First step

The next morning, the world looked exactly the same — sunlight filtering through the curtains, the faint hum of traffic outside, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. But for Lilly, nothing was the same anymore.

Her heart still carried the burn of betrayal, yet her face was calm, almost serene. There was no trace of the storm she held inside. Not a flicker of anger, not a single question. Because now, she knew the rules of the game — and she was going to play it better than both of them.

She had learned one thing from James: appearances were everything.

So, she would wear her calm like armor.

James entered the kitchen with his usual confidence — the kind that made him believe the world spun around him. He kissed her cheek casually, like a man sure of his place, and poured himself coffee.

“Going to the track later,” he said, checking his watch. “Justin might handle a few of my calls today, so if you get any mixed-up messages, that’s why.”

Lilly smiled faintly, her expression soft but unreadable. “Of course. I know how you two work.”

He laughed lightly, missing the hidden meaning in her words.

She watched him over the rim of her teacup — the way his eyes darted from his reflection in the glass to his phone, how he barely noticed her gaze. His confidence was almost poetic in its blindness.

For years, she had been the quiet woman behind his success, his alibi, his perfect façade. Now she realized how easily he had taken that loyalty for granted.

But not anymore.

When James left that morning, Lilly’s act began in full.

She watched, waited, and noted every detail of the brothers’ movements — when they switched, how long each stayed, what subtle gestures gave them away. Justin, she noticed, always hesitated before knocking on her door — as if afraid of crossing some invisible line. James never hesitated about anything.

Justin’s tone was softer when he spoke. James’ was clipped, impatient.

She began testing them in small ways.

One evening, when “James” came home early, she greeted him with the faintest curve of a smile. “Rough day?” she asked.

The man nodded, loosening his tie. “You could say that.”

She stepped closer, her eyes calm but sharp. “Did someone help with that presentation today?”

He froze for a second — a flicker of hesitation, so brief it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But not by her.

That pause told her everything.

She smiled to herself, turning away to hide the satisfaction in her eyes.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said softly, pretending not to notice.

She was sure now. It was Justin.

From that evening onward, Lilly began her play.

When it was James, she behaved just as she always had — polite, warm on the surface, but slightly distant, reflecting the coldness he once showed her. He barely noticed. To him, it was just a mood swing, something temporary.

But when it was Justin, her demeanor changed. Subtly, carefully.

Her voice softened. Her glances lingered a little longer. She brushed past him just close enough for him to notice — never enough to cross a line, but enough to make his heart skip once, maybe twice.

Justin tried to ignore it. He told himself it was just the role — that Lilly thought he was James, and that her closeness meant nothing. But somewhere deep down, the lie began to crumble.

Because when she smiled at him, his chest tightened.

When she laughed softly — that quiet, wounded sound he had never truly noticed before — he wanted to reach out and protect her.

And every time he had to walk away, pretending to be his brother, something inside him twisted painfully.

One afternoon, Justin came to the house to fill in for James, who was out racing with his friends again. Lilly was in the garden, trimming her white lilies — the irony of the flower’s name not lost on her.

“You take good care of them,” Justin said, his voice quiet, cautious.

“They’re the only things that don’t lie to me,” Lilly replied, still focused on her work.

He looked at her, his brows knitting slightly. “That’s… an odd thing to say.”

She turned then, meeting his eyes — a look that held both sorrow and something else. Something deeper. “Is it?”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air was thick — with unsaid truths, unspoken guilt, and something dangerously close to longing.

Justin finally cleared his throat, stepping back. “I should go check James’ emails,” he murmured.

Lilly smiled faintly. “Of course. You wouldn’t want to mix up your roles.”

He froze, her words slicing through the calm like a blade. But when he turned, her face was serene, her expression unreadable.

“Your roles,” she repeated, gently brushing the petals of a flower. “You two always manage them so well.”

Justin’s heart pounded. He wanted to ask what she meant. But he didn’t. Instead, he walked away, his mind filled with a fear he couldn’t name — and an attraction he couldn’t suppress.

That night, when Justin returned — again pretending to be James — Lilly let the mask slip just a little more.

She poured him wine, the light of the candles catching the curve of her face. Her laughter came easier now, but her eyes… her eyes were dangerous — too calm, too knowing.

Justin felt it again — that pull, that ache. He hated himself for it. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. He wasn’t supposed to notice the way her fingers grazed when she handed him the glass, or how her scent lingered when she walked past.

He told himself it was wrong, that she was his brother’s wife.

But then she looked at him — not like a wife, not like a stranger, but like a woman who had seen through every wall he built — and for a fleeting second, Justin forgot to breathe.

He excused himself soon after, retreating into his car, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white.

“Get it together,” he whispered to himself. “She thinks you’re James. That’s all. She doesn’t know.”

But somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered the truth he refused to face:

She does know.

Inside the house, Lilly watched his car disappear through the fog.

Her pulse was steady. Her lips curled into a small, calculated smile.

She had seen the hesitation in his eyes. The way his voice faltered, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long. The battle he was fighting within himself — between loyalty and desire — was beginning.

And she would let it burn.

James had played her once. Used his brother to deceive her.

Now, she would use that same deception to destroy him.

But even as she told herself that, a small, stubborn ache pulsed in her chest. Because Justin — quiet, gentle Justin — wasn’t like James. He didn’t deserve to be a pawn in this war.

Yet she had no choice.

In order to make James fall, she needed Justin to fall first.

Lilly closed her eyes, the sound of the night settling around her.

In the distance, a thunderstorm began to roll in, faint and slow — just like the one building between the three of them.

And in that storm, one truth became clear:

No one — not even the twins — would ever be able to tell who was playing whom anymore.

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