The Wrong Sister

First Mistake

The luncheon was Arwen’s idea.

Or rather, Simone had suggested it, and Arwen had been too tired to argue.

“Isolde’s friends have been asking to see you,” Simone had said.

Now Arwen was standing in the estate’s garden room, watching four women air-kiss each other and settle into chairs like they owned the place.

“Isolde, darling!” A blonde in head-to-toe Chanel stood and pulled Arwen into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume. “Look at you. Married. We thought you’d run off to Europe and ghost us forever.”

Arwen forced a laugh. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you threatened to do exactly that three months ago at Petra’s birthday party.” The blonde pulled back, studying her. “Don’t you remember? You said marriage was a death sentence, and you’d rather live in Paris eating cheese.”

The other women laughed.

Arwen’s mind raced. “I was drunk.”

“You were very sober and very serious.” The blonde sat back down. “I’m shocked you actually went through with it. What changed?”

“I grew up.”

“In three months? Impressive.”

Staff brought out lunch and champagne.

The women dove into conversation. Names Arwen didn’t know. Stories she’d never heard. Inside jokes that went over her head.

“Remember when you hooked up with that bartender in Monaco?” A brunette in a green dress leaned forward. “What was his name?”

The others laughed.

Arwen smiled but said nothing.

“Oh god, you don’t remember?” Green Dress looked delighted. “Too many bartenders to keep track of?”

“Something like that.”

“It was Marco. Or Mario? Something with an M.” The blonde waved her hand. “You called us crying at three in the morning because he took your phone.”

“Right. Yes. I forgot.” Arwen picked up her champagne and drank too fast.

Another woman with red hair, spoke up. “You’ve been so quiet on i********:. We’ve been worried.”

“Just busy with wedding planning.”

“But you love Instagram.” Red Hair smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s not like you to go dark for two weeks.”

“Things change.”

“Do they?” The blonde exchanged a look with the Green Dress. “Because you seem really different, Isolde. Different hair, different vibe, even your voice sounds different.”

“My voice?”

“You’re talking higher than normal.” The blonde demonstrated, pitching her voice up. “Like this. It’s weird.”

Red Hair leaned in. “So tell us about the wedding night. Was Caelum everything you hoped for? Or is he as cold in bed as he is in board meetings?”

The other women giggled.

Arwen felt her face flush. “That’s private.”

“Since when do you care about privacy? You told us every detail about every hookup you’ve ever had.” Green Dress grinned. “Come on. Give us something.”

“There’s nothing to give.”

“Nothing?” The blonde’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t sleep with your husband on your wedding night?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Arwen set down her champagne. “I’m saying it’s none of your business.”

The four women stared at her.

“Wow.” The blonde sat back. “You really have changed.”

“Is that a problem?”

“It’s just surprising. The Isolde we know loved being the center of attention. Now you’re all closed off and mysterious.” She paused. “It’s almost like you’re a different person.”

Arwen’s heart hammered. “People grow up.”

“In two weeks? That’s pretty fast.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.” Red Hair smiled sweetly. “Let’s talk about how you forgot Marco’s name. Or how you don’t remember Petra’s birthday party. Or how you’re suddenly camera-shy when you used to post selfies five times a day.”

“I didn’t forget anything. I just...”

“Just what?” The blonde leaned forward. “Just became a completely different person overnight?”

Green Dress laughed. “Maybe she had a personality transplant along with the wedding.”

“Or maybe,” Red Hair said slowly, “she’s not who she says she is.”

The words lingered between them.

Arwen stood. “I think this luncheon is over.”

“Ari, don’t be so sensitive.” The blonde stopped. “I mean Isolde. Sorry.”

Ari. Arwen’s nickname. The one only her family used.

“I should go,” Arwen said. “Thank you for coming.”

She left before they could respond and walked quickly through the house.

They knew, or they suspected. Either way, she’d failed.

She made it to the east wing before someone called her name.

“Mrs. Ravencroft.”

Rowan Kade stood in the hallway.

“Not now, Rowan.”

“I need a word. It’s important.”

“I said not now.”

“It’s about Isolde.”

Arwen stopped and turned. “What about her?”

Rowan looked around and lowered his voice. “Not here. My office.”

His office just had a desk, chairs, and monitors showing security feeds from around the estate.

He closed the door behind them.

“Sit.”

Arwen sat. “What’s this about?”

Rowan pulled up something on his computer. Turned the monitor so she could see.

A grainy security photo. Timestamped two weeks ago. The night Isolde disappeared.

The image showed a street corner, and a woman getting into an unmarked car.

Her face turned slightly toward the camera.

It was Isolde.

“Where did you get this?” Arwen’s voice came out thin.

“Traffic camera. Time stamp is eleven forty-seven PM. Two hours before her assistant got the text saying she was going to bed early.”

Arwen stared at the photo. At her sister’s face.

She didn't look scared or forced.

She looked determined, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Whose car is that?” Arwen asked.

“Don’t know yet. The plates are fake.” Rowan zoomed in on Isolde’s face. “But she doesn't look like someone running away in a panic.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because I’ve been watching you.” Rowan leaned back in his chair. “And you’re not Isolde Valehart.”

Arwen’s blood went cold. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t bother lying. I’ve done background checks on everyone in this family. I know Isolde has a younger sister, Arwen, who studied art.”

“That doesn’t mean...”

“You read briefing books. Isolde never opened them. You made a joke about the crown of thorns. Isolde wasn’t religious and never referenced anything biblical.” He pulled out a folder. “Want me to keep going?”

Arwen couldn’t breathe. “What do you want?”

“The truth. Why are you pretending to be your sister? What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t...”

“You can. And you will. Because right now, I’m the only one who knows. But if I could figure it out, others will too. Viktor Ashbourne is already suspicious. Those women at lunch definitely are.” He pushed the photo toward her. “So talk. Before this whole thing explodes and takes Caelum down with it.”

Arwen looked at the photo. At Isolde getting into that car, looking back over her shoulder. Determined, like she’d planned this all along.

“She ran,” Arwen whispered. “The night before I arrived at the estate. She emptied her bank account and disappeared.”

“Why?”

“Because she didn’t want to marry Caelum.”

“And your family forced you to take her place.”

“To save us from financial ruin. The contract has penalty clauses. If the wedding didn’t happen, we’d lose everything.”

Rowan sat back. “Jesus Christ.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“That his wife is a fraud? That this entire marriage is built on a lie?” Rowan ran his hand over his face. “I should tell him right now.”

“But?”

“But I’ve known Caelum for ten years. And I'd never seen him laugh until yesterday.” Rowan looked at her. “You did something to him. I don’t know what or how, but you changed something.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means I’m going to give you time. To figure out what you want. Who you want to be.” He tapped the photo of Isolde. “But I’m also going to find your sister. Because something about this doesn’t add up. And when I figure out what she’s really running from, you’re going to tell Caelum everything.”

He opened the door.

Arwen stood on shaking legs. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not helping you. I’m protecting Caelum. There’s a difference.” He looked at her. “Don’t make me regret this.”

She left his office and walked back through the estate in a daze.

Two weeks. Maybe less.

Before Caelum learned the truth.

Before the woman in that photo destroyed whatever this was becoming.

Arwen looked at her reflection in a hallway mirror.

Isolde’s face stared back.

But the eyes were her own, and they were terrified.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​