My Fake Twin Stole My Life

Dalton's POV

After the wedding that had practically brought the entire city to a standstill, my oldest sister, Claire Whitmore, drove all the way out to the miserable backwater where I'd spent the past three years.

The stretch limousine had barely pulled into the village when the man in charge hurried out to greet her.

Claire didn't even spare him a glance. Her cold gaze swept past him and landed on me, half-hidden at the back of the crowd.

He immediately noticed where she was looking, and his already ingratiating smile grew even wider.

"Don't worry, Ms. Whitmore. I've done exactly as you asked these past three years. We made sure he learned his lesson."

He glanced back at me with satisfaction.

"He's very well behaved now."

At his signal, one of the staff members grabbed me and hauled me out from behind the others.

Three years of hunger and deprivation had taken their toll. My body was a shadow of what it used to be, and there was nothing left of the proud, reckless young man I'd once been.

I barely made it a few steps before my foot caught on a loose stone.

I crashed to the ground. Jagged gravel scraped across my skin, leaving thin streaks of blood behind.

Something flickered in Claire's eyes. She took a quick step toward me, as if she meant to help me up.

But before she could reach me, I dropped to my knees. My expression was perfectly respectful, my voice empty of emotion.

"Claire."

She froze.

"I've had three years to think about everything I did wrong. I understand now. Thank you for sending me here."

For a long moment, Claire simply stared at me.

Shock gave way to suspicion as her eyes traveled over my gaunt frame, almost as if she were wondering whether the brother she'd known had somehow disappeared and left an empty shell behind.

I saw the doubt in her eyes and gave her a bleak smile.

Before I was sent here, I'd been the pampered young heir of the Whitmore family.

I'd grown up with every luxury money could buy. No one had ever dared push me around.

Back then, I was arrogant, spoiled, and used to getting whatever I wanted. If anyone crossed me, I made sure they regretted it.

But now?

It was as though someone had beaten every last ounce of pride out of me. There was nothing left of the person I'd once been.

Claire had probably never imagined she'd see the day when I would kneel at her feet.

But I had a reason.

Mom's death anniversary was coming up, and I hadn't visited her grave in three years. This time, no matter what humiliation I had to swallow or what they put me through, I was going to make it to her grave.

Claire remained silent for a long time, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

Finally, she spoke, saying, "As long as you understand what you did wrong. Now get up."

I slowly rose to my feet, careful not to meet her eyes.

Just then, the limousine door opened again.

My younger brother, Ethan Whitmore, stepped out with a smile.

He wore an impeccably tailored suit that probably cost more than everything in this village combined. Three years ago, he'd been thin and sickly, his features always pinched with discomfort. Now, his shoulders had filled out, and there was an easy confidence about him.

He looked every inch the privileged Whitmore heir I'd once been.

"Claire." Ethan glanced at me, his smile widening. "I guess three years out here really did work wonders. Look at that. Dalton finally learned some manners."

The moment Claire saw him, the frost in her expression melted into a warm smile.

"Ethan, what are you doing out here? It's freezing, and you're still not fully recovered. Get back in the car and lie down."