Story cover for The Twin's Shadow! by CrazedWriter123
The Twin's Shadow!
  • Reads 8,964
  • Votes 350
  • Parts 41
  • Time 6h 18m
  • Reads 8,964
  • Votes 350
  • Parts 41
  • Time 6h 18m
Complete, First published Jul 28
# Prologue

The warehouse echoed with hushed voices and the scrape of footsteps on concrete. Rebecca Patricia Armstrong pressed herself against the cold metal of a shipping container, her white cane clutched tight. She'd taken a wrong turn in the maze of industrial buildings, searching for the address her friend had given her.

"You betrayed us, Billy." The voice was cultured, educated-so familiar yet she couldn't place it.

"Please, I can explain-"

The gunshot cracked through the air like thunder.

Rebecca's breath caught. She heard the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor, then measured footsteps approaching her hiding place.

She had to run.
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Beneath the Lights! by CrazedWriter123
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The Bangkok skyline shimmered like a promise, its lights painting the night in gold and silver. From the 30th floor of their hotel suite, Rebecca Armstrong-Becky to the world-pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her breath fogging the window. Below, the city pulsed with life, oblivious to the storm brewing in her chest. Her heart raced, not from excitement but from the familiar grip of anxiety, whispering that she was one misstep from losing everything. Across the room, Sarocha Chankimha-Freen, her anchor, her co-star, her everything-hummed softly, sprawled on the couch with a script in hand. Her laughter, bright as ever, had carried them through countless late nights, but tonight, it felt distant. A new name lingered in the air between them: Prae, the co-star whose easy charm and knowing smiles had slipped into their orbit like a thief. Becky's phone buzzed on the table, X notifications piling up with hashtags-#FreenBecky, #Uranus2324, and, increasingly, #FreenPrae. Each one was a needle, pricking at her fragile calm. "P'Freen," Becky murmured, her voice barely audible. "Do you ever feel like... it's all too much?" Freen looked up, her eyes softening. "All the time, nong. But we've got each other, right?" She patted the couch, an invitation. Becky wanted to believe it. She wanted to cross the room, curl up beside Freen, and let the world fade. But the weight of their fame, the whispers of a solo project pulling Freen away, and the shadow of her own fears held her back. She forced a smile, nodding, even as her mind screamed: What if I'm not enough to keep you? Outside, a star flickered, faint against the city's glow. Becky made a silent wish, not for fame or glory, but for the strength to hold on-to Freen, to herself, to the love they'd built beneath the lights. But wishes were fragile, and the night was long. A storm was coming, and neither of them was ready.
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Freen Sarocha Chakminha didn't believe in love anymore. Not the kind that stayed. Not the kind that healed. She believed in control, in silence, in the armor she'd built from betrayal and ambition. Love was a transaction. Touch was temporary. And people-people always wanted something. Until the girl showed up at her door. Rain-soaked, trembling, eyes wide with heartbreak and hope. Rebecca Armstrong. Pregnant. Homeless. Carrying the child of Freen's brother-the same brother who vanished with her money and left chaos in his wake. Freen should have turned her away. She almost did. But something in Becky's voice-raw, unfiltered, painfully honest-cut through the walls Freen had spent years fortifying. She let her in. Not just into her house. Into her life. Into the quiet spaces she never let anyone see. And slowly, without permission, Becky began to unravel her. Not with grand gestures. But with soup and silence. With late-night study sessions and soft laughter. With the kind of love that didn't demand-but stayed. This isn't a story about perfect people. It's a story about broken ones who chose each other anyway. About fire inherited not from blood, but from survival. And how sometimes, the coldest hearts burn the brightest-when someone finally sees them.