Betrayed by Twins

"Tell me about the day shift and night shift," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the hurricane raging inside me.

The twins exchanged glances. Sawyer sat up straighter while Reece's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Harper, you're upset about those photos," Reece said smoothly. "I understand, but now isn't the time for accusations."

"Two years," I whispered, my voice gaining strength. "Two years of my life as your experiment."

Before either could respond, my phone rang. Professor Morrison's name flashed on the screen. I answered, desperate for any escape from the nightmare before me.

"Harper, I need to see you immediately," she said, her voice uncharacteristically strained.

Thirty minutes later, I sat in her office, staring at the letter she'd placed before me.

"I don't understand," I said, reading it again. "My recommendation was withdrawn? How is that possible?"

"I'm as confused as you are," Professor Morrison said, though something in her eyes suggested otherwise. "But Harvard just informed me they've accepted Teresa Hill based on the strength of my recommendation."

"Your recommendation for her? But you were writing one for me."

She looked away. "The department only allows me one elite recommendation per year. Somehow, Teresa received it."

I left her office in a daze. The recommendation I'd worked toward for years—gone. Given to Teresa Hill, the girl Reece actually wanted.

Two days later, the campus emergency system blared across the quad. Teresa Hill had been in a car accident just outside the campus gates. I was walking to class when Reece appeared, grabbing my arm with unusual urgency.

"Harper, I need your help," he said, his typically cold eyes now animated with panic. "Teresa needs a blood transfusion. You're the only O-negative match available on campus."

"Why would I help her?" I asked, yanking my arm away. "After everything?"

"Because despite what you think of me, she's innocent," he said. "And you're not a monster."

He was right about that, at least. I wasn't a monster—unlike him.

At the campus medical center, everything happened quickly. No time for proper screening, they said. Emergency protocol. I watched the needle slide into my arm, my blood flowing through the tube. One pint. Then another. The room began to spin.

"That's enough," I heard a nurse say distantly. "She's given too much."

"Just a bit more," Reece's voice. Cool. Calculated. "Teresa needs it."

Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw was Reece standing over me, his expression unreadable as the world faded away.

I woke to beeping machines and the sterile smell of hospital disinfectant. According to the nurse, I'd been unconscious for three days. Severe anemia from excessive blood loss. Meanwhile, Teresa Hill had made a miraculous recovery and been discharged the previous day.

I was still processing this information when two police officers entered my room.

"Harper Stevens?" one asked, though he clearly knew who I was. "You're under arrest for tampering with Teresa Hill's vehicle with intent to cause bodily harm."

"What? That's impossible—I was in class when—"

"Save it for your attorney," the second officer said, producing handcuffs.

They allowed me to dress, then marched me through the hospital. Nurses and patients stared as I passed. Outside, a patrol car waited. The campus newspaper photographer captured the moment—Columbia's fallen "pure goddess" now an accused criminal.

The processing at the county jail stripped away whatever dignity I had left. Fingerprinted. Photographed. Personal items cataloged and taken. I changed into an orange jumpsuit, the fabric stiff and smelling of industrial detergent.

"Well, well," said a woman with tattooed arms as I was led to a holding cell. "If it isn't the college princess. Saw your pictures online, sweetheart. Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

Others in the cell recognized me too—the campus scandal had apparently reached beyond university borders. For three days, I endured their taunts, slept on a hard bench, and used a toilet with no privacy. Three days of complete humiliation, each minute stretching into eternity.

On the third day, the charges were mysteriously dropped due to "insufficient evidence." No explanation. No apology. I was simply processed out and left standing on the sidewalk outside the jail, wearing the same clothes I'd been arrested in, clutching a plastic bag containing my few possessions.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard a bird singing. Such a normal sound in a world that had become anything but normal.