Pregnant Woman's Flight from Betrayed Fiancé

I couldn't remember falling asleep on the couch. The memorial service paperwork lay scattered across the coffee table, half-completed forms that made Marcus's death feel bureaucratic, as if his existence could be summarized in checkboxes and signature lines. A soft knock at the door startled me awake.

When I opened it, Daniel stood there, his familiar silhouette making my heart stutter with that cruel moment of forgetting. For a split second, I saw Marcus. Then reality crashed back.

"I brought these," he said, holding out a bouquet of stargazer lilies. "Marcus mentioned they were his favorite."

My hand trembled as I took them. "They were. How did you know?"

"Brothers share things," he said with a sad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "May I come in?"

I stepped aside, watching as Daniel entered our—my—condo. His gaze swept the room in a deliberate way that reminded me of Marcus, taking in the wedding magazines still stacked on the bookshelf, the framed photo of us in Santorini, my engagement ring now hanging from a chain around my neck.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, moving toward the kitchen with the casual familiarity of someone who knew the layout. I hadn't noticed that before.

"I'm not hungry," I replied, following him. "But thank you."

Daniel filled a vase with water for the lilies, his movements precise. "Marcus would want you to take care of yourself, Victoria."

Hearing Marcus's name in Daniel's voice—so similar yet subtly different—sent a fresh wave of pain through me. I traced the rim of my empty teacup, a habit that had intensified since that midnight phone call.

"I need to sort through his things," I said suddenly. "The CIA wants his personal effects... cataloged."

Daniel nodded. "I can help."

In our bedroom, I pulled out the box where Marcus kept his personal items. Cufflinks. Watches. The ticket stubs from our first date at the Kennedy Center. Daniel stood by the window, hands in his pockets, watching me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.

"He never told me about you," I said, the words escaping before I could stop them. "That you were twins."

Something flickered across Daniel's face. "Marcus was... protective of his personal life. Even from those he loved."

I nodded, pulling open Marcus's nightstand drawer. Among the usual items—a book, reading glasses, spare charging cables—was a phone I'd never seen before. Sleek. Black. No case.

"What's this?" I murmured, turning it over in my hand.

Daniel crossed the room quickly. "Probably work-related. You should give that to Agent Miller."

But I'd already pressed the power button. The screen lit up, showing one missed call and a voicemail notification. From someone named Sarah.

"Who's Sarah?" I asked, my voice hollow.

Daniel reached for the phone. "Victoria, CIA operatives maintain multiple covers. It could be anyone."

I pulled away, my finger hovering over the voicemail. The timestamp caught my eye—11:42 PM, just thirty-five minutes before Agent Miller had called me with news of Marcus's death.

Before I could press play, Daniel gently took the phone from my hand. "This isn't how you want to remember him," he said softly. "Trust me."

I let him take it, suddenly exhausted by the weight of questions I wasn't sure I wanted answered.

"You need something to wear," Daniel said later as we sat in the living room, the lilies now arranged in the center of the coffee table. "For the memorial."

I looked down at my sweatpants and Marcus's old Georgetown t-shirt. "I have black dresses."

"Let me take you shopping," he insisted. "A new dress. Something... worthy of the occasion."

I wanted to refuse, but the thought of facing my closet, of choosing something Marcus had seen me in, was suddenly unbearable.

"Okay," I whispered.

Two hours later, Daniel guided me through an exclusive boutique in Georgetown, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back—just where Marcus used to place his. The sales associate brought out dress after dress, each one more somber than the last.

"This one," Daniel said finally, holding up a sleek black sheath with a high neckline. "It's perfect."

As I stood in the fitting room, staring at my reflection in the elegant black dress, I felt a confusing surge of emotions. Gratitude toward Daniel for his kindness. Guilt for leaning on him so heavily. And something else—a strange comfort in his presence that felt both healing and wrong.

I traced my finger over the damaged engagement ring hanging from my necklace. What would Marcus think of me finding solace in his brother's arms? The brother he'd never even told me existed?

As Daniel paid for the dress, I caught him watching me in the store mirror, his expression unreadable. For the briefest moment, I saw something in his eyes that made my skin prickle—something that didn't belong in the gaze of a grieving brother.

Then it was gone, replaced by that now-familiar gentle smile as he handed me the shopping bag.

"Ready to go home?" he asked.

I nodded, following him out of the store, trying to ignore the whisper of unease that had begun to curl around my heart like smoke.