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  “It’s good to see you again, sister.”
    The voice was sweet…too sweet. Celeste, with her flawlessly curled blonde hair and those sparkling blue eyes, walked in like she owned the air we breathed. She pulled me into one of her signature tight fake hugs.
    My arms stiffened at my sides.
    It can’t be real.
    She called me sister.
    No, no, no.
    “I saw you,” I whispered, stepping back from her grip. “In the hospital. The same one my mom was in. You were there with… with a man you called your father.”
    Celeste tilted her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. “And?”
    I turned to Joseph. “She can’t be my sister.”
    Alex now perched on a chair several feet away, deep in hushed conversation with a man in spectacles. He didn’t look up, didn’t glance in my direction.
    “Daddy!” Celeste cooed, strutting over to Joseph like a runway model. She bent to kiss his cheek, her fitted dress rising just a little too high. I didn’t miss the smug flick of her eyes in my direction.
    Joseph simply replied, “She’s your sister.”
    My heart sank.
    “You didn’t think that was important to tell me?” I asked her, my voice trembling.
    Celeste turned to me with a light chuckle as she twirled a golden curl around her finger. “Why should I? I figured it out the moment I saw you. You looked so much like Beatrice. It’s a pity we don’t all share the same face, hmm?”
    She slid into the chair across from me and reached for the menu like this was some cozy brunch reunion. “Oh, I’m starving. What do they serve here, Daddy?”
    I stood there motionless. I felt like a pawn dropped in the middle of a game I didn’t even know I was part of.
    Alex chose that moment to walk over to Joseph and extended a firm hand.
    “Good to see you again, sir.”
    They exchanged pleasantries like business partners. Then Alex came to my side, kissed the top of my head, and let his hand rest on my waist with deliberate tenderness like I was his beloved wife.
    The gesture felt jarring. Too calculated.
    Celeste tried to catch his attention with a sugary, “Alex!” But he barely glanced at her.
    He returned to his former spot, back to the man with spectacles, deep in what seemed like business talk deliberately ignoring her.
    “So…” Celeste sang, folding her arms and leaning toward me. “What do you want to know about Beatrice?”
    Joseph gave her a warning look as he adjusted his dress shirt and slowly sank into his seat.
    “Not now, Celeste.”
    She waved him off. “Oh, come on. She’s obviously curious. Isn’t that right?” Her eyes flicked back to me. “You want answers, don’t you? You’re dying to know the truth.”
    She smiled and pulled out her phone.
    “Well, let’s start here. Beatrice?” she laughed coldly. “She’s a lying, manipulative little bitch. She was cheating on your husband, you know. And she’s—” Celeste lowered her voice into a cruel murmur, “—mentally unstable always crying like a bitch.”
    Joseph shot up from his seat, fists clenched, his voice low but sharp. “That’s enough, Celeste.”
    “She needs help, I get it,” Celeste shrugged, lips still curved in mock innocence. “But facts are facts.”
    “There’s a way to speak about people,” Joseph snapped. “And that is not it. She’s not well, but you don’t get to soil her name.”
    I stood there, watching this exchange between two people who were somehow tied to me one calling herself my sister, the other a stranger who somehow knew the pieces of my puzzle better than I ever had.
    After what felt like forever, drinks were finally served cold glasses clinking onto coasters as the same dread-head waiter quietly moved on.
    Celeste kept talking, her voice a sugar-syrup monologue about Beatrice, fashion, and whatever else her scattered mind could latch onto. Joseph made weak attempts to silence her, but she ignored him like a gnat in her ear.
    And me? I just sat there, dazed, barely blinking.
    I’ve never been more confused in my life.
    How the hell could Celeste be my twin?
    We looked nothing alike. She was blonde, blue-eyed, dripping in designer confidence. I was… me. This entire scenario felt like a cruel joke with no punchline.
    “Yeah, I know,” she said suddenly, cutting into my thoughts like she’d been reading them. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? I think about it too sometimes. Why don’t we all look alike? Why do you get to look like Beatrice?”
    Her voice turned sharp at the end, coated in something colder than jealousy.
    “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “Can I see a picture of her?”
    I already had. Twice. But still… I needed to see her again. I had to.
    Celeste smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Oh, really? Sure.”
    She stretched out her phone, tapped the screen a few times, then turned it toward me. It was a wedding photo.
    Beatrice stood beside Alexander in a stunning lace gown, her arm looped through his. She looked… like me. No. She looked like someone who stole my face.
    My breath hitched.
    “So…?” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
    “I know,” Celeste cut in softly, eerily. “It’s insane. Crazy, right? Such a shame I didn’t get to taste him.”
    “Celeste!” Joseph snapped.
    She rolled her eyes. “What? I’m just being honest.”
    I couldn’t take anymore.
    “I’m sorry, I—I need to use the restroom.”
    I pushed back from the table and walked away, not waiting for a response.
    From the side corner of my eyes i saw Alex looking at me with what i could describe as unreadable as i walked away.
    The hallway was dimly lit and lined with frosted glass doors. Soft murmurs came from other fat beefy men tucked into private booths. A flat-screen TV mounted on the lounge wall flashed scenes from a football match, the coach’s shouts muted behind the glass.
    I followed the restroom signs, my flats clicking softly across the marble floors. The women’s room was marked with the figure of a lady in a flowing dress.
    Inside, it was colder…. much colder. A subtle lavender scent floated in the air. The place was spotless, sterile even. Pink-tiled walls. Wall-mounted mirrors lined the length of the space. White sinks gleamed beneath fluorescent lights.
    I didn’t actually need the restroom. I just needed to breathe.
    My hands gripped the edges of the sink as I stared at my reflection. Soft curls falling from the slick bun on my head framing my face, slightly frizzed from the cold air. My hazel eyes, wide and full of questions I didn’t have the strength to ask anymore.
    I splashed water on my face, letting it drip down my cheeks like rain as it washed out my mascara.
    What is happening to me?
    A faint beep from my phone told me it was already past eight.
    The slight woosh of the restroom door made me turn only to be graced with the presence of Alexander.
    He stepped inside with that slow, dangerous grace of his—hair slicked back, tailored suit sharp as ever, his expression unreadable but smug.
    I blinked in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing? This is the ladies’ room.”
    “I know,” he said simply, closing the door behind him with a sharp click. “I needed to talk to you.”
    “Oh, now you want to talk?” My voice cracked as I stepped back, fists clenched. “After ignoring me all day?”
    “Shut up,” he said calmly, but the firmness in his tone silenced the room. “Let me talk.”
    “Outside,” I snapped. “Like normal people. Like husband and wife.” I dragged out wife with venom, letting it slice through the tension. “Why do we have to do this here? In secret? Like we’re doing something wrong?”
    With a sigh, Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose like I was the headache he couldn’t get rid of.
    “Why do you always have to make things so damn difficult?” he muttered.
    My jaw clenched.
    “I’m the one making things difficult now?” I snapped, my voice sharp as glass. “I’m tired, Alex. Tired of playing the role you paid me to play.”
    His brows twitched, and for once, he didn’t speak.
    “You don’t get to control me anymore,” I went on, stepping closer until we were nose to nose. “You got me with money. That was the only leash you had. But if that man out there is really my father, then guess what? I don’t need you anymore, do I?”
    His smile curved, cold and cruel.
    “You think you can walk away just because Joseph claims you?” he laughed, the sound bitter.
    The chill that settled in my chest told me the answer. No. I can’t walk away. Not yet.
    I turned to leave, but his hand clamped around my wrist, spinning me back to him. His face was inches from mine, breath warm and heavy on my skin.
    “If it weren’t for those eyes…” he whispered, voice low. “I’d swear you were her.”
    My breath hitched.
    He was seeing Beatrice.
    “I won’t let you use me because I look like her,” I said, voice trembling but firm. “I’m not her.”
    His eyes widened for a split second as if I’d struck him across the face. Anger flickered there, cold and bright.
    “If you didn’t go out of your way to wear your hair like hers,” he said harshly, “maybe I wouldn’t keep seeing her every damn time I look at you.”
    That did it.
    “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I spat, shoving his chest. “I forgot I was the one who dragged myself into your twisted little game. As if you weren’t the one who brought me into all this.”
    His hand jerked forward and shoved me back against the sink. The cold porcelain bit into my skin as my dress rode up my thighs. I gasped and shoved him again, fury crackling through my body.
    “You’re shameless,” I hissed. “Sleeping with Celeste. Don’t think I don’t know.”
    His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
    “Oh, come on. There’s no way she acts like that around you unless you’ve already been in her bed. I bet you were with her before Beatrice, too.”
    He stared at me, his jaw working.
    “So that’s how you want to paint me?” he asked, voice low. “The monster in all this?”
    He stepped closer, and I tried to push him away, but his hand found the edge of the sink behind me. His leg pressed between mine—not forcefully, not roughly, but with just enough pressure to make my breath catch.
    “You act like you’re not trying to seduce me every time you breathe near me,” he whispered.
    His words stung.
    No, I thought. That’s not what this is.
    His head dipped. I tried to turn away, but his hand caught mine, pressing it behind my back as his lips ghosted the skin just beneath my collarbone. 
    “Tell me I’m wrong,” he murmured.
    His lips trailed down the curve of my collarbone, following the delicate drawstring of the off-shoulder neckline of my dress. My breath caught as his mouth lingered there, teasing, tasting. Almost instinctively, my head fell back, a soft gasp slipping from my lips.
    “You’re wrong,” I whispered, weakly, though I could barely summon the strength to resist him.
    I squirmed in his hold, but he didn’t let go. His touch was possessive. One of his hands pinned both of mine above the sink with surprising ease, while the other gripped the front of my dress and gave a sharp tug loosening the drawstring.
    The fabric slipped down my chest.
    I froze.
    The chill in the restroom was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as it dropped to my now-bared breast and I suddenly felt grateful for not wearing a bra. And then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a kiss right between my breasts.
    A tremor rippled through me.
    My back arched involuntarily, as if my body had already betrayed me craving the warmth of his mouth, the feel of his breath. He moved lower, lips brushing sensitive skin until his mouth closed over one aching peak.
    I gasped.
    His tongue circled it slowly before he suckled deep, greedy, unrelenting. A rush of sensation overwhelmed me, pleasure pooling low in my belly as my knees threatened to give out.
    He released my hands, but they didn’t fall.
    Instead, they tangled in his hair, ruffling the sleek strands as I moaned, caught in the heat and chaos of a man I was supposed to hate… but couldn’t seem to push away.