The Wrong Twin He Buried

The "gift" was a penthouse.

Fifty-seventh floor. Glass walls. A view of Manhattan that cost more than my dad's entire company used to be worth. The bedroom was already full of clothes in my size. Not Celeste's size - _my_ size. Dresses I'd liked on Instagram and never bought. A sketchbook with my initials. A copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ with the corners dog-eared at my favorite chapters.

I was standing in the middle of it, still in the wedding dress, when I found the safe.

Biometric. Thumbprint.

I pressed mine to it without thinking.

It opened.

Inside: a stack of cash, a passport, and a red leather diary. _Property of C. Kaine_ stamped on the cover in gold. Celeste's. I'd seen her write in it when we were kids. She stopped after Mom died. Said writing things down made them real.

The first page was dated three years ago.

_January 12th_

_I met him today. Not Dame - the other one. Lucien. He was at the Kaine Foundation gala, standing by the ice sculpture like he wanted to stab it. He doesn't look like his photos. He's thinner. Meaner. He called me Celeste and I didn't correct him. He said, "You hate these things too, don't you?" And I did. I really did._

My stomach dropped.

I flipped pages.

_February 3rd_

_Lucien kissed me behind the fundraiser tent. He tastes like whiskey and bad decisions. He thinks I'm engaged to his brother. I haven't told him. I can't. Dame looks at me like I'm a contract. Lucien looks at me like I'm a fire._

_March 19th_

_D knows. I don't know how, but he knows. He came to my apartment. Didn't yell. Just said, "You have two choices. End it, or I end him." He said it like he was discussing a stock split._

_April 1st_

_Lucien's gone. Boat accident. They said it was an accident. D told Dad it was a tragedy. He didn't even come to the funeral. He sent flowers. White roses. I hate roses. They give Elise hives._

I slammed the diary shut.

He knew. Damian knew Celeste was in love with Lucien. He knew three years ago. And he'd just told me, _"You said you'd quit the day you stopped loving me."_

But Celeste never loved him.

So who was he talking to?

A floorboard creaked behind me.

I spun, the diary clutched to my chest. Damian stood in the doorway, tie loosened, jacket off. He looked human for the first time all day. Tired.

"You found it," he said. Not a question.

"I wasn't-"

"Looking for it?" He stepped inside, shut the door. The lock clicked. "No. You were looking for her. You always are."

He knew. He knew I wasn't Celeste.

The room tilted. "Damian, I can explain-"

"Can you?" He crossed to the bar, poured two fingers of scotch. Didn't offer me one. "Explain why you've been forging her signature since you were sixteen? Explain why you took the fall for her DUI? Explain why you're wearing her dress, but you're standing in _your_ bedroom?"

Every word was a bullet. He'd counted them all.

"How long have you-"

"Known?" He drank. "Since the engagement party. You spilled red wine on your dress and didn't flinch. Celeste would have screamed. She hates merlot. You hate being embarrassed."

He set the glass down. "I proposed to her anyway."

"Why?" The word tore out of me. "If you knew she loved Lucien, if you knew I was-"

"Because she would have said no." He walked to me, slow, deliberate. Stopped a foot away. I could see the scar through his eyebrow now. It wasn't like mine. Mine was from the swing. His was surgical. Precise. "And I didn't want Celeste."

His thumb brushed my cheekbone, right under the scar. Same spot he'd touched during the kiss.

"I wanted the girl who took her punishments. The girl who memorized her coffee order. The girl who learned to drink it black, just in case."

My breath stopped.

"I wanted you, Elise."

The diary slipped from my hands.

He caught it before it hit the floor. Opened it to the last entry. One I hadn't read yet.

Dated yesterday. In handwriting I didn't recognize.

_She said yes. Finally. Get the papers ready. If Celeste runs, Elise will take her place. She always does. -D_

Yesterday. Before Celeste ran. Before I put on the dress.

He'd planned this.

The door to the penthouse slammed open.

"Hey, brother," a voice drawled from the living room. "Meet the woman who buried me."

Damian didn't even turn. "Right on time."

A man leaned against the doorframe. Same face as Damian. Same cold gray eyes. But his hair was longer. His suit was cheaper. And he had a grin that cut like a knife.

Lucien Kaine. Alive.

He looked straight at me and winked.

"You must be Elise. I've heard so much about you."