何豪宅或珠宝都更让我感到自豪。

玛琳就像一根柱子：坚定、有韧性，而且非常慷慨。每当我因为吵架或恶语而哭着从学校回家时，她都会给我泡一杯甘菊茶，用她独有的平静语气对我说：“女儿，事实是，心空的人才会在意那些拥有光明的人。” 她从不骗我。小时候，她就告诉我，我的父亲是亚历山德罗·莫雷蒂，在意大利是个举足轻重的人物，他每个月都会寄钱给我，却从未拥抱过我一次。她还告诉我，我的双胞胎妹妹杰德和他住在一起——而我只能透过手机冰冷的屏幕看到她。

这些视频通话总是很奇怪。杰德对着镜头微笑，但她的眼神却透露了一切：轻蔑、厌恶、羞愧。当她妈妈走过来打招呼时，杰德翻了个白眼，仿佛和两个“无知的混蛋”说话是一种负担——后来，我在她误发的一段音频里听到了她亲口说出的这些话。

即便如此，母亲也从不允许我恨姐姐。“怨恨摧毁你比摧毁他人更甚，”她说。她教育我坚强，但也要公平，必要时可以言辞犀利，但绝不会失去同情心。

然而，那个灰蒙蒙的早晨，似乎没有什么能让我继续站立。守灵的墙壁回荡着低沉的哭声。花圈散发着令人作呕的芬芳。每一次慰问的拥抱都比上一次更沉重。在简陋的殡仪馆大厅中央，母亲的棺材显得如此不真实。仿佛她随时都会醒来，责骂我头发凌乱，或者问我吃了没。

但她没有醒来。我生平第一次感到真正的孤独。

我扶着棺材边缘，双手颤抖。看着她平静苍白的脸，泪水模糊了我的视线。我用虚弱的声音低声说道：

——我会坚强的，妈妈。我保证……但我该怎么做呢？

神父说完了最后几句话，但我根本没心思听。每一个音节都仿佛在远离我悲伤的宇宙中回荡。朋友和邻居们走过来和我道别，握着我的手，仿佛这样就能止住我胸口撕裂般的疼痛。

所有人离开后，我独自站在紧闭的棺材前。殡仪馆的工作人员正在等我，我需要勇气才能迈出最后一步。我最后一次触摸棺材，深吸一口气，仿佛要吸收母亲在空气中留下的剩余力量。我默默地承诺，我永远不会背叛她教给我的榜样。

第二天，我的行李箱就准备好了。护照匆匆签发，亚历山德罗帮我买了机票——他第一次直接联系我，语气却很冷淡，很官僚。“你会来意大利。一切都安排好了。”这条短信像下达了命令一样，让我措手不及。

在机场，邻居和护理技术课程的同事们纷纷前来送别。在拥抱和鼓励的话语之间，我感到要坚强起来，不能崩溃的压力。但我内心深处，一个结紧紧地勒紧。我将要和一个只通过电话屏幕认识我的男人和一个恨我的姐姐生活在一起。在另一个国家，另一种语言，另一种生活。

飞机起飞时，贝洛奥里藏特的天空在黄昏时分染上了一层金色。透过机窗，这座陪伴我成长的城市变得越来越小。每掠过一朵云，我的心都碎了。

我还记得那些下午，我和母亲坐在客厅破旧的沙发上，一边喝着咖啡，一边吃着涂着人造黄油的面包，谈论着我的梦想。她告诉我，世界很大，但我不必在它面前退缩。我的勇气应该大于我的恐惧。现在，是时候证明我配得上她留给我的每一个教训了。

我闭上双眼，紧紧攥着母亲留下的十字架吊坠——这是她送给我的最后一份礼物，如今也是我唯一的护身符。我知道，意大利在等待着我，那里的人虽然与我血缘相通，却完全陌生。如果我想活下去，就必须像母亲那样坚定。

在那里，在距地面数千米的高空，我向我认识的最不可思议的女人许下了第二个承诺：

— 妈妈，我不会让他们毁了我。

Chapter 2 – Unknown Territory

The plane landed under a gray Milan sky, with heavy clouds threatening rain. My heart was racing, a mixture of fear and anxiety that seemed to invade every cell of my body. I looked out the window, seeing the hangars and the movement of the airports, thinking that, from then on, my life would never be the same.

I picked up my suitcase, heavy not only with the weight of the clothes, but with the invisible burden of a story I barely knew. The flight was long, but it was within me that time weighed the most—I was leaving behind the only family I knew: my neighborhood, my mother, the few friends. Now, I was throwing myself into the unknown, into the house of the man who sent me money every month, but who never hugged me. Into the house of the sister I only knew through a cell phone screen.

The airport corridor seemed endless, and the European cold tightened my thin coat, as if already warning me that Italy would not be a welcoming place for me. My cell phone vibrated once—it was a message from my father: "I'm in the lobby. Wait."

There was no exclamation point, no sweet word, just a contained order. "Wait."

Turning to the lobby, he was there—a tall man, with dark hair and eyes as cold as winter days. The tailored suit left no doubt about his power. He approached, extending his hand formally, without a smile, without a hug.

"Jasmim," he said, his voice firm and controlled. "Welcome to Italy."

I couldn't hide the tremor in my voice when I replied:

"Thank you, sir."

It was then that a presence appeared behind him—Jade. The sister I only knew through quick and cold calls. She stared at me for a few seconds, green eyes sparking a mixture of surprise and contempt. Her smile was forced, full of that falseness that I had already felt in the video calls.

"So, this is the 'other' one," she murmured, audible only to me.

I swallowed the urge to respond. I no longer had the strength to argue with someone who saw me as an intruder.

My father broke the silence:

"Don't waste time with her. Things here will be different. You will learn your place."

Those words, although harsh, were expected. After all, I was not part of that world, just a shadow that money helped to maintain.

That night, sitting in the room that was assigned to me—an elegant space, but as cold as my father—I thought about everything I left behind. My mother, with her warm embrace, teaching me to be strong. My humble neighborhood, my simple life. And the promise I made to her never to let myself be overcome by fear.

The sound of the ringtone on my cell phone made me look at the screen. It was a message from Jade:

"Things are different here. If you want to survive, pretend. Learn to smile at those who deserve it, and ignore the rest."

I felt a chill. The war began silently, with words that cut more than daggers.

And I was in the center of it.

📖 Chapter 3 – Sharp Tongue, Firm Soul

Three months had passed since the plane landed on Italian soil. Ninety days in which Alessandro Moretti's mansion seemed more like an icy castle than a home. Silence was my greatest companion. My father, always busy with meetings and mysterious trips, barely appeared at home. Jade, when she showed up, was always in a hurry, going out to parties, dinners, or dates that I preferred not to know about.

Most of the time, I had the mansion to myself — a golden prison where the echo of my footsteps was the only answer I received.

That's when I decided to occupy my mind with something my mother always advocated: studying. I enrolled in an intensive Italian course, and soon, the words stopped seeming like indecipherable codes and became a part of me.

That afternoon, Professor Lucia handed me the corrected test with a proud smile.

"Jasmim, you are a brilliant mind," she said, her Italian accent full of sweetness. "In three months, fluent! You will go far with this focus. Congratulations!"

Her praise warmed my heart. It was the first time, since my mother's death, that I felt proud of myself.

But the world around me remained indifferent. That night, during dinner — a huge table occupied only by me, Jade, and Alessandro — I decided to bring up a subject that gnawed at me from the inside.

"Father, I was wondering if I could resume my technical course in nursing. I was close to graduating in Brazil. It's what I love to do."

He raised his eyes from the plate, his expression as cold as the white porcelain on the table.

"A nurse?" he repeated, as if the word were poison. "That would be shameful for an advisor of the Italian mafia. You must learn to be worthy of the surname you bear, not stoop to caring for the sick like a maid."

I felt my stomach churn, but I remained upright. He didn't care about what I wanted. He wanted to mold who I was.

Jade let out a mocking laugh, taking the opportunity to poke at me:

"Of course, the poor thing wants to take care of the injured and clean up old people's shit, right? That's the most you can be, you little bastard."

Her words, spoken in Portuguese so that her father wouldn't understand, were like a slap. Jade smiled smugly, sure that I would shut up as always. But I took a deep breath and, in a calm — but firm — tone, retorted in perfect Italian:

"Meglio pulire la merda che vivere una vita vuota come la tua, sorella. (It's better to clean up shit than to live an empty life like yours, sister.)"

Her smile vanished instantly. I stood up, pushed the chair back elegantly, and walked out of the dining room, leaving Jade stunned, alone with her venom and her own insignificance.

I went upstairs, feeling my heart beating strongly — not with fear, but with satisfaction. Every lesson from my mother pulsed in my veins: I didn't need to cower before anyone.

In the room, I placed the Italian course uniform on the bed and lay down, thinking about how proud my mother would be to know that, even far away, I continued to be who she raised me to be: someone who never bows her head to injustice.

Outside, night fell over Milan, and I knew that my destiny remained uncertain. But one thing was certain: I would no longer be just the ignored shadow of a powerful family. I was Jasmim da Silva Moretti — and I wouldn't let anyone extinguish my light.