Caught In The Twin's Cruel Game

Killian Callahan POV:

The hum of the private jet was a dull roar in my ears. I leaned my head back against the plush leather seat and closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. An unfamiliar emptiness gnawed at me from the inside.

A picture of Claire flashed in my mind. Her face at the airport this morning. She' d hugged me goodbye, a quick, almost formal embrace. She' d smiled, but it hadn't reached her eyes. Her green eyes, usually so full of life, had been distant. There was a loneliness in her smile that made my chest tighten.

A sudden, suffocating pressure built in my lungs. She was just putting on a show, I told myself. She was mad about the whole swap, about Kassie. But she' d get over it. She always did.

Kassie was asleep in one of the private cabins. I leaned across the aisle towards my brother.

"Hey," I said, my voice low. "Send Claire a text."

Elliot didn't look up from his tablet. "Why?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, "Just… she looked upset this morning. She's probably just sulking. You know how she gets. Send her something sweet. It always works."

Elliot finally looked at me, his gaze cool and assessing. He didn't move.

The unease in my gut intensified. Screw it. I pulled out my own phone-the one I used as Killian-and typed out a quick message. Thinking of you.

I hit send. A red notification popped up instantly. Message failed to send. This user has blocked you.

Blocked me?

I snatched Elliot' s phone from the table beside him. "What's her number on this?"

I typed it in, sent the same message. The same red notification. Blocked. She had blocked both of us.

Just then, my own phone buzzed. A screenshot from one of my idiot friends in our group chat.

My blood ran cold.

It was a post from Claire's Instagram. A picture of a crisp, official-looking document. A certificate of legal separation. And below it, a single, stark sentence: Finally free. Next stop, London.

"What the hell is this?" Elliot' s voice was a low growl. He had seen the message over my shoulder. His hand shot out, grabbing the phone. His knuckles were white.

"She's just being dramatic," I said, forcing a laugh, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "She does this. Gets a fake divorce certificate online to scare you. She'll be back at the penthouse, waiting for you to come home and beg for forgiveness."

"Shut up, Killian," Elliot snapped, his voice tight with a frustration I hadn't heard in years. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair.

I watched him, a slow, mocking smile spreading across my face. "What's the matter, brother? Losing control?"

The air between us crackled with tension.

He took a deep breath, the perfect CEO regaining his composure. "Fine. When we land, I'll buy her that Birkin bag she wanted. That should smooth things over."

"You don't know how to handle her," I sneered, enjoying the flicker of irritation in his eyes. "Let me call her. I know what to say."

I held out my hand for his phone. He hesitated.

"Give it to me," I taunted. "You've been playing house with Kassie for so long, you've forgotten how your own wife works. But I haven't. For the past three years, she's been warming my bed. I know every inch of her. I know what makes her tick."

A muscle jumped in Elliot's jaw. The air grew thick with a pain so sharp it felt like my own. He was hurt. Good.

He shoved the phone into my hand. "Don't cross the line, Killian."

I ignored him, my fingers flying across the screen, dialing a number I knew by heart.

The call connected. A cold, robotic voice answered. "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

The phone felt like a block of ice in my hand. No longer in service. She hadn't just blocked us. She had erased us.

The casual confidence drained out of me, replaced by a surge of raw, animalistic panic. The veins on my temples throbbed. She was really gone.

Just then, Kassie emerged from the cabin, holding two cups of coffee. "Here you go, boys! Lighten up. We're on vacation!"

She placed a cup in front of me and one in front of Elliot. He took his with a curt nod. Kassie pouted, sitting beside him. "Elliot, you promised you'd pay attention to me on this trip."

He didn't reply, just draped a blanket over her shoulders. "Rest, Kassie."

She beamed, snuggling into his side.

I stared at the cup in front of me. The latte art was a lopsided, ugly smear. It was nothing like the perfect little hearts Claire used to make.

I remembered the first time she' d tried, her face smudged with cocoa powder, her eyes shining with excitement as she presented me-pretending to be Elliot-with her creation. "It has lavender in it!" she'd announced proudly. "For relaxation!"

It had tasted awful.

But I drank every last drop.

Then I remembered him, my goddamn brother, storming in, seeing the cup, and sneering. "What is this garbage?" He'd knocked it out of my hand, the hot liquid splashing across the floor. Claire had flinched, her bright expression crumbling. She had looked so small, so hurt, hiding behind me, tugging on my sleeve. "Elliot," she'd whispered, looking for protection.

And I, playing the part, had been her protector.

A faint smile touched my lips at the memory. But then I looked at the cold, ugly coffee in front of me, and the smile vanished. The emptiness in my chest yawned into a chasm.