Twisted Love, Twin Hearts

I'd spent an entire week planning this birthday party.

Not because I was obsessed with celebrating my birthday, but because turning 21 in America meant everything—legal drinking age, official adulthood. More importantly, I wanted Tristan to see how seriously I took our relationship.

I'd specifically chosen Tristan's favorite—"Fly Me to the Moon." The chocolate cake from the town's best bakery sat on the table alongside cocktails I'd mixed myself.

Eight o'clock. My classmates started trickling in. My roommate Amy burst through the door first, gushing dramatically about the decorations. Then came a few literature majors, followed by some guys from Tristan's fraternity.

Everyone was warm and friendly, but my attention stayed glued to the doorway—waiting for the one person who mattered most.

Eight-thirty. Still no Tristan.

"Where the hell is he?" Amy whispered in my ear. "Didn't he say eight?"

I forced a smile. "Probably student council stuff. You know how busy he gets."

But anxiety was eating me alive. I'd checked my phone three times—no unread messages. Tristan was always punctual, especially for my stuff. I started spinning explanations in my head—emergency meeting, academic crisis, traffic jam. Anything was better than the possibility I was trying not to think about.

Nine o'clock. The door finally opened.

"You're here!" I rushed toward the entrance. "I thought maybe..."

"Sorry, emergency student council meeting." Tristan hurried out of his jacket, looking slightly out of breath. His hair was messy, and his clothes weren't as perfectly put-together as usual. "Nice setup."

That casual, polite praise—like he was complimenting a stranger's work. Not the enthusiasm a boyfriend should have for his girlfriend's birthday party.

"You okay?" I tried to link arms with him, but he just gave my shoulder a quick pat before heading toward the crowd.

'What the fuck?' I thought. 'This is my birthday, he's my boyfriend—why does this feel like he's checking off a obligation?'

Amy appeared beside me with a drink. "Why's he being so cold?" she murmured. "He seems totally distracted."

I managed a weak smile. "Probably just tired. Being student council president is stressful."

But I couldn't fool myself. Tristan's behavior was way too weird. He hadn't even wished me happy birthday, hadn't hugged me, hadn't shown any intimacy.

He was already deep in conversation with some frat brothers, completely ignoring me.

The party continued, but the vibe shifted. Other people seemed to pick up on the tension too—conversations got quieter, eyes kept darting between Tristan and me. I played the happy birthday girl, but the unease kept growing.

"I'm gonna grab some drinks from the balcony," I told Amy. I needed space to process this shit.

The sliding door to the balcony was half-open, moonlight streaming through the glass onto the floor. Music and laughter from inside seemed distant. I took a deep breath of cool autumn air, trying to calm down.

Then I saw them.

Tristan and a girl locked in a tight embrace at the far end of the balcony, kissing. In the moonlight, I could clearly see her signature golden curls and red lipstick. Celeste Hartwell. Tristan's childhood friend, the family connection, the rich girl.

They were holding each other so intimately, so naturally, like they'd rehearsed this dance a thousand times.

Tristan's hand traced her waist while her fingers tangled in his hair. What broke my heart most was the smear of Celeste's signature deep red lipstick still visible on Tristan's mouth.

I don't know how I managed to make a sound.

"You guys..."

They broke apart. Tristan frantically wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but that red stain was still obvious. Celeste smoothed her hair, no guilt whatsoever on her face—if anything, she looked smugly satisfied.

"Can you not make a scene?" Tristan looked at me with pure irritation. "It's just a game. Do you have to be such a buzzkill?"

A game? I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"So boring." Celeste rolled her eyes. "I shouldn't have bothered coming. Getting worked up over one little kiss—if she knew we used to share a bed as kids, she'd probably have a breakdown."

She said it with fake innocence, but every word was a knife to my chest. Shared a bed? How far did their relationship actually go?

"Celeste!" Tristan warned, but there was no real anger in his voice.

I felt the whole world spinning. This wasn't a game. This was betrayal. At my birthday party, in the space I'd carefully decorated, my boyfriend was making out with his childhood friend right in front of me.

'Stay calm, Ophelia,' I told myself. 'Don't lose it here. You're an adult now. Handle this with dignity.'

I took a deep breath and walked back inside. But everyone had stopped talking, twenty pairs of eyes staring at me. Obviously, they'd heard the whole exchange. The music had stopped, and the room fell into suffocating silence.

"Since it's just a game," I tried to keep my voice steady, "I guess I can play too?"

Tristan followed me in, nodding casually. "Sure. Go for it. These are all my brothers anyway."

He said it so casually, like he was discussing the weather. As if my feelings didn't matter at all, as if our year-long relationship was just some disposable accessory.

"Ophelia, don't be mad at Tristan," one of the frat guys tried to smooth things over. "It's just a game. We're all friends here."

Friends. That word sounded especially grating in my ears. I looked around at all those sympathetic but distant faces.

They felt sorry for me, but they wouldn't actually take my side. In this elite little circle, I was always the outsider—the scholarship girl who didn't deserve to be the student council president's arm candy.

'That excluded, pushed-out feeling was washing over me again.' Even at my own birthday party, I was the outsider.

Just when the awkwardness reached peak levels, Tristan made a decision that pissed me off even more.

"How about we play a game?" He clapped his hands, trying to regain control. "Truth or dare—prove we're all friends here."

Friends. That word again. He wanted to just move on, pretend nothing had happened.

Everyone else seemed relieved, eagerly jumping on the suggestion. Soon we were sitting in a circle with a deck of cards in the center. Simple rules: whoever drew the special card had to complete the corresponding challenge.

Celeste went first. She picked up a card, a sly smile spreading across her face.

"Kiss card." She announced, then looked straight at Tristan without hesitation. "I choose to kiss Tristan."

Cheers and whistles erupted around the room, but to me, all the sounds became muffled. Everyone expected a repeat performance, expected me to be humiliated again.

That's when a figure who'd been sitting quietly in the corner slowly stood up.

The entire room went silent.

It was Felix. Tristan's twin brother.

They looked identical, but Felix always stayed quietly in the background, rarely drawing attention. Most of the time, people forgot he was even there. But now, every single person was staring at him.

Felix walked toward the table without speaking, simply reached out and took the kiss card from Celeste's hand. The movement was gentle but firm, like he was claiming some kind of right.

Celeste's eyes widened in surprise. "You..."

"Game rules don't say cards can't be transferred, right?" Felix's voice was calm, but carried undeniable authority.

His gaze moved past everyone else and locked directly onto me. Those eyes—identical to Tristan's but completely different—held a depth, sincerity, and a tenderness I'd never seen before.

Then he asked the question that made the entire room fall silent:

"Do you dare?"