My twin sister. My pregnant, married twin sister. Riding my husband. On my fu.cking wedding day.

"You're a savage, Sophie. Taking my co.ck like a nympho. I'm already regretting marrying her."

Garrett's hands gripped her hips, his wedding ring catching a sliver of light from the cracked bathroom door. The same ring I'd placed on his finger three hours ago.

"She doesn't deserve you."

"Never did. It's always been you. Even that first night, I was thinking about you."

No. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be fu.cking real.

He'd been thinking about Sophie while he was inside me? Since our very first night together.

I didn't cry. I got even.

An hour later, I stood at my own reception, microphone in hand.

"My husband prepared something special tonight."

Then I played the recording for all two hundred guests.

"fu.ck, Sophie."

"Your sister could never fu.ck me like this…"

Then I threw the rings at him with all the strength I had. They bounced off his forehead with a satisfying ping.

"A.sshole. You can shove those rings right up your filthy a.ss."

"Enjoy the open bar," I said into the mic one last time. "I paid for it. Might as well get something out of this shiitshow."

___________

Sam

The first time I saw evidence my husband was cheating on me, I was wearing a wedding dress worth more than my car.

"Can't stop thinking about last night."

The words flashed across Garrett's phone screen before he could tilt it away. I'd been adjusting his boutonniere, my hands steady even though my nerves were shot. Wedding day jitters, right? Wrong. The message preview disappeared as he locked his phone, shoving it into his tux pocket fast enough to make my stomach drop.

"Who was that?" I asked, keeping my voice light. Years of customer service had taught me how to smile through anything.

"Just one of the groomsmen," Garrett said, straightening his cuffs. "Bachelor party joke. You know how they are."

I did know how they were. I'd helped plan the da.mn thing. Fancy bar, expensive whiskey, the works. Standard fare for a group of finance bros who thought personality meant having opinions about cryptocurrency. But here was the thing about being with someone for so many years: you learned their tells. The way Garrett's left eye twitched when he said he was working late. The way he cleared his throat before delivering bad news. The way he couldn't quite meet my eyes when he was hiding something.

And right now, he was doing all three.

"Right," I said, smoothing down my dress. The lace caught on my engagement ring, and I had to carefully untangle it. "Well, we should probably head back. Bad luck and all that."

"You don't believe in that stuff," he said, finally looking at me. His smile was the same one he used on difficult clients. All teeth, no soul.

"Maybe I'm feeling traditional today."

The thing was, I'd insisted on seeing him before the ceremony. Called the whole "bad luck to see the bride" tradition archaic and stupid. Garrett had agreed because Garrett agreed with everything that made him look like the perfect fiancé. Progressive. Supportive. The kind of guy who posts feminist quotes on LinkedIn.

But now, standing in this cramped back room of the venue, surrounded by boxes of extra centerpieces and the overwhelming smell of roses, I wanted nothing more than to rewind the last ten minutes. To unknow what I'd seen.

The contact name had been "2."

Just the number 2.

Who saves someone in their phone as a number?

"Sam?" Garrett's hand touched my elbow. "You okay? You look pale."

"Just nerves," I said, forcing myself back into the moment. Into my body. Into this dress that suddenly felt too tight around my ribs. "Big day and all."

"The biggest," he agreed, leaning in to ki.ss my forehead. His cologne was too strong. When had that started bothering me? "I love you." The words felt like sand in my mouth.

"Love you too."

His reply came out automatic, like a cashier saying "have a nice day." Muscle memory more than emotion.

I made my way back to the bridal suite, where my sister Sophie was touching up her makeup. Seven months pregnant and glowing in that way people always claim pregnant women glow but usually don't. Sophie actually did. Even in the unflattering lavender bridesmaid dress she'd had to buy two sizes up, she looked radiant.

"There you are!" She turned from the mirror, mascara wand in hand. "Mom's having a meltdown about the flowers. Apparently, the roses are too pink? I don't know. I've been hiding in here."

"Smart move." I sank into one of the velvet chairs, careful not to wrinkle my dress. Four thousand dollars of French lace and hand-sewn beads. I'd eaten ramen for three months to afford it.

"You see Garrett?"

"Yeah."

"And the world didn't end?" Sophie grinned, going back to her mascara. "See? Traditions are bullshiit."

"Language," I said automatically, gesturing at her belly.

"Pretty sure the baby can't hear me over all the organ music." She capped the mascara and turned to face me fully. "Seriously though, you good? You look weird."

This was my moment. I could tell her about the text, about the contact name, about the way my gut was screaming that something was wrong. Sophie would know what to do. She always did. Even though I was older by twelve minutes, she'd always been the one with answers.

But what would I say? "I saw a text preview and now I think my fiancé might be cheating on me"? On my wedding day? With two hundred guests already taking their seats?

"I'm good," I said instead. "Just ready to get this over with."

"Romantic." Sophie hauled herself out of her chair, one hand on her lower back. "Come on. Let's get you married."

The walk to the church entrance was a blur of last-minute touches. Someone handed me my bouquet. Someone else adjusted my veil. My mom appeared at my elbow, already crying, and I had to tell her to save it for the actual aisle. She was walking me down. Had been since Dad died three years ago, a quiet exit from a man who'd spent his whole life being quiet.

Then the music started, and it was too late to stop any of it.

The church doors opened, and two hundred people turned to look at me. I'd specifically requested no phones during the ceremony, but I could see the subtle glow of screens being held low. Everyone wanted their own angle of the bride.

I started walking.

Garrett stood at the altar, hands clasped in front of him, wearing the expression of a man who'd won the lottery. Behind him, his groomsmen stood in a line of matching tuxes and identical smirks. I'd never liked his friends. They all worked at the same investment firm, all drove the same type of car, all dated the same type of woman. Interchangeable bros with good hair and bad personalities.

But none of that mattered because I loved Garrett. I'd loved him for four years. I'd loved him through the long hours at work, through the canceled plans, through the way he sometimes looked at other women just a beat too long.

That text didn't mean anything. The contact name was weird, sure, but there had to be an explanation. Maybe it was a work thing. Maybe it was...

I was halfway down the aisle when I saw Sophie.

She'd taken her place with the other bridesmaids, but she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at Garrett. And the expression on her face made my steps falter.

I'd seen my sister look at men before. I'd seen her flirt, seen her seduce, seen her destroy. We might be twins, but Sophie had always been the one who could walk into a room and own it. Where I was careful, she was reckless. Where I was steady, she burned bright.

But I'd never seen her look at someone the way she was looking at my fiancé.

Like she was starving and he was a feast.

Like she was drowning and he was air.

Then she caught me staring. In the space of a heartbeat, her expression changed completely. The hunger vanished, replaced by tears and a trembling smile. The perfect picture of a hormonal pregnant sister overwhelmed by her twin's big day.

But I'd seen it.

And once you see something like that, you can't unsee it.

My feet kept moving because that was what feet do when two hundred people are watching. The smile stayed on my face because twenty-three thousand dollars of deposits were non-refundable. But inside, that thread that had pulled loose when I saw the text was unraveling faster now, taking everything with it.

I reached the altar. My mom ki.ssed my cheek, placed my hand in Garrett's, and took her seat. The warmth of Garrett's palm against mine should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like a lie.

The minister started talking. Something about love and commitment and the sacred bonds of marriage. I wasn't listening. I was thinking about that text. About the way Sophie had looked at him.

About the way he was looking at me now, with tears in his eyes and a smile that seemed genuine.

"Dearly beloved," the minister droned, "we are gathered here today..."

The ceremony moved forward on autopilot. Stand here. Hold hands there. Light the unity candle. Exchange the rings. I said my vows, words I'd written myself about trust and partnership and building a life together. Garrett said his, something he'd definitely found online about being my anchor in stormy seas.

"You may ki.ss the bride."

Garrett's hands cupped my face. His lips met mine. The church erupted in applause.

I opened my eyes mid-ki.ss.

His were closed, but they weren't peaceful. They were squeezed shut, the way you close your eyes when you're trying not to think about something else. Or someone else.

We turned to face our guests as husband and wife. The applause was deafening. Cameras flashed despite the no-phone rule. My mom was sobbing. And Sophie...

Sophie was watching Garrett again. Only him.

We walked back down the aisle together, married, while everyone threw rose petals and cheered. I smiled and waved and played the part of the happy bride. The church doors closed behind us, and we were alone in the vestibule for exactly thirty seconds before the wedding party joined us. Garrett was already pulling out his phone.

"Just need to check something for work," he said, not meeting my eyes.

I watched him unlock it, watched his thumb swipe through messages.

And I made myself a promise: Before this reception was over, I was going to find out exactly who "2" was.

Even if it killed us.