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22 | Clara Saint

"𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐢𝐫 𝐣𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐡', 𝐣'𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞́𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐫..."

𝐏𝐍𝐋

"I didn't do that, and you know it," I insisted.

My father settled down, his tone grave. "Open the file, Clara."

I flicked open the file, and my heart sank as I saw the damning photos. Images of me walking down the halls, entering Roman's bedroom, holding a packet of drugs.

"How did you do this? This isn't me!"

"Sometimes, I think you forget who I am. I make things happen, Clara. I'm a fucking don." The photos were eerily identical to me.

"I'm not going through with this plan, Father. I'm telling Vincent everything, and he'll believe me!" I declared, heading towards the door. But before I could escape, something sharp pinched my neck. I gasped, turning to see my father holding a syringe.

Suddenly, I lost feeling in my feet, causing my knees to buckle as I dropped to the floor. My hands grasped onto the door, attempting to lift myself up. Was he paralysing me? I looked up, my back against the door, struggling to reach the handle.

"What—" I whispered, the realization dawning on me.

My father crouched down in front of me. "You really think I would let you ruin this plan for me? I've waited twenty years to ruin him. Twenty fucking years. And no one will get in my way." Tears welled in my eyes as my hands were tantalisingly close to pushing the door open. Vincent was only a couple of rooms down this hall.

And so the door swings open, and I use the strength in my arms to pull myself out.

Just as I was about to scream, my father covers my mouth with his hands and yanks me back inside his office.

"What are you going to do? He's going to realise I'm not there—"

"Come out, Mariah," my father commanded. The door on the side of his office swung open, and my eyes widened as my twin sister walked out, looking exactly like me.

Spot on.

She was alive.

I shook my head.

That's how Roman died.

The photos weren't of me; they were of her.

"Oh it feels good to be back." She sounded just like me, it was as if he trained her to speak like me. She plays around with the bangles on her wrist, slipping them of before chucking it to the side of the couch.

"You're alive..." I whisper.

She looked at me as if I were the one who held her hostage and trained her to be her other half, there was nothing but hate in her eyes. And to be fair, it confused me. Where had my father been keeping her? Does my mother know about her being here? Is she a part of the plan?

"Mariah, you have a husband to tend too." Mariah chuckles, nodding her head as she heads for the same door I couldn't leave except she doesn't leave. Instead she stood by it. My father also stands, "and I thought you were the stronger sister." He shakes his head.

"Fuck you!" I spit out, "Vincent!" I scream.

"Come on now, you know nobody will hear you." Right. Sound proof doors. "Let's get you sorted out."

"You won't get away with this, Vincent will know-"

"I trained Mariah very well, he won't notice a single thing." My father walked to his bookshelf, pulling one of the books that caused the shelf to slide to the side.