My Fucking Twin Stole Everything

Seraphina's POV

The camera flashes exploded around me like tiny suns, but none of them were meant for me.

I stood in the corner of the backstage area at New York Fashion Week, methodically folding scattered fabric scraps while my twin sister basked in the spotlight just twenty feet away.

"Miss Vincent, what inspired this stunning collection?" The reporter's voice carried that breathless excitement reserved for fashion royalty.

Isadora's laugh tinkled like expensive champagne glasses. "These designs come from deep within my artistic soul. I've known since childhood that I was destined to be a designer."

'Liar!'

The word burned in my throat, but I swallowed it like I'd swallowed every other truth for the past twenty-five years.

My hands trembled as I gathered the silk remnants—the same silk I'd spent three sleepless nights perfecting.

"The Aurora brand represents my vision of feminine power," Isadora continued, her voice honey-sweet for the cameras. "Every piece tells a story of strength through beauty."

My story. My strength. My sleepless nights.

Twelve years old, standing in our family's grand parlor, clutching the miniature dress I'd spent weeks creating.

"Mom, look what I made!"

But Isadora pirouetted into the room with practiced grace. "Actually, Mama, I taught Sera how to do that. She just copied what I showed her."

Mother's smile transferred from me to her golden child without hesitation. "Isadora, you're such a little genius!"

"Mom, that's not—"

"Seraphina, don't be jealous of your sister's talent."

The dress slipped from my fingers, forgotten.

Later that night, I climbed to my sanctuary—the attic where truth lived in fabric and thread. This was where my real work existed: designs that would never see a runway, sketches that would never bear my name.

"Someday," I whispered to the shadows, "the world will know who the real designer is."

The floorboards creaked behind me.

"Jesus, Sera, this is incredible." Jesse Cole stood in the doorway, his blue eyes wide with genuine awe. My childhood best friend stepped into my hidden world like he was entering a cathedral.

"Jesse! How did you—"

"The window latch is still broken from when we were kids." His familiar grin made my chest tight. "I wanted to see you before I flew back to London."

He moved through my workspace like he belonged there. When he reached my latest creation, he actually gasped.

"This is museum-quality work, Sera. You're wasting away in this house."

"I'm fine—"

"Bullshit." The word cracked like a whip. "You're dying here. Slowly, quietly, but you're dying."

My vision blurred.

'Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.'

"Come with me. Let me help you build your own studio, your own brand. You deserve to have your name in lights, not hiding in shadows."

Hope was a dangerous thing. It hurt too much.

He pulled out a small velvet box. "I brought this from Paris."

The vintage Cartier necklace was breathtaking—diamonds that caught the moonlight like captured tears.

"I want you to have this," he said, stepping behind me to fasten the clasp. "As a promise. I'll protect your dreams, Sera."

The necklace felt like a tether to possibility, to a life beyond these walls.

"You really mean it?"

"I'd use my life to protect what matters to you. That's a promise."

What I didn't know was that Isadora had followed Jesse upstairs. She'd watched from the shadows as he praised my work, as he offered me escape, as he touched me with tenderness.

Three hours later, I crept to my bedroom to gather my portfolio. Jesse was picking me up at dawn. By nightfall, I'd be free.

As I approached my bedroom door, I heard it—soft moaning, breathless gasps that made my blood freeze.

The sounds were muffled but unmistakable. My hand trembled on the doorknob.

I pushed the door open and the world shattered.

Jesse's clothes were scattered across my floor like discarded promises. Isadora's dress—my design—lay crumpled by the bed.

And there, on my sheets, my twin sister arched beneath Jesse's moving form, her pale skin gleaming in the moonlight as she gasped his name.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingers clawing at his back as he moved inside her with desperate intensity. The sounds of their coupling filled my sacred space—wet, rhythmic, obscene.

My portfolio hit the floor with a crash that might as well have been the sound of my world ending.

"Jesse..." The word came out broken.

He froze mid-thrust, his head snapping toward me, sweat glistening on his chest.

Panic flooded his face as he scrambled away from Isadora. "Sera, I can explain—"

"Explain what?" Isadora made no move to cover her naked body, sitting up slowly, deliberately letting me see everything. Her voice was silk and poison, her smile triumphant and cruel. "Some things were never meant to be yours, my dear sister."

The Cartier necklace around my throat suddenly felt like a noose.

I ran.

Down the stairs, through the house, into the night that swallowed my screams. The necklace bounced against my chest with each step—a beautiful lie, a promise turned to ash.