The Wrong Twin Brother is Warming My Bed

Today was my twenty-eighth birthday. And tonight, in front of the entire Jones family, I was supposed to announce the news Id been dreaming of for yearsthat Damien and I were finally having a child.

I was on my way outside to find Damien so we could share the news together. Everyone was already mingling by the pool. Laughter drifted through the open sliding doors as I walked down the hallway that faced the outdoor deck.

I spotted Damien near the bar with three of his closest friendsmen Id known since childhood, men whod toasted at our wedding, men who treated him like a brother.

I was about to wave to him when one of them said: So, Marc, whats it like sleeping every night beside the woman who rejected you for your twin brother?

I stopped walking. A dull ringing filled my ears.

His other friend laughed, elbowing him. Man, the way she used to ignore you back then for Damien? Brutal. But look at you now

My brows knitted, but before I could piece anything together, another friend added with a grin:

You really pulled it off. Acting like Damien for years just to finally have her? Thats commitment.

My heart lurched violently. Acting like Damien? What were they talking about? He was Damien wasnt he?

And MarcDamiens identical twin brotherhad died five years ago in a yacht accident. The loss that shattered Damien and his father. The brother whose portrait still hung in the foyer. The boy who used to tease me, protect me, sit beside me at every family dinner ever since the Joneses took me in after my mothers suicide.

I wasnt legally adopted, but they raised me as their own. We grew up together. Then both brothers began to fall for me and I chose Damien, causing me and Marc to drift apart until he died.

I snapped when I heard another voice: Four years pretending to be your brother Damien? Just so shed be yours?

My stomach twisted so hard I had to grip the wall. I peeked around the column, forcing myself to look at the man I called my husband.

Damien tilted his head back in a way that wasnt Damien. His shoulders were relaxedtoo relaxed. His smirk was familiar in a way that made my breath catch.

At that moment, the resemblance hit me like a train: This was Marcs expression. Marcs posture. Marcs arrogance simmering beneath a composed exterior.

The missing pieces of the last few yearsthe small inconsistencies I had ignoredclicked into place with horrifying clarity. Because suddenly, the memories I had brushed asidethe ones that never made senseslammed into me all at once.

Like the night, months after our wedding, when we were tangled in sheets and his mouth was on my neck and he whispered, Baby

I froze then, because Marc used to call me that when we were younger, back when feelings were starting to bloom and before I ever chose Damien.

I even asked, breathless and confused, Why are you calling me that? Are you Marc?

Damien laughed it off, pulling me closer.

Oh, sweetheart, youre just remembering him. So now Im not allowed to call you baby because my brother did? Are you trying to make me jealous by mentioning his name?

I felt guilty afterguilty for bringing up the past, guilty for comparing them. I thought I was being unfair.

But now Now it made horrifying, perfect sense.

Before I could react, the sliding door from the main house opened.

Their conversation died, and a man walked out. Tall. Elegant. Controlled. Wearing a dark suit that matched the evening. His presence shifted the air. And on his lapel, catching the glow of the yard lights, was the Jones family heirs pin.

The pin that should have been Damiens. But today it wasnt on the man beside the bar. It was on the man now walking toward him.

My vision blurred for a second. Because their facesDamien and the man approachingwere identical.

My throat tightened. This man this one with the heirs pin, this one who moved exactly how Damien moved when we were teens, this one whose gaze was calm but sharp

This was Damien.

The real Damien

Hello, twin brother, Damienno, Marcsaid. Finally coming back home now on the birthday of your wife?

What are you doing, Marc? Youre taking this too far. I only told you to stay with Elena in my place. Why does it seem like youre hurting her and where is she?

Im not hurting her, Marc laughed. Even if she wasnt aware of it. She was naive enough not to know that I am not the brother she had chosen, because the real Damien is busy out there chasing her stepsister Sofia.

Sofia? The daughter of my fathers mistress. The reason my mother died. And Damien is in love with her?

All those times what were those moments? I had been clueless. Stupid.

I didnt give you my life so you could tear hers apart, Damien said quietly.

Marc scoffed. Please. You didnt give anything. You ran. You chose Sofia when Elena chose you! It should have been me! But I was forced to lie and now youre coming back, huh? Are you now ready to take your place and be her husband?

Damien said, I might, because I need to take the business

Well, then, you can, Marc cut in, but remember Father wants a grandchild. Either with me or you, it doesnt matterbut then if you want, you can take Elena, if its okay with you that she slept with me already.

Damien looked disgusted. I dont like a woman touched by another man especially my twin brother. So feel free to take my identity, so long as I can be with Sofia. But you have to rememberDamien is still the heir that Father wants, so you better do your job well, or well lose everything.

I was eight years old when I first stepped into the Jones mansionclutching the hem of my mothers skirt.

She and Carlo Jones, the father of the twins, had been old friends. He used to visit our tiny apartment with gifts, always checking on my mother when things became too heavy for her to carry alone.

After my mother took her own lifewhen depression and heartbreak from my fathers infidelity finally crushed herCarlo didnt hesitate. He brought me into the Jones household, not legally, not on paper, but with a kind of warmth that felt more binding than documents.

And the moment I arrived, two boys ran down the grand staircase, identical faces lighting up in curiosity.

Damien and Marc.

They were my first real friends.

We played in the gardens until sunset, chasing each other around the fountains, building forts out of blankets in their giant playroom. They used to argue over who got to give me their jacket whenever I felt cold.

Damien would drape his over my shoulders with a soft smile. Marc would huff like he wanted to complain but always ended up offering his too.

And whenever I cried at night, missing my mother, both boys snuck into my roomone handing me water, the other whispering jokes until I laughed again.

They cared for me. Fiercely. Tenderly. As if my sadness made me theirs.

But things changed when we reached high school.

The twin boys who once held my hands on both sides had grown into mensharp-jawed, taller, deeper-voiced. And suddenly the way they looked at me wasnt the same anymore.

Damien became gentler, more protective. He waited for me after class, carried my bag, and always walked on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street. He was warm. Reliable. Steady.

Marc was different. Brooding. Intense. Quick to temper. Hed fight with boys who stared at me too long, pull me away from crowds, and glare at Damien whenever I laughed at his jokes.

The rivalry between them grew into something ugly.

I remembered one night clearly.

We were seventeen, standing behind the old tool shed. Damien had tried to hold my hand for the first time. I let him.

Marc saw.

Of course, Marc had spat, fists clenched. Of course youd pick him. Golden boy Damien. Perfect Damien.

Marc, stop, Id tried to say.

But he shoved Damiens shoulder. Damien shoved back. And then they were fightingwild, punching, yelling. Years of resentment exploding right in front of me.

Because Marc was the black sheep of the family. He skipped classes. Got into trouble. Stayed out late. While Damien was every parents dreamobedient, responsible, the heir everyone trusted.

Even Carlo used to say, Marc needs discipline. Damien is the one fit to lead the family.

And Marc knew it. Felt it. Lived with that shadow all his life.

Maybe thats why he wanted mebecause Damien wanted me too.

But I never saw Marc that way. My heart had always belonged to Damien.

After that night behind the shed, Marc stopped talking to me. Avoided me. Couldnt even bear to look at me.

And then six years ago the yacht accident.

Marc died. Or so Id been told.

I cried for weeksnot because Id loved him romantically, but because he had been my childhood, my memory, my family. I blamed myself for choosing between them, for being the reason they drifted apart.

And now

Now he was alive.

And pretending to be Damien.

And had been in my bed. My life. My home.

My mind spun, and I didnt realize I was shaking until a voice sliced through the fog:

And where is that woman? Isnt she supposed to be here?

I flinched. I wasnt ready to face the twinsnot either version of them. So I hurried down the hallway, forcing my breaths to steady as I rushed back to my room.

I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, pressing trembling fingers to my lips. Act normal. Pretend you know nothing. Pretend you didnt hear a thing.

I smoothed my dress. Fixed my hair. Bit my lip until I tasted metal.

A knock echoed behind me. Before I could even move, the door swung open.

Damien. No. Not Damien.

Marc.

He walked in with that easy, confident stridethe one I used to mistake for Damiens but now recognized far too clearly.

He cupped my cheeks and kissed me before I could dodge.

Hey, love. Whats taking you so long? he murmured against my lips. I want you beside me tonight. I have a surprise for youyoure going to love it.

I forced a thin smile, pretending to lean into him while silently praying he didnt feel how tense my body was.

A surprise? I whispered.

He grinned, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. Mm-hm. But you have to come outside first.

I nodded, playing along.

When we stepped out to the patio, music rose from the speakers, lights glowed across the yard, and people cheered because Carlo was about to make a speech.

But thenThe crowd parted.

And the man I once thought my husbandthe real Damienwalked toward me with a gentle, almost hesitant smile.

Hello, he said softly, extending a hand. Im Marc. Im alive. I survived the accident because someone saved me. Im sorry for everything. I didnt mean to disappear.

My breath hitched at the lie. He was posing as Marcfor my sake. For my sanity. For the complicated disaster his twin had created.

I bowed my head, voice trembling. Im sorry too for being such an ass back then. I hope we can be better friends again.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a high-pitched voice interrupted.

Hey there, stepsister!

Sofia. She threw her arms around me as if wed grown up braiding each others hair, not as if her mother destroyed mine.

I smiled tightly. Hi, Sofia. Youre here.

The real Damien pretending to be Marc said, Yes, actually. This is also the news I want to tell, were gonna get married. And were gonna all be a happy family.

Great, I just responded.

The night blurred after thatmusic, conversations, laughter I couldnt feel. My thoughts were a storm inside my skull as I pretended not to see the lies unraveling around me.

Later during the dance party, when the lights dimmed and people swayed under the stars, I felt a hand slide around my waist.

A mouth pressed against mine.

Deep. Familiar. Wrong.

I instantly knew who it was.

Hey, love. Do you want to go upstairs and make love to me rather than here

Marcsno, fake Damienshand slid toward my waist.

I shoved him back so hard he almost stumbled.

My heart thundered in my chest. Stop it now, Marc. Leave me alone!

Hey, love. Do you want to go upstairs and make love to me rather than here

Marcsno, fake Damienshand slid toward my waist.

I shoved him back so hard he almost stumbled.

My heart thundered in my chest. Stop it now, Marc. Leave me alone!

Music thumped around us, but the world narrowed to the two of us.

He blinked, eyes widening in an exaggerated display of innocence. Elena sweetheart, what are you saying? His voice trembled with hurtso obviously staged. Im your Damien. Your husband. Why are you suddenly mentioning Marc?

He even placed a hand over his chest, like Id struck him. Fake. Every bit of him was fake.

A few guests paused their dancing. Someone lowered their drink.

Did you miss him? Marcpretending to be Damienlowered his voice, but loud enough for those around us to catch it. Is that what this is? You saw him, and now youre confused again?

Dont twist my words, I hissed.

He took a step closer, and I stepped back.

Elena, he said, voice shaking just the right amount to look wounded, Im trying here. Im really trying. But youwhy are you pushing me away like Im a stranger to you just because Marc came back? Do you like him did you regret

Because you are, I yelled.

His eyes darkened for a split second, but he masked it quickly. What are you saying?

I swallowed, gathering every ounce of courage left inside me.

Because you are not Damien, I said louder. You are Marc. Stop lying to me.

The crowd gasped. The world seemed to freeze for half a heartbeat. And that was when the real Damienwearing Marcs identitywalked toward us, calm, composed, shoulders squared like the heir he was always meant to be.

Elena, he said carefully, whats happening here?

Before I could speak, Sofias shrill, triumphant voice cut through the air.

Oh my God, she scoffed, stepping beside him. You were thinking about my fianc again, werent you?

I stared at her. What?

She smirked. Dont deny it. Everyone knows youve never gotten over Marc and maybe regretting choosing Damien. I mean, you told me that back then, you were torn between them. Now that you learned he survived and is with me, youre losing your mind.

Thats not

Cant believe you cant even tell them apart, she continued with a cruel laugh. Or is it because you always wanted Marc? Youve always been obsessed with him, right?

I haventThats not

The real Marcpretending to be Damienlifted a hand, interrupting me sharply.

Enough, he said in an exhausted voice, but it was a performance again. Elena, please. Dont be like this.

Im telling the truth

Just stop, he said, shaking his head like I was embarrassing him. Please. Can you stop acting like this? You rejected me, right? Now that Im happy, youre making a scene on your birthday to get their sympathy?

It was a dagger straight to the heart.

The music didnt cover the humiliation swallowing me whole. The whispers. The stares. The disbelief on every face.

I felt the air leave my lungs.

I turned and walked blindly inside the house, heat scorching my cheeks, vision blurring. No point in arguing. I didnt care where I wentI just needed walls, silence, anything to keep myself from screaming.

I pushed into the nearest bedroommy roomand locked the door with shaking hands.

My body trembled. But I felt him before he entered.

Damien. The real one.

He opened the door quietly, closed it behind him, and leaned against it like hed been carrying the weight of the whole night.

Elena he said, rubbing his forehead. Come on. Are you trying to ruin your own party?

I stared at him as if seeing a ghost. Because in a wayhe was.

Youre causing a scene, he continued. Dads on his way here. If he hears what you saidif he learns you thought I was Marcwhat do you think will happen when he had always wanted you to marry me? Were the ones destined to me. Youre hurting me! Why

Why? My voice cracked. Why did you lie to me, Damien? Why did you have to fake

A scream tore through the yard.

Sofia. We both froze.

But Damien didnt hesitate.

He didnt look at me.

Didnt finish my sentence.

Didnt explain.

Didnt choose me.

He rushed out the door like he had been waiting for that scream all his life. He ran to her.

The door slammed.

The silence that followed was deafening.

I stood there for a long moment, as if my body had turned to stone. Then my legs gave out, and I sat at the edge of the bed, pressing both hands to my stomach.

Im sorry, baby I whispered through tears that stung like acid. I dont think you need to live in this world.

My heart cracked cleanly in half. Because I knew what kind of world this was.

A world where truth could be twisted.

Where love could be swapped like identities.

Where the man I loved could leave me mid-sentenceto chase another woman.

I forced my hands to move.

Reached for my phone and wiped my face with the back of my shaking wrist.

There was only one thing leftone thing I could still control.

I dialed the number.

The line rang once.

Twice. Then clicked.

Good evening, a professional voice said. This is Attorney Ramos office.

My voice was raw, but steady.

This is Elena Jones, I said. Im calling because Im filing for divorce.

When the call ended, I finally let my body collapse backward on the bed. Somehow, I drifted into sleepif it could even be called that. Just hours of darkness pressing over me until the sun burned into my eyelids and I woke to a world that felt heavier than the night before.

But I didnt stop. I couldnt.

I dragged myself out of bed, dressed, and made my way to Attorney Ramos office. The secretary immediately recognized my name and ushered me inside. Papers were prepared, printed, slid across the desk.

This is the preliminary petition, the lawyer explained gently. Once you sign this, we begin.

My hand trembled as I picked up the pen.

I signed, then I walked out.

I was gripping the folder of documents so tightly my knuckles ached by the time I reached home. The walk from the car felt unusually longeach step heavy, every breath thick.

I pushed open the front door then I saw Sofia.

She stood in the middle of the living room beside the tall glass cabinet where Damien displayed the awards he was proud ofmine included. And in her hand was my trophy. Model of the Year. The award I bled and starved and fought for.

She was holding it as if it were nothing.

Oh, sister, she drawled when her eyes met mine. Youre finally home. I was just admiring this little trophy of yours.

Her voice was dipped in honey, but her eyesacid.

My grip tightened around the folder. Put it down, Sofia.

Oh, I will, she said lightly.

And she loosened her fingers. Deliberately.

The trophy hit the floor with a sharp, sickening crackmetal bending, glass splintering.

I froze.

Youwhat the hell, Sofia?! My voice ripped out of me. Thats mine!

Something inside me snapped. I lunged forwardnot to hurt her, but to get to my trophy, the pieces of it scattered like parts of myself. She angled her body in front of it as if blocking me was another game to her.

Move, I hissed.

She didnt. So I shoved her.

Harder than I intended.

Sofia stumbled back with a sharp gasp, her hand flying dramatically to her shoulder as if I had hurled her across the room.

OwElena! she whimpered, voice already trembling. Why would you push me like that?

I blinked at her, stunned. Dont start, Sofia. You ruined my trophy! You dropped it on purpose

Her face twisted, lips wobbling. Then, like a switch flipped, she burst into tears. Loud. Exaggerated. Painful sobs that echoed through the whole damn house.

And right on cue

What happened here? The real Damien.

He hurried in from the hallway, eyes darting between usSofia clutching her shoulder and crying, me kneeling beside broken glass and metal on the floor.

Sheshe pushed me! Sofia cried louder, crumbling into his chest like she was the victim of the century. I just wanted to to look at her trophy, and sheshe hurt me!

Thats not what happened! I snapped. She dropped my trophy. On purpose! She

Damien raised a hand, silencing me without even looking my way. His gaze was already fixed on the shattered trophy, then on me, disappointment tightening his jaw.

Elena, he said sharply, its just a trophy. You didnt have to get physical.

Just a trophy. My throat closed.

The one I earned after years of training, starvation, bruises, tears. The one I had worked for while he told me to quit, to slow down, to choose him over my career. The one that represented everything I lost for him.

Before I could say a word, Sofia sniffled pitifully and whispered, I I didnt think shed still hate me. I thought she had changed since we were kids. She always bullied me before, you know

I stared at her. The audacity.

I NEVER bullied you

Damiens expression hardened. Enough.

That word landed like a slap. He wrapped an arm around Sofia, guiding her toward the door as if she were some fragile porcelain doll.

Come on, Sofia. Lets get you checked. That fall looked bad.

Im sorry, she whimpered, clinging to him. I didnt want to cause any trouble. I just wanted to bond with my sister

My chest hollowed out.

Damien glared at me one last time before leading her out.

The door slammed shut. And suddenly the house was too quietexcept for the sound of my own breathing, uneven and breaking.

I sank to the floor.

For a long moment, I just stared at the broken trophy. At the pieces of a life I used to have. A life I gave up willingly because he asked me to. Because he said he wanted me home, wanted a family, wanted me by his side instead of on runways.

I picked up a bent piece of the metal, brushing off dust with trembling fingers.

Memories floodedbright lights, cameras, applause, my name announced, the trophy placed in my hands.

Then his voice.

You dont need to work anymore, love. Stay with me. Ill take care of you.

I believed him. Stupid.

I wiped my cheeks, not realizing when the tears even started. Carefully, I gathered the piecesevery shard, every fragmentand placed them on the table. My hands shook as I tried fitting them together, like maybe if I fixed this, I could fix myself.

While I was bent over the table, still crying quietly, I heard footsteps.

Love?

Marc. The fake Damien.

He rushed toward me, breathless with performative concern.

Did she hurt you? he asked gently, touching my arm. Im so sorry I wasnt here. I would have protected you.

I opened my mouthready to snap, ready to scream that I knew who he was, what he was doing, what game they were all playingbut the words lodged in my throat.

What was the point? I was leaving anyway.

So instead I pulled away, not even looking at him. Im fine, I said quietly.

He hovered, unsure, trying again. Elena love, look at me

But I didnt. I focused on the broken trophy, ignoring the man who kept calling himself my husband when he wasnt,

Later that night, after hours of silence pressing into the house, after Damien still hadnt returned, after the ache settled deep in my bones, I finally picked up my phone.

I called my manager.

Her voice crackled through the line, surprised. Elena? Its been a while.

About the project you mentioned I breathed out, staring at the documents on my bedthe divorce papers. Im ready. Lets start again.

She paused. Are you sure? The conditions still stand. No child for three years. And youll be away most of the timetraining, shoots, international tours. Its not going to be easy.

I know, I whispered.

A long silence stretched between us. Then I said the words that felt like cutting ties with my old life

Yes. I accept the conditions.

The hospital lights were too bright. Too white. Too clean for something that felt like a funeral.

I lay still on the examination table, staring at the ceiling as the doctor explained the procedure one last time. Her voice was calm, clinical, distantexactly what I needed.

This is your choice, she reminded gently. Once we proceed, theres no reversing it.

I nodded. I know.

My voice didnt shake. Not even once.

The baby that never shouldve existed.

The child that wouldve chained me tighter to a life that was already suffocating me.

A child I didnt even know how to want anymorenot after everything.

The procedure was quick, quiet. By the time it was over, I felt nothing.

No grief.

No relief.

Just emptiness.

I changed back into my clothes, holding the hospitals discharge papers in my hand like they were evidence of a crime I wasnt sure I committed against myself. My steps felt heavy as I exited through the automatic doors, the setting sun painting the sky in fading orange.

I drove home on autopilot. When I stepped inside the house, the smell of roasted herbs, butter, and something warm greeted me first. I blinked.

Marcfake Damienstood in the dining room arranging wine glasses, the table set beautifully. Candles lit. Dimmed lights. A scene too soft for the kind of day I had.

He looked up immediately. Love, where have you been?

I froze.

He walked toward me, brows knit in concern. You were gone all day. You didnt answer my messages. I was worried.

I just needed air, I said simply.

I would never tell him. Never tell anyone about the baby.

His expression softened. Well, I thought Id make you something comforting. He gestured to the table, almost shy. And I got us tickets for the musical youve been wanting to see for years.

He lifted two envelope tickets. The Phantom of the Opera C Live.

My heart twisted painfully. Once, that wouldve made me cry from joy. Now it only made me tired.

Im sorry. Im not feeling well. I want to rest.

I moved toward the stairs, but a voice stopped me cold.

Not feeling well?

The real Damien stood at the corner of the hallway. Sofia beside him, arms crossed, smirk etched perfectly on her lips.

Damiens eyes were sharptoo sharp. Or you just dont want to see me here? Is that it, Elena? His tone dripped accusation. I heard from Sofia that you still dont want to be friends with me, even though I had already apologized.

My stomach flipped. That is not true!

Sofia laughed. Oh, please. Lets be real, Elena. You hated us being here, and you even tried to hurt me. But its okay, sister. Were gonna be a family now. Or was it because you want both twins for yourself again just like before?

I glared at her. Thats not true. Youre the one who

It is, she insisted, shrugging.

The real Marc exhaled in irritation. Sofiaenough. She is my wife

But she didnt stop. Youve always been like this, Elena. You act so innocent, but

I only want Damien, I cut sharply, voice cracking. But clearly he doesnt want me.

The silence after that felt like a blow.

The real Damien stiffened. Sofia blinked and the real Marc was also too stunned to speak.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat then I turned away.

WaitElena, Marc called, following me halfway up the stairs. Whats going on? What was that about?

Its nothing, I said, not looking at him. Ill get ready.

For what?

I finally faced him.

For the opera, love. You already bought the tickets. We cant waste them.

His relief was immediatebut inside, I felt myself deflate.

My hands trembled the whole time I prepared for the evening. The makeup. The dress. The hair.

It felt like dressing up a ghost.

Dinner was a blurMarc speaking softly, trying to make me laugh, trying to make me eat.

Damien and Sofia arrived, of course.

Pretending it was a family outing.

Pretending nothing happened.

Pretending we were all fine.

We werent.

Not even close.

The theater was grandcrystal chandeliers, velvet seats, golden archesbut I couldnt see any of it clearly. The air felt too thick. My skin too hot. My stomach twisted painfully every few minutes.

Elena? Are you okay? Marc whispered.

I forced a nod. But halfway through the show, I couldnt do it anymore.

My vision blurred, heat rushing up my throat.

II need air, I murmured, standing abruptly.

Elena? Damien whispered behind me, alarm flashing across his features for a split second. But I pushed past him, rushing toward the lobby.

The moment the cool night air hit me, my legs buckled.

I vomited on the pavement, body trembling so violently I could barely breathe. I leaned on a pillar, chest tight, sweat dripping down my spine.

Just breath.

Just a second.

Just a moment

But the world spun.

And thenTwo shadows approached.

Hey sweetheart, one of the men drawled, stepping closetoo close. You look sick. Need help?

The other laughed. Or maybe you just need company.

The first man reached for my arm.

I jerked back. Dont touch me.

He smirked. Relax youre all alone out here. Were just trying to be nice.

My heart pounded.

I saiddont touch me.

But he didnt stop.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me closer, breath sour with alcohol. Come on, pretty girl. Dont make a scene

I said let go! I screamed.

But my knees finally gave out.

My vision blackened at the edges.

The ground rushed up.

And I dropped.

The last thing I heard before consciousness slipped away was the sound of frantic footsteps

And someone shouting my name.

Elena!

I woke to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the steady beep of a heart monitor.

Hospital. Again.

My eyelids felt heavy, but I forced them open. White ceiling. White walls. IV drip attached to my arm. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, too bright, too clinical.

I tried to sit up, but my body protestedsore, exhausted, wrung out like I had nothing left to give.

What happened?

The theater. The men. Collapsing. Voices drifted from outside my room. Low. Tense. Familiar.

I froze.

"Are you insane, Damien?" Marc's voicesharp, angry, trembling with something I'd never heard from him before. "Why would you try to kill her? You would let Sofia try to kill her? Let those men harm Elena?"

My breath caught.

The real Damien answered, voice cold, detached. "So we could be done with this pretending. I'm so done pretending to be Marc. I want it to end."

"You want her back, is that it?" Marc snapped. "You realize you don't want Sofia"

"I just want to make things right," Damien interrupted. "Don't even act as if you care for her when you also agreed to end her at first then just changed your mind."

The room tilted.

End me?

They wanted to kill me?

My chest tightened, breaths shallow, heart pounding so loud I thought they'd hear it through the walls. Then Sofia's voicesweet, venomous. "It's okay. Maybe we can just frame her at your father's birthday party? Make it look like she did something terrible. Then your father would hate her."

Silence.

Then Damien: "That could work."

I pressed my fist against my mouth, biting down to keep from screaming.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table. I grabbed it with shaking hands.

Carlo Jones: Elena, I heard what happened. Are you alright? Please come to my birthday celebration. I need to talk to you, and cant wait to see you again.

I stared at the message, vision blurring.

Carlo. The man who took me in. The man who raised me when my mother couldn't anymore.

He wanted to see me.

And yet his son wanted to kill me.

I typed back with trembling fingers: I'll be there.

But it was a lie because Im done with this.

The next morning, Marc walked into my hospital room with flowerswhite lilies, my supposed favorite. His face was painted with concern, eyes soft and apologetic.

"Love," he breathed, rushing to my bedside. "I'm so sorry. I should've been there with you. I should've protected you from those men."

I looked at him, this man wearing my husband's face, and forced myself to smile. "It's okay. You're here now."

He sat on the edge of my bed, taking my hand. "I was terrified when I saw you collapse. I thought I'd lose you."

"You won't lose me," I whispered.

He kissed my knuckles, relief flooding his features. "Good. Because I can't imagine my life without you."

Behind him, the door opened.

Damienthe real one, pretending to be Marcstepped in. Sofia clung to his arm, her expression carefully arranged into something resembling guilt.

"Elena," Damien said quietly. "I I wanted to apologize too. For everything at the theater. For not being there fast enough."

I stared at him. The man I actually married. The man who chose Sofia over me. The man who just last night agreed to frame me at his father's birthday.

"It's fine," I said flatly.

Sofia stepped forward, eyes glistening with fake tears. "Sister, I'm so sorry. I know we haven't always gotten along, but seeing you like that it scared me. I don't want us to fight anymore."

She reached for my other hand. I let her take it, even though my skin crawled at her touch.

"Thank you, Sofia," I said, voice hollow. "That means a lot."

She smiledvictorious, thinking she'd won.

Marc squeezed my hand. "We're all family, right? We should be taking care of each other."

"Right," I echoed. "Family."

They stayed for another hour, playing their parts perfectly. Concerned. Loving. United.

And I played mine too.

The devoted wife. The forgiving sister. The grateful daughter-in-law.

When they finally left, I exhaled slowly, staring at the flowers Damien and Sofia had brought.

White lilies.

Funeral flowers.

How fitting.

The next few days were a blur of planning. So I did what I should have done from the beginningI gathered proof. Photos. Documents. Messages. I hired a private investigator to dig deeper into the yacht accident, into Marc's survival, into the timeline of Damien's disappearance.

Everything pointed to the same horrifying truth: they had swapped places. Deliberately. Cruelly. And I had been the pawn in their game.

I compiled everything into a folderevidence that would shatter the lie they'd built.

The divorce papers, including the abortion certificate.

I would deliver it all to Carlo on his birthday. A gift. A reckoning.

But first, I had to play along

The morning of Marc's business trip, I drove him to the airport. He held my hand the entire way, thumb brushing over my knuckles like he actually cared.

"I'll miss you, love," he murmured as we stood outside the terminal.

I smiled. Forced. Practiced. "I'll miss you too."

He kissed medeep, possessive, the kind of kiss meant to mark territory.

I kissed him back.

When he pulled away, his eyes searched mine. "When I get back let's talk about the baby. Father wants one. And honestly? So do I."

My stomach twisted, but I nodded. "Okay."

He grinned, relieved, and kissed my forehead. "I love you, Elena."

"I love you too," I whispered.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

I watched him walk through security, waving one last time before disappearing into the crowd. I waited until his plane took off.

Then I drove to my own terminal.

My manager was already waiting, ticket in hand. "You ready?"

I nodded.

I boarded the planefirst class, window seat. As we climbed higher, breaking through the clouds, I pulled out my phone.

One by one, I deleted everything. Photos of us. Messages. Contacts. Memories.

Every trace of Elena Jonesthe wife, the daughter-in-law, the woman who gave up everything for a man who never existed.

Gone.

I watched the city shrink below me, becoming nothing but lights and shadows.

Somewhere down there, Marc thought I was waiting for him.

Somewhere down there, Damien thought he could still control me.

Somewhere down there, Sofia thought she had won.

But I was already gone.