Who do you believe? Your twin or your boyfriend…and what about promises that never should have been made?
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Jewell Thurston is crushed when her twin sister Ruby tells her she is carrying Jewell’s boyfriend’s baby. Eric Finely tells Jewell that Ruby impersonated her, but Jewell, hurt and reeling, leaves town. A year later, Ruby dies in a car accident asking Jewell to promise to be a mother to Aster and never let Eric near the child. Jewell still has feelings for Eric and is torn. Although Eric has never gotten over his love for Jewell, his love for his daughter leads him to file for custody.
Rumours that the crash wasn’t an accident circulate then vanish. But when Twitch Mahoney sees Jewell and mistakes her for Ruby, he fears she’ll identify him from the crash site and abducts her. Can Jewell’s quick wit save her from Twitch, and will a new discovery lead her to the truth about Eric, Ruby and Aster
Set in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, it’s a reminder of what could happen when someone very close to you, who looks exactly like you, decides to be you.
"Walk," he said, sending her forward up the gazebo steps. It was a death march to Jewell for the knife dug sharply into her back. He stopped and stood her in the centre of the gazebo. One of his hands was round her neck; the other was holding the knife.
"One minute," he said slowly and distinctly. "Count!"
"What?" She didn't understand him.
"You have one minute to live," he repeated. "Count!"
Jewell drew a long breath and felt her body tremble. She had been submissive long enough, reasoning as best she could and relying on her wits to stay sane. But she refused to count down the seconds to her death. When she remained silent, he began the countdown himself. "Sixty — 59 — 58..."
Jewell braced her legs into the snow-covered gazebo floor, as if they might stodgily support her when the blow came. The sweat on her wrists had created a slack in the tape, giving her some flexibility to work it. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and her quivering voice interrupted his counting. "No one knows that the crash was not an accident. You don't have to kill me. I don't even know your name. I can hardly see you, I can't identify you." She hoped he would be stupid enough to believe that and maybe he would soften and just run away.
"Fifty-four — 53 — 52..."
He ignored her speech leaving her brain scouring for a new interjection. Somehow she had to get his attention, throw him off guard, and she had about forty seconds left to do so.
"Thirty-nine — 38 — 37..."