Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister

Ava Miller POV:

I woke up in the back of a moving car.

My teeth were chattering so hard I thought they would crack under the pressure.

Donovan was on the phone in the front seat, his voice low and tight.

He sounded frantic.

"She was mumbling something," he said to the person on the other end. "About leaving. About a contract."

He hung up abruptly when he saw me moving in the rearview mirror.

Without stopping the car, he climbed into the back seat.

He wrapped a heavy blanket around me, tucking it in tight.

His hands were trembling.

"What did you mean?" he asked.

His eyes were searching mine, desperate for reassurance.

"You said 'It's over.' You said 'I'm free.' What did you mean?"

I looked at him, my expression blank.

He looked guilty. Guilt was written in every line of his face.

Good.

"I was dreaming," I whispered, my voice raspy. "I was delirious."

He let out a shaky breath.

He pulled me against his chest, burying his face in my neck.

"I'm sorry," he said into my hair. "I had to. She was hysterical."

I didn't hug him back.

I sat there frozen, unyielding, like a statue.

*

The next day, Chloe sent an invitation.

A charity party on the Blackwood Yacht.

Ostensibly, it was to celebrate her recovery.

And to celebrate the "unity" of the family.

It was a trap.

I knew it was a trap. Every instinct screamed at me not to go.

But I put on a white dress anyway. I would not hide.

I walked onto the boat, head held high.

Music was playing. Champagne was flowing.

Chloe was holding court in the center of the deck, surrounded by admirers.

She saw me and smiled.

It was the smile of a predator spotting wounded prey.

She walked over, linking her arm through Donovan's possessively.

"Look who decided to show up," she said loudly, drawing the room's attention. "The mermaid."

People laughed.

Donovan looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight.

"Stop it, Chloe," he muttered.

She ignored him completely.

She cornered me by the railing as the crowd dispersed.

We were alone for a moment.

"You're a good actress," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "Giving me blood? Pretending to be weak? I know you're plotting something."

"I'm leaving," I said quietly. "You can have him."

She laughed, a cold, sharp sound.

"I don't just want him," she said. "I want you destroyed."

Suddenly, the boat lurched violently.

A massive wave from a passing tanker hit the side of the yacht.

Chloe stumbled.

She grabbed my dress to steady herself, her fingers digging into the fabric.

We both went over the rail.

We hit the water together with a bone-jarring splash.

This time, there were no bodyguards on the pier.

We were in the deep ocean.

The current was strong, pulling at my limbs.

My dress was heavy, soaking up water instantly. It dragged me down.

Chloe was screaming, thrashing in the water panic taking over.

"Help! Donovan!"

I saw the spotlight from the boat sweep over the dark water.

A rescue boat was lowered rapidly.

Donovan was at the bow, screaming.

I treaded water, trying to keep my head up against the weight of the gown.

The rescue boat got close.

It was between us.

They could reach me. Or they could reach her.

"Grab my wife!" a guard shouted, reaching toward me.

"No!" Donovan's voice cut through the wind. It was a primal roar.

"Get Chloe! Get Chloe first!"

The crew hesitated, confused.

"DO IT!" he screamed.

The boat turned away from me.

They reached for Chloe.

I stopped kicking.

A strange calm settled over me.

He chose.

Again.

He would always choose her.

I let the water take me.

I sank beneath the surface.

It was quiet down here.

Then, pain exploded in my leg.

Something struck me hard.

Debris? A shark? The propeller?

I didn't know.

The water turned red around me.

My vision went black.

The last thing I heard was the muffled sound of Donovan screaming my name.

But by then, it was already too late.