Caught In The Twin's Cruel Game

Claire Costa POV:

Killian opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. The raw fury in his eyes was quickly masked, replaced by the familiar, gentle concern he' d been faking for years.

"I'm just worried about you, Claire," he said, modulating his voice to sound like Elliot's. "Let me take you home."

I ignored him completely. I turned to the kind stranger, offered him a small, grateful smile, and got into his car.

An hour later, I was back at the penthouse. I expected it to be empty, but Killian was there, pacing the living room like a caged animal. The moment I walked in, he rushed towards me, the frantic "Elliot" mask firmly in place.

"Claire, you're soaked! Are you okay? You must be freezing." He tried to touch my forehead, but I sidestepped him.

They were both such good actors. The thought was a dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes. The rain had given me a pounding headache.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice clipped. "I'm going to take a shower."

I walked past him and headed for the stairs.

"Wait," he called out from behind me. "Your clothes… I've never seen you wear that style before."

I paused, my hand on the railing. He was right. Elliot had a specific taste. He preferred me in soft pastels and classic, elegant silhouettes. The simple, dark dress I had worn for the shoot today was my own choice, a small act of rebellion I hadn't even been conscious of.

A bitter smile twisted my lips. "I guess I'm trying new things," I said over my shoulder, and continued up the stairs.

I soaked in a scalding hot bath for half an hour, letting the steam and the heat seep into my bones, trying to wash away the chill of the day, the chill of the last three years. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Killian was gone. A glass of water and a small note sat on the nightstand.

Had to step out for an urgent business matter. Rest well. - E

He was still signing his notes as Elliot. The charade was exhausting. I crumpled the note and tossed it in the trash.

I opened my laptop and sent the photos from the day's shoot to my assistant. She replied almost immediately.

These are brilliant, Claire! Just a reminder, your flight to London for the fellowship is in three days. Everything is booked.

Three days. I was about to check the status of my divorce filing when another message popped up on my phone. It was from the court.

Your certificate of legal separation has been generated. It will be available for pickup in three days.

Three days. The timing was perfect. A wave of relief, so profound it was almost dizzying, washed over me.

I'll be there, I typed back to my assistant.

I took a fever reducer for my headache and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, I went downstairs to find a scene straight out of a bizarre sitcom. Elliot and Killian were both in the kitchen, fussing over Kassie, who was draped dramatically over a chaise lounge in the living room, a cold compress on her forehead.

"Here, drink this ginger tea," Elliot was saying, his voice laced with concern.

"No, this porridge is better for an upset stomach," Killian argued, holding out a bowl.

They were like two peacocks displaying their feathers for the same peahen. It would have been comical if it wasn't so pathetic.

Killian saw me first. He immediately dropped the porridge act and rushed to my side, grabbing my hand. "Claire! How are you feeling? You were so tired yesterday." He was back to being Elliot, the devoted husband.

I saw the real Elliot's gaze flicker towards Killian's hand on mine, his jaw tightening for a split second. Then his expression went smooth again.

"Kassie and I have booked a group trip to a private island resort," Elliot announced, his voice casual. "To celebrate my… our anniversary. We leave the day after tomorrow. You should come, Claire. It will be fun."

Kassie chimed in from the lounge, her voice syrupy sweet. "Yes, do come! We'll go snorkeling and have cocktails on the beach. It will be a lovely little family vacation."

The three of them chattered on about the itinerary, their voices a meaningless buzz in my ears. I felt like a ghost in my own home, an observer to a life that was no longer mine.

But I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel anything at all.

I just nodded, a faint smile on my lips. Two more days, I thought. In two days, I would have my divorce certificate. Their trip was the perfect cover.

Let them have their island. I was going to London.

This wasn't an escape. It was a perfectly executed breakout.