The Wrong Sister

ChapterFour

“Lena! If you’re not downstairs in thirty seconds, I’m coming up there myself!”

Claire’s voice echoed from the bottom of the staircase.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

The dress I had chosen was simple: dark green, fitted at the waist, and falling softly to my knees. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t meant to compete with Claire.

Tonight was her night. Her engagement dinner. Both families are meeting officially.

Everything about the evening had been carefully planned. Which made the strange tightness in my chest feel completely out of place.

“Lena!”

“I’m coming!” I called back.

I grabbed my heels from the floor and slipped them on quickly. My hair fell loosely over my shoulders, still slightly damp from the shower. I took one last look at my reflection.

You’re overthinking it. That was what I kept telling myself.

Last night had been reckless. Temporary. Two strangers sharing a night they both wanted to forget. No names. No tomorrow. And that’s exactly what had happened. I had left before morning complicated things. That chapter of my life was closed.

I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.

Claire stood in the hallway looking like she had just stepped out of a bridal magazine. Her cream-colored dress hugged her figure perfectly, and her blonde hair had been styled into soft waves that fell over one shoulder. A delicate diamond bracelet sparkled on her wrist. She looked radiant.

“Nine minutes,” she said, checking her phone dramatically.

“The restaurant won’t give away our table, Claire,” I said, managing a small smile.

“It’s not about the table. It’s about the impression.”

Our father walked out of the living room, adjusting his tie.

“You girls ready?”

Claire spun around excitedly.

“Yes!”

My mother appeared behind him, smoothing the sleeve of her elegant navy dress, her expression a mix of maternal pride and nervous energy. She reached out, smoothing a stray lock of my hair.

“You look beautiful, Lena,” she whispered.

“Thank you, Mom.”

Claire grabbed her purse and linked her arm through mine. “I’m so excited you're finally here for this. You finally get to meet Sebastian.”

Right. The mysterious fiancé. The man Claire had been dating for almost a year yet somehow managed to keep just out of my orbit.

“He travels constantly,” Claire had explained a dozen times whenever I asked why he hadn't made it to a family Sunday. “He’s building an empire, Lena. Empires don’t build themselves.”

Until tonight. Tonight both families were finally meeting properly. The official engagement dinner. And apparently, I was the last person in Claire’s life who hadn’t met the man she was planning to marry.

Our father drove while Claire and I sat in the back seat. “You’re going to like him. He’s smart, successful, confident…”

“Successful?” I offered.

“Incredible,” she corrected, her eyes glowing.

The car slowed in front of The Gilded Leaf, a restaurant that was a study in understated, high-net-worth luxury. Tall glass windows revealed an interior of soft gold lighting and dark wood. It was the kind of place where voices were kept low and the service was invisible.

The hostess greeted us. “Reservation?”

“King,” Claire said, her chin lifting slightly.

The hostess smiled. “Of course. Your party has already arrived.”

My father placed a gentle hand on my shoulder as we followed her deeper into the restaurant. Claire walked ahead beside my mother, chatting excitedly about the evening, while my father followed behind us.

Then the hostess stopped beside a large table near the back of the room.

Three people were already seated. A tall man in a dark suit. An elegant middle-aged woman beside him. And an elderly woman sitting calmly at the head of the table.

Claire’s face lit up instantly.

“Sebastian!”

The man stood. And my entire world tilted. Gray eyes. Sharp jawline. Dark hair slightly tousled across his forehead. My breath stopped.

It was him.

The man from the bar. The man whose voice still echoed faintly in my memory. The man who had held me in Room 1708 as if he knew every c***k in my soul..

Sebastian.

For one second he froze too. His eyes locked onto mine. Recognition flashed between us like lightning. Then it disappeared behind a perfectly controlled expression.

Claire didn't notice. She glided toward him, slipping her arm through his with the ease of long-term possession. “Everyone,” she said, her voice radiating pride, “this is my sister, Lena.”

The walk toward the table felt like moving through deep water. My legs were heavy, my pulse a frantic drum in my ears. Sebastian extended his hand across the table.

Up close, the sensory memories were overwhelming. The faint scent of sandalwood and rain. The quiet intensity of his gaze. I looked at the hand that had held mine in the dark, and for a moment, I couldn't move.

I placed my hand in his.

His fingers closed around mine. Firm. Warm. And for the briefest second, just one heartbeat, his grip tightened. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But enough to send a sharp spark racing up my arm.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. His voice was a smooth, controlled baritone that gave nothing away to the room, but his eyes remained locked on mine, searching for a sign of what I would do next.

“Yes,” I replied quietly. “Nice to meet you too.”

Claire beamed proudly between us. “Lena, this is my fiancé, Sebastian King.”

Fiancé. The word was a physical blow, a heavy weight that settled in the pit of my stomach.

The introductions continued like a blurred film. Margaret, his mother, was polite and polished. Victoria, his grandmother, was a different story. She watched the exchange with eyes that were far too sharp to be fooled by the theatrics of a dinner party.

“So, you’re the famous sister,” Victoria said, her voice laced with quiet amusement. “Claire speaks of you often.”

“I hope the reports were favorable,” I said, taking my seat.

“That depends on who you ask.” Claire replied with a faint smile.

The seating arrangement was a cruel stroke of fate. Claire sat to Sebastian’s right, which placed me directly across from him. There was nowhere to look but at him.

I lowered myself slowly into the seat. Sebastian sat down too.

For a moment our eyes met again across the table. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us could.

The waiter arrived to pour wine. The conversation began to flow, with polite inquiries about my father’s business, Margaret’s philanthropic work, and Claire’s vision for a spring wedding. My mother smiled, fully charmed by the King family’s effortless grace.

But beneath the surface, a different dialogue was happening.

Every time I looked up, I found his eyes on me. He didn't look away. He observed me like he was still trying to understand how the woman he had shared a reckless night with…

Had suddenly become his fiancée’s sister.