Sisters And Swords
1302 Words
Dora didn’t knock. She never did.
Which was why she burst into the guest wing ready to scream about whatever Aanya had left on the bathroom floor—only to stop dead in her tracks.
There, perched like royalty on the edge of the chaise lounge, was her own face—sleeked-back hair, flawless posture, and a judgmental cup of tea balanced in her perfectly manicured hand.
“Dara?” Dora deadpanned.
Her twin smiled without warmth. “Surprised to see me?”
“Horrified, actually.”
“You look like you’ve been stress-eating again.”
“You look like you’ve been plotting the next recession.”
Dara stood slowly, brushing nonexistent dust from her tailored beige blazer. “Father sent me.”
Dora groaned, flopping onto the nearest chair. “Of course he did. Let me guess—he thinks I’m slacking on the arranged marriage front?”
“Not just thinks, Dora. He’s worried. The Morvain company can’t afford to stall any longer. That alliance is crucial.”
“So is my sanity.”
“You’ve never had that.”
Dora threw a pillow at her, which Dara dodged with a smile. “You’re marrying him, Dora. Whether you hate him or not. That’s what we were raised for.”
“No, that’s what you were raised for. I’m the twin who made it through boarding school without threatening a professor.”
“And yet here I am, about to save the Morvain name from complete collapse while you drink mimosas and fall in hate with your fiancé.”
“I don’t even know the guy.”
“Well, you’d better get to know him fast,” Dara said, voice cooling. “Because the engagement dinner is in two weeks. And I’m not letting you embarrass the family.”
Dora stood, hands on her hips. “You don’t scare me, Dara.”
“Good,” Dara said, walking toward the door. “Because your future husband will.”
And with that, she swept out like she hadn’t just dropped a verbal nuke in the middle of Dora’s week.
---
The Morvain estate dining room was decked out like it was hosting royalty. Polished silver, crystal glasses, candlelight flickering just enough to make everything feel more suffocating than warm.
Dora sat stiffly at the long table, wedged between her twin sister Dara and an empty chair that screamed someone important is late.
“Just smile and be civil,” Dara whispered for the third time, topping up Dora’s wine with robotic grace.
“I am smiling,” Dora gritted, her lips barely twitching.
“You look like you’re about to stab someone with a salad fork.”
“That’s my version of charm.”
Across the table, her father cleared his throat dramatically. “Ah, here he is now.”
Footsteps echoed.
Dora turned.
And nearly choked on her Pinot Noir.
Cassian Trent strolled into the room like he owned it—and based on his tailored charcoal suit and the way everyone subtly shifted to accommodate him, he probably did. His dark eyes scanned the room casually… until they landed on her.
A flicker of recognition. A twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“You.”
“No,” Dora said before she could stop herself, eyes wide. “No freaking way.”
Cassian raised an eyebrow and took the empty seat beside her with a slow, theatrical grace.
“Nice to see you again. Still hoarding gelato, or have you moved on to world domination?”
Her fork nearly snapped in her grip.
Dara coughed into her napkin. “You two… know each other?”
“She stole the last pistachio gelato,” Cassian said blandly.
“She let it melt in the sun,” Dora snapped. “Justice was served.”
Her father’s brow furrowed. “You two have already met? That’s—well, unexpected. Saves us the awkward introductions.”
“Not really,” Dora muttered.
Cassian poured himself a glass of wine, cool and unaffected. “I believe the term is kismet.”
Dora leaned toward Dara. “What are the odds that out of every man in the country, it’s him?”
Cassian smirked. “Higher than you’d think. My father’s very thorough with marriage contracts.”
Dora blinked. “You knew?”
“No I didn't you dimwit. You think I'd want get married to a little brat like you?”
“As if you're any better.” Dora rolled her eyes.
“Can't believe we're stuck together. I must have killed a nation in my past life to end up with a douchebag as a husband.”
The adults continued with their cheerful small talk—completely unaware of the hurricane brewing at the younger end of the table.
As the main course arrived, Dora leaned back and crossed her arms. “If you think I’m going to make this easy, you’re delusional.”
Cassian dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin. “Good. I get bored easily.”
Their parents toasted to unity. Cassian and Dora raised their glasses too.
Neither drank.
"I object to this Dad" Dora threw the napkin on the table and stomped off.
---
The wine was long gone, but the bitterness lingered.
Dora slammed the bathroom cabinet shut, mascara wand clutched like a dagger, eyes locked on her twin’s reflection in the mirror. Dara leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, cool as ice.
“You embarrassed the entire Morvain line,” Dara said, tone crisp as glass. “At a dinner meant to seal a business alliance.”
“Oh no,” Dora replied, fanning fake horror across her face. “Did I spill wine on the sacred blood pact?”
Dara’s eyes narrowed. “Keep joking, Dora. You always think rebellion makes you special. It doesn’t. It makes you reckless.”
“And what does selling your sister to a stranger make you?” Dora snapped. “Practical?”
“If the shoe fits.”
Dora spun to face her, mascara still in hand. “You really think I’m just going to roll over and play wifey to some smug ice-cream-stealing demon in a suit?”
“He’s not a demon,” Dara said. “He’s a deal. One that keeps our family's company out of the ground.”
“Then you marry him.”
“Don’t be childish.”
“No—don’t be cold.” Dora’s voice rose. “You act like this is just another Morvain chess move. But it’s my life, Dara. Not a merger.”
Dara stepped closer, voice dropping to a blade-thin whisper. “And if you ruin this, you don’t just lose Cassian. You lose your say in anything. Dad will marry you off to someone worse, someone who won’t even banter with you in the frozen aisle.”
Dora stared her down. “Let him try.”
Dara gave a tight smile, the kind that meant she’d already played her next five moves. “You think you’re untouchable. But we both know I was always the one who got things done.”
“And we both know I was the one people actually liked. That's why you pulled off that sickening move back in highschool”
A dangerous flicker passed over Dara’s face.
Dora caught it. “That’s what eats you up, isn’t it? That no matter how perfect you pretend to be—you’ll always be a shadow. Doesn't matter how hard you try Dara, the original would always be preffered.”
Dara’s hand tightened on the doorframe. “Keep testing me, Dora. I know how to get my way around things and you definitely don't want to lose this one to me – again"
Dora leaned in, nose to nose. “Try your worst b***h"
- Writer
