Switched at Birth, Chosen by Fate

~Chloe Home is where you feel safe. I never knew what that felt like. Mine was where my soul went to burn. “Chloe, let me clean off your makeup smear..” My twin sister, who always treated me like a rotten egg, suddenly cared. For years, we lived like strangers. Not strangers, like royalty and a servant. She wouldn’t let me get close to her, and here? Here she is, sitting next to me like a second skin. “Ohhh, thank you,” I said, voice low, eyebrows lifted slightly. Of course, I was surprised, but I didn't show it. I didn't give her the satisfaction. “It's your big day. I want you to be happy.” She said, her voice sweet and airy, cupping my cheeks. My skin crawled, and my lips tilted a bit. I wasn't sure of what to say. So, I didn't respond. My white satin nightwear clung to my skin like the mystery behind her sudden affection. The bridesmaids had returned to their respective rooms after the celebration, all of which was Carrie's idea. Her smile held a depth I couldn't fathom. I forced a smile in return—plastic and fake. My throat went dry, and I looked around the room, my gaze landing on the two glasses of wine I had served for me and Tristan. He promised to come after partying with his friends. I stretched towards the table and picked up a glass of wine, trying to distract myself from whatever drama she was about to perform. Carrie's soft hand met mine, our gaze locked. “Let's fix this, Chloe; the wine can always wait.” She said softly. “I'm changed. I've always wanted to talk about it… I didn't find a better avenue to. And now that you're getting married, I couldn’t delay it any longer.” She added, almost desperately. I slipped my hands from hers. She had done it once, years ago, but it was still fresh in my memory. She apologized and cried. Then, the next day. She switched again. That's all it had ever been. A calculated dance. A performance. Maybe she got too bored this time. And decided to try something new. She sighed in defeat. “I know how I must have treated you. You're my sister. We lived in our mother's womb for months…alone. It was just us. I'm sorry.” She sniffed and pulled me into a hug. For a while, I hesitated; my hands remained by my side. Then, I wrapped my hands around her trembling body. Her heartbeat echoed in my ears. I didn't want to press further. I didn't want to ask questions. So, I decided to let it slide. I'm getting married. “I'm sorry, Chloe,” she cried, her voice cracked like the edges of the wall in between us. She broke the hug and held my shoulders, scanning through my eyes. Not just watching. Studying. She was silent, unsure if she was losing me or she'd already lost me. Two soft knocks landed on the door. Tristan entered, and my mood lifted again. “Hi, Carrie.” He glanced at her before, and she smiled back before he settled his eyes on me. I focused on him; his brown eyes glinted. He walked towards me, leaned in, and whispered into my ear, “One more day, my queen. I need to see you for a moment.” He bit my earlobe, and I winced. My cheeks flamed at the attention he drew towards me. “I'll be there.” A smile spread on my lips, dancing in my eyes. He looked up, winked, and left. A tense silence dropped. My gaze lingered on the door almost involuntarily. Carrie cleared her throat, snapping me out of my trance. “You love him, don't you?” Unsure of the reply to give, I nodded. Do you mind me having Tristan's wine?” Her wide, almond-shaped eyes sparkled as she tilted her head, her voice soft and airy. “I don't mind.” I nudged her shoulders and smiled. I picked up the second glass and downed it in seconds. I would have hesitated, but I served the wine. “Would you come with me to a party? I don't want to be alone.” She pouted, staring at me with puppy eyes. Oh. It was because she needed an escort. All the facades… I couldn’t believe I felt special for a moment. Questions screamed in my head. Is that the reason behind your fake apology? I wanted to ask her. To throw the truth in her face and watch her try to spin it into some twisted story. “Sure, I will.” I flashed her a half-smile. I knew I wouldn't, but I acted along to avoid long conversations. A wave of dizziness flashed through me and I tried to fight it. I don't drink. I removed the little crown on my head. Suddenly, it felt like a heavy load, pressing down my neck. A sudden heat rushed down my spine. My body craved contact—raw and direct. My mind sensed something was wrong; maybe the wine has a high alcohol content. “Chloe, I feel dizzy, or maybe I want to sleep.” I muttered, my eyes closing up slowly. It felt like the ground was catching up with me. “I need to get to Tristan's room. I promised to see him.” “Let's take a walk. I'll hold you. We can even have a night view on the balcony. No more wines.” She helped me up, and I slipped my hands into the crook of her arm. “You drank too much…or rather too fast.” “Mmm,” I swallowed. We walked into the hotel hallway; similar doors stretched on both sides. Every step was like a lightning bolt to my aching core. I'd pause at intervals, clench my thighs, and writhe my waist. I paused at a heartbeat. “What's happening to me?” Carrie looked at me, caressing my arm. “You're paranoid when you're drunk.” “I'm not drunk,” I said, my voice low but certain. I yawned to distract myself from the burning in my throat. My blurry gaze swept across the floor. The hallway lights fractured into a mess—spreading in all directions. “You're drunk, Chloe,” she said softly, touching my hair. “I'll take you to Tristan.” I wanted to persist. To tell her I wasn't drunk. To defend myself. I discouraged myself. Maybe I was really drunk. When she mentioned taking me to Tristan, it was a reason for me not to argue anymore. We reached a door, and she stopped. The room number wasn't clear; it looked like an illusion. “Is—is this Tristan's room?” I asked. I caught a whiff of his cologne and nodded. “Yes, Chloe. See you tomorrow.” She let me in.