The Twin Pact

Chapter Three - Charlotte

The wedding is grander than I ever thought possible. To the point I feel like I've stepped into a dream.

Flash after flash of dozens of cameras. Lavish decorations. The most influential and wealthy trooping into the church.

My mother walks up the front steps, looking beautiful in a shimmering turquoise dress.

“Enough pictures.” She motions for the paparazzi to step back. “Her groom is waiting.” She’s beaming so much that I can’t tell the difference between her smile and the flash of the cameras.

Grabbing my elbow, she turns me toward the doors.

“Let's go.”

Panic wraps around my heart like a vise. The bouquet in my hands feels too heavy, and the bejeweled white dress and accessories feel like shackles.

Shackles Scarlett has made me wear.

The church is breathtaking and silent, except for rapid shutter sounds and the wedding song.

“Don't forget why you're doing this,” my mother whispers as we walk down the aisle.

I want to cry. I shouldn't be here. The sidelines are where I belong, cheering Scarlett.

Despite being the oldest twin, Scarlett has always been the strongest. This was her plan.

“I'm scared.” My lips barely move, my tears growing.

“We can't turn back now. Suck it up,” is the reply I get before the aisle finally ends and my mother drops me off at the altar.

Stefan stands beside me, tall, dark and handsome. In an elegant suit that enhances the dark pits of his green eyes and matches his black hair.

He looks like a completely different man.

I would've appreciated the sight if my stomach wasn't knotted with nerves,

His best man stands a foot away, impassive, stone-faced. His sandy coloured hair and brown eyes are the only outstanding features.

Out of the corner, I spot my mother talking discreetly with the actress pretending to be the other twin, wearing a hat that covers most of her face.

“Are you okay?” Stefan’s voice startles me. The soft way it sounds.

“Yes.” I blink back my tears and manage a shaky smile. “Let’s get it over with.”

I stiffen when his hand slips into mine and squeezes. We face the altar.

“Dear friends,” the priest begins, “we're gathered here today to celebrate the love of two beautiful souls…” He drones on, and too soon it's time for the vows.

My face smiles as I say my vows, my voice breaks with emotions I don't feel, and my hands squeeze Stefan's.

I barely hear Stefan’s vows. He looks so happy, so “in love”. Nobody can tell he's acting. That deep down, his hatred for me boils like lava.

His ring slips onto my finger, cold and final like a noose.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The priest beams. Riotous applause surges from the crowd along with the blinding flashes.

“You may kiss the bride.”

My gaze snaps into focus at the words. I cast a panicked glance at Stefan, who has moved closer with a lopsided grin.

“Madly in love,” he whispers like a warning before cupping my face and kissing me.

My body goes rigid.

The kiss is gentle, probing as if he's telling me to play my part, to kiss him back.

But I can't. I shouldn't.

His hand slips around my waist, pulling me closer, his lips urging me to give in.

Every thought flees from my head as I give in and kiss him back.

I pour everything into it. My aching panic, my anger, my hurt, all my fear. He pushes back, and I cling to him as the world fades.

The kiss gradually becomes something else. Searing, unpredictable, charged.

Our lips stay locked until he flinches and roughly pulls away.

The world rages back into my ears, my breath coming in short gasps, my gaze fixed on him.

His eyes instantly narrow with confusion, as if he's seeing me for the first time, but he blinks it away.

I take a moment to calm down before we face the crowd, holding hands and wearing bright smiles.

What the hell was that kiss?

===

I move into his penthouse that weekend. It’s just as Scarlett had described.

Dark, towering ceilings. Cold marble floors. Sleek, expensive emptiness.

Thankfully, the guest room has been prepared for me. There’s nothing lavish, just blank walls, pristine sheets, and a large balcony with a city view.

I didn't have to share a bed with a man I've sworn to destroy.

On the first night, Stefan stops me in the hall.

“You're simply my wife on paper,” he states coldly. “Keep your end of the contract, and I'll keep mine. I hate seeing your face, Charlotte, so stay out of my way.”

“I don't expect anything else,” I tell him. “My sister is the one you loved, not me. I'm not stupid.”

The next two weeks, supposed to be “our honeymoon,” I spend them alone. This lets me search every corner of the penthouse and snoop through Stefan's things, but nothing important comes my way. His study where I’m sure to find valuable information, is locked, and the key is always with him.

My mother keeps calling to remind me. “The man controls an empire. He's hiding something, Charlotte. Find his secrets and use them.”

At night, I lay awake, re-reading Scarlett’s letter as Stefan's distant footsteps echo somewhere in the house, hoping I’d wake up from this nightmare.

The press and gossip magazines paint a different story. The Reimann wedding has remained a hot topic, and I can't go out without being stopped for pictures and questions. We’re even rumoured to be the next power couple, with Stefan running for senate.

Now, I stand in front of a mirror admiring my form. Tonight is a charity gala, and Marina sent me a dress—an emerald, backless thing that hugs my curves and shows enough skin to start a scandal. I feel too exposed in it, but this is my part to play.

When I enter the living room, Stefan is tapping his foot impatiently by the door. He looks up from his phone and frowns like he's watching a storm approach.

“We’re late,” he says simply, opening the door and storming out.

The car ride is silent, but something makes it seem electric. It's the first time we're alone in an enclosed space. His thigh brushes mine once, and I pretend not to notice, shoving down the recurring memory of our kiss at the altar.

Blinding flashes go off when we step out of the car and link hands. We smile, wave for the cameras, and enter the venue.

As if pulled by a magnet, groups of people come to speak to us, specifically to Stefan, the billionaire charmer—the Devil in Armani. I hang on his arm like a beautiful accessory, listening, noting faces, and forgetting names.

My dress earns me envious glances from the women and admiration from the men, but nothing else. Nobody even speaks to me.

Stefan, who hasn't let me go, leads me to the dance floor as the night wears on.

We dance slowly, and his hand slides to my lower back.

“You dance surprisingly well,” he comments, voice low.

My breath hitches at his touch, heat racing through my skin. With his gaze darting around the onlooking crowd, he doesn't notice my little slip-up.

“I had a great teacher,” I say tightly.

“Smile, Charlotte. People are watching.” He leans close, his breath fanning my neck, and I hate the tingle that spreads through my body.

“Maybe if you say something funny, then I'll smile.” The flutes of champagne I've had have loosened my tongue.

He chuckles like it’s all a game.

The dance ends, but Stefan's hand lingers on my waist a second too long. And I feel the shift between us.

“It's so easy to forget you're not Scarlett.” There's a flicker of something bitter in his eyes before he kisses me. A quick peck as he pulls away.

Anger sparks in my chest as I glimpse his mocking grin. But I can’t do anything. Not yet.

I whisper a quiet promise to myself to make Stefan bleed.