THE TWINS

Chapter 1: The Dawson Divide Within, though, lived a conflict so dense that even strangers felt it the instant they passed through the threshold. With its polished brick exterior, tall black-trimmed windows, and curated appeal of a family that appreciated aesthetics, the Dawson brownstone on West 82nd Street fit every other tastefully restored Manhattan property on the street. But beauty did not always expose truth. There lay an ancient, quiet war under the door. Born as identical twins, Liana Dawson and Liora Dawson were enemies by design—shadows of each other but divided by a memory neither of them wanted to face. Their dislike didn't grow suddenly. It started in a moment the family rarely discussed but which had fingerprints on all that followed. One recollection. one slip One minute that divided the twins into two different universes. Once upbeat and chatty, Liana became quiet and measured. She cultivated a calm so constant it often looked like resignation. She walked deliberately, spoke quietly, and lived as if she were perpetually preparing for a tempest. Liora developed into the storm. She became sharper, louder, stronger—a fire that defied containment. She learned to distrust anything that looked like tenderness, particularly when it came from her sister. Her defense turned on anger. Independence developed her personality. Together, the two worked at Dawson & Co. Interiors, their father's little but well-known Manhattan interior design firm. Respected, recognized, and preserved over years of dedication, not the greatest—far from it—but To outsiders, they were the Dawson twins—talented, lovely, ideal match. Within the family, they were bombs ready to explode. --- Cold Morning of Silence Usually calm, Saturday mornings in the Dawson brownstone were not a peaceful silence. It was the avoidance silence, a short ceasefire where each twin sought to avoid traversing the path of the other. Early as she always did, Liana started her day. She crossed the kitchen with deliberate steps, brewing coffee with a kind of practiced smoothness so as not to disrupt even the air. She sat counterwise with her tablet, looking design ideas for the boutique hotel project she and Liora had been given to head. She sat straight but compact, shoulders pulled somewhat inward—as though she were attempting to decrease her presence, as though taking too much room might incite something. She was drinking her coffee when the front door swung open—strongly, forcibly, in a way that announced the arrival before the person materialized. Wearing black heeled boots, a fitted charcoal coat, and an expression that chilled the space more than the winter air behind her, Liora entered. Her gaze first spotted her sister. And became hardened. “You touched my project file,” she announced. Though the words were quiet, the sharpness in her tone might cut bone. Liana gripped her mug tightly. “Dad moved it; he wanted to compare timetables,” she said quietly. “That doesn't alter the fact that it was in your room,” Liora countered, voice increasing just enough to coil tension throughout the kitchen. "I didn't reach--" "Just stay out of my stuff." Liora did not wait for a reaction. She crossed her sister so swiftly their shoulders struck. Eyes shutting momentarily, Liana flinched but didn't respond. She might have once refuted back, defended herself, but that girl had vanished. Years ago she discovered that even if nobody saw the cut, conflict with Liora always culminated in someone bleeding. Their father came in and started massaging his temples before he even saw them, as though he already knew what he was stepping into. "Girls," Marcus Dawson groaned heavily, "not today." "Tell her to cease touching my work," Liora said with venom. Quietly, Liana put her tablet on the counter. "I didn't --" "I wasn't speaking to you," Liora cut off without turning around. The air iced over. Though said hundreds of times in a hundred different versions, the words weren't fresh. The same chilly distance. The same hatred. Twelfth year of the same. A building. Zero temperature. Two sisters who could hardly bear to gaze at one other without recalling what they had lost. --- Dawson & Co. Interiors The office was not a haven. It enlarged everything. Employees acted not to realize that the twins only spoke if strictly essential. They avoided eye contact with the Dawsons during tense situations as if acknowledging the strain would make them part of it. Everyone sensed something behind the hatred, murmurs of betrayal, a tragedy, a defining event between the girls from years past. No one inquired, nonetheless. In their society, some objects were buried for a reason. Liana oversaw the design elements of the little hotel project. Liora oversaw contractor communication, deadlines, and structural arrangement. Professionally, they had to collaborate. They circled each other like competing planets personally. At a team meeting, the project manager unconsciously placed a heap of Liora's papers in front of Liana. Liora grabbed them back right away. Wrong person. The poor guy apologized excessively, stumbling over his words. Liana merely gave him a reassuring nod. She had become accustomed to situations like this, little reminders of the distance between her and her sister. Marcus instructed both daughters to remain back following the meeting. Years of attempting to rebuild a bridge that rejected weight had exhausted his face. Said firmly, "You two have to settle this." The company will soon grow; I cannot develop this business if my daughters hardly stand in the same room. Liora said coldly, “There is no ‘we’; she does hers; I do mine.” Liana looked down to the floor. Marcus brushed his hair with a hand. He could recite this speech in his sleep since he had delivered it so many times. Still, neither twin ever budged. The office started to quiet down toward night, the kind of quiet that felt heavy rather than relaxing. Most staff members had left. Just the quiet buzz of the city through the windows lingered. Liana stood at the window, staring at the winter lights blend into streaks across the glass. Her reflection appeared fatigued. Practically fragile. Liora gathered her stuff behind her with gestures so violent they shook the desk. Between them was a taut, charged current neither dared touch. For years, it was the same silence they had lived in—one full of recollections they resisted to confront. The day everything turned upside down. The day their sisters' friendship ended. One moment neither could forgive a day sullied with accusations and remorse. Though no one other than the family knew the specifics, the injury stayed in every engagement. "We should finish tomorrow's lobby layout," Liana said softly, still gazing out the window. Liora did not turn around. "No. I am removing you from the lobby project. I will handle it solo." Liana stiffened. "Dad gave the assignment to both of us." Liora fired back, "I don't care," adding, "I said I'll deal with it." Exhaling slowly, Liana tried to calm herself. "Liora—" "For once in your life," Liora growled, turning around with eyes like glass shards, "stay out of my way." Before Liora stepped outside, the words resounded in the deserted office. The room fell agonizingly quiet when she closed the door behind her. Liana put her hand on her chest and battled the pain under her ribs. She had learned long ago how to swallow her suffering, how to breathe through it, how to go ahead without letting it spill out. Yet it always lingered there. The Dawson twins lived in the same city, shared the same home, and worked under the same company roof. Still, their worlds never really intersected. Two women born exactly same. Two marks cut from the same instant. Bound by blood but fractured by the past are two sisters. Though outside their window the city advanced, within the division persisted. a peaceful war a relationship falling apart. An unfinished story by a wide margin