THE WRONG SISTER

"I was fired on a Tuesday, evicted on a Wednesday, and by Thursday, I was applying to be the nanny for a child the world believed belonged to my twin sister. A child she claimed was hers. By the man who once ruined me. Now? Her fiancé". It had happened five years ago. Back when Anika was still a student, juggling paint-stained sketchbooks and double shifts at a crammed little café tucked into the chaos of Camden Town. Back when she still believed there was time — time to dream, time to fix things, time to trust Linda. She had been studying Fine Art at university, chasing visions she couldn’t afford and dodging bills she couldn’t outrun. Rent was due. Her shoes were falling apart. Most days, she skipped meals just so Linda wouldn't have to miss her weekly hair appointments. That was how it always went — Linda wore velvet, Anika wore quiet. That night, she was back on shift. Tables 3, 6, and 9. A birthday party in the backroom. She smiled until her cheeks ached, carried plates like they were fragile glass, and moved like she could somehow outrun the exhaustion in her bones. Her hands smelled of fries and bleach. > “Anika,” her manager snapped, poking his head into the kitchen, “you’ve been back here too long—” “I need a second,” she muttered, already halfway down the hall. She ducked into the bathroom, locking herself inside a narrow stall and sinking onto the closed toilet lid. Her chest rose and fell too fast. The walls felt like they were shrinking. Her fingers trembled as she stared down at the stick in her hands. Two pink lines. Positive. Her breath hitched. Her body went still, cold. The edges of her world began to blur, folding in on themselves like paper soaked in water. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Her mouth was dry. Her palms were freezing. A baby? Now? She could barely scrape together enough for a Tesco meal deal. How was she supposed to buy diapers? Formula? Keep a child warm in a life this fragile? Anika glanced down at her café uniform — stained, stiff, too tight across the middle. She looked into the mirror above the sink. Pale. Terrified. Twenty years old. Broke. Alone. And yet… Beneath the fear, somewhere deep and still, a strange warmth began to bloom. Faint, but undeniable. Like a spark flaring to life in the dark. A heartbeat she couldn’t hear yet — but somehow, she could feel it. Love. Not the kind anyone teaches you about. The kind that roots itself in your chest before you’re ready. Before you can say no. > “Anika!” The manager’s fist pounded against the door. She didn’t answer. Instead, she tucked the test deep into her coat pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped into the hallway. Then she ran. Out of the café. Out of the life she thought she had some grip on. Into the freezing London night. And straight into a future she never saw coming. --- She didn’t know where her feet were taking her. Only that she couldn’t go home. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her skin pale under the flickering streetlights. She walked until her legs gave up on her, until the cold felt like a comfort. She collapsed onto a bench near an empty park, surrounded by silence and dead leaves. This was it. This was what you get for sleeping with a stranger. Anika let the words burn her tongue like acid. > “God, you’re so stupid,” she whispered, choking back a bitter laugh. She dragged her knees up to her chest and buried her face, trying to hold the pieces of herself together. But the memories had already started bleeding through. The ones she fought to forget. The ones that returned like ghosts the moment she closed her eyes. The man with the dark, curly hair. The stranger who smelled like danger and money. The one she couldn’t stop thinking about. Her heart twisted in her chest. She had been such a fool. Used. Left. Discarded like a paper cup at the end of the night. --- It had been a Friday. A night that should’ve been glitter and champagne — but turned into the start of everything that would break her. Linda, her twin, had scored an invitation to a high-profile charity masquerade ball. Not because of who she was — but because of who she knew. And like always, she dragged Anika along as her silent, awkward plus-one. > “Don’t embarrass me,” Linda had hissed. “Just wear something decent and don’t talk to anyone important.” Anika didn’t argue. She never did. She wore one of Linda’s old gowns and tried not to trip in the heels. She stuck to the corners of the ballroom, holding a glass of untouched champagne and pretending she wasn’t wildly out of place. --- The ballroom itself was a dream — chandeliers like floating galaxies, violins humming in the background, laughter echoing under crystal ceilings. Everyone was masked. Everyone was rich. Everyone looked like they belonged. And then he appeared. Him. She didn’t even know his name. Not at first. Only that his presence made the entire room shift. He stood near the bar — tall, poised, wrapped in a perfectly tailored black suit that looked like it cost more than her rent for a year. His hair curled loosely around the edges of his mask, thick and dark, framing a jaw so sharp it could’ve been sculpted. He didn’t speak. Not at first. He just looked. Straight at her. The kind of look that rooted you to the ground. That made your mouth dry and your heart skip like a scratched record. Eyes like cold fire. Posture like he owned the oxygen in the room. Power in every quiet breath. Anika turned away, flustered. She told herself he wasn’t looking at her. He couldn’t be. Not when the room was full of socialites and heiresses. But then his footsteps approached. Measured. Confident. Inevitable. > “You’re not like the others,” he said, voice low and smooth. “You’re trying too hard to disappear.” She froze. And that was the moment. The shift. The spark. The beginning of something reckless and unexplainable. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asked with his chilled commanding voice. Though Anika was already with the untouched champagne, she nodded like she was under a beautiful spell. She didn’t know his name. Didn’t know he was one of the top ten richest CEOs in Europe. emotionally guarded, or the kind of man who left bruises on your heart long after he walked away. She only knew his voice made her knees weak. And that when he offered his hand… she took it.