I don’t remember much from last night. Just flashes — the afterparty, the shots, the music thumping through my veins like blood. And then… you. Or… I thought it was you.

My head pounds as I rub my temples, stumbling out of the bedroom in just my boxers, trying to piece together why everything feels… off. That’s when I hear your voice from the front door.

“Harry, I need to grab my folder before wo—”

Your words cut off like a knife slicing through silence.

I look up, and my stomach drops. My blood runs cold.

You’re standing there in your work uniform, keys dangling from your fingers, eyes wide and glassy. And next to me, stepping out of the bedroom with flushed cheeks and messy hair, is her.

Your twin sister.

Your identical twin sister.

I slept with her last night. Fuck.

Her hoodie is slipping off her shoulder, her mascara smudged under her eyes, and the guilt written across her face makes me want to vomit. I look between the two of you, my brain trying to make sense of it, my heart hammering so violently I think it might explode.

Your eyes dart from her to me, then back to her, before finally landing on me with such betrayal and devastation it makes my knees feel weak.

“Harry…” you whisper, your voice trembling. “What… what did you do?”

I feel the bile rise in my throat as the memory hits me like a freight train. I thought it was you. God, I thought it was you. The way she kissed me, touched me… I didn’t even think. I was so drunk. I just — I just wanted you.

“Baby, I—” my voice cracks, panic clawing up my chest as I take a step towards you, reaching out. “I thought… fuck… I thought it was you.”