Since we were kids, everything was shared between Candice and me. Clothes, toys, birthday parties—even secrets. At first, I liked it. There was comfort in knowing someone understood me so completely, someone whose face mirrored mine in every photograph. People said it was special, being a twin. They said we were lucky.

But luck has a way of turning sour.

It started small: Candice wanting the doll I’d picked out, or whispering to Mom that I’d broken a vase when it was really her. She was clever that way, always ready with a story, and even Mom would get us confused sometimes. Candice would bat her lashes and blame me for things I hadn’t done, and I’d stand there, too stunned to argue, taking the fall.

As we grew older, it wasn’t just toys or trouble. It was people. Friends I’d made became her friends. Boys I’d liked started liking her.

She’d laugh about it, say it was just a twin thing, but I knew better. She liked having what I wanted. She liked winning.

Then came Harper.

He was different, or so I thought. The first time he saw us together, he smiled at me—me—and I felt something spark. I thought he’d be the one person who could tell us apart, who’d see me, not just the twin. I was naïve. I wanted to believe someone could love me for who I was, not just because I looked like Candice.

But even Harper couldn’t tell the difference. At first, I made excuses for him. At first, I forgave. I was a fool. I let it go, let Candice flirt and Harper stumble through apologies, let Mom scold me for things Candice had done.

I thought love meant patience, meant forgiving, meant letting myself be invisible if it made things easier.

Now I know better.

It wasn’t just confusion. It was an affair. And I was done pretending.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of my bedroom door creaking open.

Harper slipped inside, eyes red and pleading, the same way he always looked when he was caught. He dropped to his knees beside my bed, reaching for my hand, tears threatening to spill.

“Camille, please,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I know I messed up, but I love you. I swear. I’ll never let it happen again. Just… just forgive me. Please.”

Candice was the same. She’d cry, beg, wrap her arms around me, promising she’d never do it again. And every time, I’d forgive her. Every time, I’d let it go.

I looked at Harper, the ache in my chest sharp and familiar. I was tired—so tired—of fighting. Tired of being the reasonable one, the forgiving one, the twin who always bent but never broke.

He took my silence as hope. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box again, flipping it open to reveal a ring. “Let’s get married, okay? We can start over. I’ll prove I love you. Please, Camille.”

I stared at him, at the ring, at the desperation in his eyes. I wanted to scream, to run, to say no. But instead, I nodded. I was just so tired.

“Okay,” I whispered.

His face lit up, relief flooding his features. He hugged me, promising a thousand things I knew he’d never keep.

The next day, I woke up numb. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tracing the freckles on my cheeks. They were supposed to be the only thing that set me apart from Candice, but even those felt like a curse now. I grabbed my bag and walked to the salon, the decision heavy in my chest.

I asked for a new haircut, new color, and—most importantly—freckle removal. The technician hesitated, but I insisted. I wanted to be someone else. I wanted to be anyone but the twin who kept getting mistaken.

When I got home, Harper was waiting in the living room. He stared at me, wide-eyed, taking in the new hair, the smooth cheeks, the unfamiliar confidence.

“If you ever mistake me for Candice again,” I said quietly, “then it means you don’t love me. Not really.”

He shook his head, rushing to reassure me. “Of course not, Camille. I love you. Only you. Let’s go on a date, okay? I’ll arrange everything. Just get ready. Tonight will be special.”

I nodded, forcing a smile. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust.

I went upstairs, picking out a dress, brushing my new hair. I tried to focus on the future, on the promise of something better. But as I moved around my room, I heard voices drifting up the stairs—Candice and Harper, talking in the hallway.

I froze, listening.

“I’m pregnant,” Candice whispered, her voice trembling. “So why would you marry her? Why not break up with Camille?”

There was a long pause. Harper’s voice was low, frustrated. “You know I can’t just break up with her. Everyone knows we’re the couple, and my mother loves her. She wants Camille to be my wife—not you. So come on, we can just keep this hidden for a while.”

Candice’s voice was sharper, more desperate. “Or we can just kill her before your wedding day so I can pretend to be her?”

Harper was always good at pretending everything was perfect. That morning, he bounded into my room, his arms full of glossy bridal magazines and a wide, eager grin plastered across his face.

“Camille! You should try on your wedding gown today,” he said, almost breathless with excitement. “We only have a few weeks left. I want you to look perfect. And guess what—Grandma called. She’s already planning the christening for our baby even without the baby yet. Can’t you believe that? She said if it’s a boy, she’ll give me a huge inheritance. Can you imagine? Our lives could change overnight.”

I stared at him, feeling a wave of nausea roll through me.

“I’m not feeling well,” I said quietly, hoping he’d just leave me alone.

Harper frowned, disappointment flickering across his face. “You’re always tired lately. What is wrong? Or don’t tell me you just don’t want to marry me anymore?”

Before I could answer, Candice breezed into the room, “Well, if Camille can’t fit the gown, I can do it for her. We have the same build, after all. She’d love for me to choose it, right, sister?” Her voice was sweet, but I caught the glint in her eyes—a challenge, a mockery.

I forced a smile. “Sure, Candice. You always know what I want, don’t you?”

She laughed, linking arms with Harper. “Let’s go, then. I’ll try on the dress for you, Cam. You can rest… and make sure you’ll be better on your wedding day.”

They left together, their laughter echoing down the hall. I watched them go, my heart twisting with something bitter and final.

For years, I’d let Candice take what she wanted. This time, she could have it all.

I stumbled to the bathroom, gripping the sink as another wave of nausea hit me. I barely made it before vomiting, my body wracked with shivers.

When I finished, I sat on the cold tile floor, tears streaming down my face. My stomach twisted again, but this time it wasn’t just nausea—it was dread.

I pressed shaking fingers to my wrist, counting the days since my last period. It had been weeks. Too many weeks. I’d been tired, dizzy, and now this relentless sickness.

I scrambled to my feet and dug through the cabinet beneath the sink, searching for the box of leftover pregnancy tests Mom kept for emergencies.

My hands fumbled with the packaging, nearly dropping the test into the sink. I forced myself to read the instructions, but the words blurred through my tears.

I took the test, hands trembling, and set it on the edge of the counter. The seconds crawled by, each one heavier than the last. I couldn’t look. I didn’t want to know.

But when the timer on my phone buzzed, I forced myself to glance at the plastic stick.

Two lines.

I stared, numb, as the truth sank in. I was pregnant. The word felt like a curse, a chain tightening around my throat. I didn’t want this baby. Not with Harper. Not with everything that had happened.

I couldn’t imagine bringing a child into this mess, couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life tied to him—or to Candice.

I clutched the test in my fist until my knuckles turned white, my sobs echoing in the empty bathroom. I was trapped, and for the first time, I realized just how desperate I was to escape.

I grabbed my phone and called a cab, barely able to speak. At the hospital, I told the nurse what I needed, my voice flat and emotionless.

The procedure was quick, clinical, and when it was over, I felt empty but strangely free. For the first time in months, I could breathe.

On the way home, I stopped at a café and ordered tea. I sat by the window, watching rain streak down the glass, and started gathering every scrap of evidence I had against Candice and Harper. Messages, photos, recordings—every betrayal, every lie, including my abortion certificate. I put them all in a box, sealed it with tape, and addressed them to the wedding venue.

To be opened on my wedding day.

It felt like a final act, a way to make sure the truth would come out, no matter what happened to me.

When I finally returned home, the house was quiet except for the sound of Candice humming in my room. I paused in the doorway, watching her twirl in my wedding gown, the silk shimmering around her.

“How lovely is this, right?” she said, admiring herself in the mirror. I can't believe she even copied my look now that they would mistake us again.

“I can’t wait for you to fit this, but for now, let me fit it for you so you can see how it looks.”

I stepped forward, holding out the engagement ring Harper had given me. “Here,” I said, my voice calm. “You should wear our engagement ring too, if you want.”

Candice turned, surprise flickering across her face.

She took the ring, slipping it onto her finger, and looked at me with something like triumph. “It seems like you’re handing him out to me, aren’t you?”

I shrugged, the weight of everything lifting from my shoulders. “Yeah. After all, I don’t really love him anymore. You can even attend the wedding for me, Candice. Wear the dress, wear the ring—take it all.”

She stared at me, uncertain for the first time. “And what about you? Where are you going?”

I smiled—a real, fierce smile. “I’m leaving.”

The morning of my wedding felt less like a celebration and more like a funeral march. The sky was heavy and gray, the air thick with something I couldn’t name.

I watched the clock tick closer to noon, each second a warning. I knew what Candice and Harper had planned. I knew they wanted me alone, vulnerable, easy to erase from their perfect picture.

Candice hadn’t said a word to Harper about me leaving. Of course, she’d wanted him for herself for years, and now that she had everything—his attention, his child, even my wedding dress—she wasn’t about to risk it.

But that was the least of my concerns. I had my own escape planned, and this time, I wouldn’t let anyone stand in my way.

They left for the venue early, insisting I should ride alone “for the bridal effect.” I saw the way Candice looked at me, her smile too wide, her eyes too bright.

Harper barely met my gaze, already caught up in the whirlwind of his new life. I nodded, playing along, letting them think they’d won.

But I wasn’t getting in that car. Instead, I texted Riley: “It’s time. Are you ready?”

He replied instantly: “I’m outside. Hurry.”

I slipped out the back door with my small suitcase and the phone clutched in my hand. The decoy—one of Riley’s trusted bodyguards, dressed in a spare white dress and veil—would take my place in the car.

The plan was simple: let Candice and Harper think I was on my way, and then the car crashed.

Riley’s car was waiting, engine running.

We sped through the city, the tension in my chest easing only when we reached the airport. I handed Riley my passport, my ticket, everything I’d need to start over. He squeezed my hand, his warmth grounding me.

“You’ll be safe with me. I’ll never hurt you,” he promised, and I believed him.

As we waited for my flight, I pulled out my phone and opened the app where the hidden CCTV footage of the venue was streaming.

The screen flickered to life, showing the grand ballroom, the guests in their finery, the flowers and candles and crystal.

For a moment, I let myself watch, detached, as if it were someone else’s life about to unravel.

I watched as Candice leaned in to whisper something to our mother, her expression perfectly rehearsed. My mother’s face twisted with concern and frustration.

“She’s got cold feet,” Candice said, her voice trembling just enough to seem real. “Camille… she left these letters. I’m so sorry, Mom.” She handed over a stack of forged notes—her handwriting mimicking mine, full of apologies and regret and cowardice.

My mother scanned the letters, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes sharp.

Harper stepped forward, his devastation so theatrical it almost made me laugh.

“She left me,” he said, voice breaking. “I don’t know what I did wrong. Please, Mrs. Laurent, I loved her. I don’t understand.”

He clung to my mother’s arm, and she patted his hand, her face softening.

“No, this can’t happen. You have to be standing for your sister, Candice. This wedding must go on. The scandal if she ran away… I won’t allow it.”

Candice glanced at Harper, feigning uncertainty. “Would that be okay? I mean, is it… right?”

Harper nodded, his eyes glistening with fake grief. “Yes, yes. Camille left me. Please, save me, Candice. Don’t let this day be ruined.”

But I saw the flicker of satisfaction in both their eyes, the way their smiles grew just a little too wide when my mother turned away.

This was their plan all along.

The guests were ushered back to their seats, the music restarted. Candice and Harper stood at the altar, exchanging nervous glances as the officiant began the ceremony. No one even noticed it wasn't me, but Candice, except for my mother who'd always favored Candice. But now, she will know everything.

I watched, numb, as they recited vows meant for me—words that should have belonged to me and Harper. But I was a fool for believing in his love.

And then, as the ceremony reached its climax, the butler approached Harper’s grandmother, carrying the box I’d sent.

He placed it gently in her lap, and she opened it with trembling fingers.

Inside were the photos, the texts, the recordings—every dark secret, every betrayal, every proof that Candice and Harper had plotted against me. The evidence spilled out, stark and undeniable.

Harper’s grandmother stared at the contents, her face paling.

She looked up, voice shaking with rage and disbelief. “What is the meaning of this? You’re not Camille! Where is she? Did you kill Camille?!”