The velvet box was gone by morning.
I didn't take it. I didn't touch it.
But someone did.
And the worst part? I didn't know which twin it was.
I'd spent the rest of the night pretending to sleep, pretending my heart wasn't racing like a K-drama chase scene. But every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was that ring box.
And those eyes.
Aiden's daring wink.
Adrian's silent stare.
Two different brands of chaos—and I was the idiot caught in the middle of the marketing campaign.
I shuffled into the kitchen in my bunny slippers, determined to caffeinate the confusion away. But of course, fate laughed in my face again.
Because standing there, shirtless and smug, was Aiden.
Flipping pancakes.
Wearing Adrian's apron.
"What. Are. You. Doing?" I blinked at the ridiculous sight.
He gestured to the pan like he was on a cooking show. "Making you breakfast, wifey. You looked stressed."
"I wonder why," I muttered, grabbing a mug.
"Also," he continued, completely ignoring my sarcasm, "I figured I owe you a grand romantic gesture or two."
"Is this the 'two'?" I asked, sniffing the slightly burnt pancakes.
He grinned. "Maybe."
Before I could roll my eyes into another dimension, Adrian walked in—sleep-tousled hair, grey sweatpants, and absolutely no patience.
He stopped. Took in the scene. His gaze dropped to the apron.
"Is that mine?" he asked coldly.
"Technically it's Grandma's," Aiden shot back with a sugary smile. "But you always were territorial."
I could practically feel the testosterone buzzing in the air like a bad Wi-Fi connection.
Adrian didn't say another word. He walked to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and left.
No threats.
No sarcasm.
Just… silence.
And somehow, that was worse.
⸻
Later that day, the silence grew thicker.
Aiden kept trying to charm his way into casual conversation, cracking jokes and casually brushing against me like we were on some kind of honeymoon.
Adrian avoided me entirely.
The distance between us felt deliberate—like he was pulling away before I could even reach.
And the worst part? He hadn't mentioned the ring box.
Not once.
No questions.
No accusations.
Just cold distance and clipped words.
So, naturally, I cracked.
I found him on the balcony that evening, arms folded, jaw tight, eyes staring at the skyline like it had personally betrayed him.
"Did you… get rid of it?" I asked softly, leaning on the railing beside him.
He didn't look at me. "Get rid of what?"
"The box."
Silence.
Then, finally, he sighed.
"I saw it."
My heart skipped. "And?"
"And I figured if you didn't bring it up, you didn't want to talk about it."
"I didn't know what to say," I admitted.
He turned to me then, eyes heavy. Tired. Hurt.
"Callie… Do you want him?"
The question hit harder than I expected.
"I don't know," I whispered honestly. "I think… I don't even know who he is anymore. Or who you are."
His jaw clenched. "That's fair."
There was a long pause before he said, almost too quietly, "But I wish you'd ask who I am now. Not just who I used to be."
That caught me off guard.
Because I hadn't.
I'd been so focused on surviving this mess that I hadn't realized maybe… Adrian was trying too.
Trying to make this work.
Trying to not lose me to a brother who didn't even know how much he'd broken.
I took a shaky breath. "Then… who are you now?"
He looked at me, and for the first time since we'd said fake vows, his voice was gentle.
"Someone who never wanted to be your second choice."
⸻
The next day, I got a message from an unknown number.
"You deserve the truth. Meet me at the rooftop. Tonight. Alone."
—Serena
I stared at the screen, my hands trembling.
Because there's one thing worse than choosing the wrong twin.
It's finding out the right one… might be lying too.