Double Deception

Chapter 2: Cracks in the Mirror

The days after the barbecue blurred into a strange haze — part unease, part denial. The laughter, the golden light, the smell of grilled meat — all of it should have settled into memory as just another perfect summer evening. But instead, it replayed like a film reel with one frame out of sync.

Emma.

Her name pulsed through my mind like a quiet alarm I couldn't shut off. There was something about the way she'd looked at me, the deliberate brush of her thumb against my wrist, the smirk that didn't match her sister's soft warmth.

I told myself it was harmless — a twin's eccentricity, a misunderstanding — but that night's perfection had been too polished, too cinematic. And now, every time Emily smiled, I caught myself wondering which version of her I was really seeing.

Three days passed before I saw Emily again.

We met at her apartment for a quiet movie night — our way of returning to normal. The scent of lavender from her candles filled the room, and her head rested on my shoulder as the flicker of the TV painted faint light across her face.

"Comfy?" I asked.

"Mhm." Her voice was soft, content. "You smell like charcoal. Still thinking about the party?"

"Maybe a little." I smiled faintly. "It was... something."

Her eyes opened slightly, studying me. "You're still weirded out about Emma, aren't you?"

I hesitated. "Just surprised. You never mentioned her before."

Emily's expression shifted for a heartbeat — a flicker of guilt or irritation, I couldn't tell. "We've had a complicated history," she said finally. "She's not exactly the type to stay in one place."

"Still, it must've been nice seeing her again."

"It was." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "But I prefer quiet. Chaos follows Emma."

Her head settled back against my shoulder, but her words lingered.

Halfway through the movie, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I reached for it absentmindedly, expecting a work notification.

Instead, the message glared up at me from an unknown number — the same number that had texted me before.

Miss me already? ;)

My heart stuttered.

The sender ID was identical to the one from a few nights ago — the same number that had asked: Do you really know who she is? Ask her about Emma.

For a moment, the room seemed to shrink.

Emily shifted beside me. "Who's that?"

"Probably spam." My voice came out too fast. I flipped the phone face down, forcing a laugh. "These bots get creative."

But it wasn't spam. It couldn't be.

"Hmm," Emily murmured, her tone suspicious but lazy with sleep. "You're jumpy tonight."

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Just tired."

She yawned, turned her attention back to the screen, and soon drifted off, her breathing slow and steady.

I sat there in the glow of the television, my pulse hammering. The phone buzzed again.

This time, a photo appeared.

Blurry. Dim lighting. A woman who looked like Emily — or Emma — sitting at a bar, a glass of wine in hand, her lips curved in that same predatory smile I remembered.