Caught In The Twin's Cruel Game

Claire Costa POV:

As I was sealing the last of Killian's boxes, my phone buzzed. It was my agent.

"Claire, I know it's last minute, but I have a job for you. A rush wedding shoot. The client is very high-profile and insisted on you specifically. The pay is... significant."

A wedding shoot. The irony was a physical blow, knocking the wind out of me. But the professional in me, the part of me that was still Claire Costa, photographer, took over.

"I'll do it," I said, my voice flat.

The location was a secluded estate in the Hudson Valley, a place of breathtaking natural beauty. We had shot our own engagement photos here. Elliot-the real Elliot-and I.

I remembered that day. The sun had filtered through the autumn leaves, casting a golden glow. He had held me, whispered promises in my ear, and looked at me with eyes I thought were full of love. Another perfect, fabricated memory.

I pushed the thought away, focusing my lens on the couple standing by the ancient oak tree.

"Hi, Claire! What a coincidence seeing you here."

I turned. It was Kassie, radiant in a designer wedding gown. And beside her, in a tailored black suit, was Elliot.

My Elliot. The real one.

His eyes met mine, and for a fraction of a second, they widened. A flicker of something-surprise? guilt?-crossed his face before it was smoothed over, replaced by his usual cool indifference. He looked away, his gaze settling on the horizon as if I were nothing more than a passing cloud.

Kassie beamed, holding out her phone. "We want the photos to have this kind of vibe," she said, showing me a gallery of pictures. "Just use these as a reference."

The photos were of them. In Paris, Rome, Tokyo. Laughing, kissing, wrapped in each other's arms. They were beautiful, intimate, and filled with a joy he had only ever pretended to feel with me.

Then I saw it. In the corner of a photo taken in front of the Eiffel Tower, a small, digital date stamp.

It was the same day I had shot our own wedding photos. While I was pledging my life to his brother, he was in Paris with her.

My throat went dry. My eyelashes fluttered, a desperate attempt to hold back the burn.

"Let's get this over with," Elliot said, his voice impatient.

I took a deep breath and raised my camera. "Of course."

A bitter smile touched my lips. It didn't matter anymore. After I filed the divorce papers, after I left for London, none of this would matter. They would just be ghosts in someone else's story.

The shoot wrapped up as dusk painted the sky in shades of purple and orange. Elliot went to get the car, leaving me alone with Kassie.

She walked over to me as I packed my equipment, her smile sharp and triumphant. "You know, Claire," she began, her voice dripping with false sympathy, "I almost feel sorry for you."

I didn't look at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She laughed, a high, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves. She pulled a platinum credit card from her tiny purse and held it out to me. "Don't play dumb. Elliot swapped places with Killian for me. So he could be with me without all the messy divorce drama. Killian was just… collateral damage. And you were the price he had to pay to keep his brother occupied."

Every word was a calculated strike.

"He was so miserable, having to pretend to be with you," she continued, her voice turning venomous. "But it was all for my happiness. This," she waved the credit card in my face, "is your compensation. For services rendered. For keeping Killian company."

She was paying me. Like a prostitute.

"Neither of them ever loved you, you know," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Elliot saw you as a sister. Killian just saw you as a prize to be won from his brother. Now, take the money and disappear. It's the least you can do."

My nails dug into my palms, the sharp pain a welcome anchor in the swirling vortex of my rage.

I finally looked at her, my eyes cold. "You want me to disappear? Fine. But you tell Elliot-the real Elliot-that I want him to show up at the courthouse himself. I want to divorce the man I actually married, not his stand-in."

I turned my back on her shocked face and walked away.

Halfway down the long, winding driveway, the sky opened up. Rain fell in cold, relentless sheets. I shielded my precious camera equipment with my body and ran, my dress soaked through, my hair plastered to my face.

By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, I was shivering, chilled to the bone.

A black sedan pulled up beside me. A man I didn't recognize got out, holding an umbrella. "Miss? You look like you could use a ride." He was kind, his eyes full of concern. He held out his coat.

As I reached for it, another hand shot out, grabbing my wrist.

I turned. It was Killian. His face was dark, his eyes stormy with an emotion I couldn't decipher.

"Who the hell is he?" he growled, his voice a low, furious rumble. He wasn't playing Elliot anymore. This was the real him.

I understood then. He wasn't worried about me. He was jealous.

I pulled my wrist from his grasp and laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "It doesn't matter who he is, Killian. He's not you. And he's not your brother. Right now, that's all I care about."