Chapter 1 — The Groom With His Brother's Face

I always thought the day I married Adrian Vale would be the happiest day of my life.

I stood in the small room behind the church, staring at myself in a gilded mirror, and I almost laughed at how perfect everything looked. The dress. The veil. The pearls my mother would have wanted me to wear if she were still alive to see this.

Everything was perfect.

Except for the feeling in my chest that refused to go away.

"You look beautiful," my father said from the doorway. His voice cracked a little, the way it always did when he was trying not to cry.

"Dad." I turned around, holding my bouquet like it might steady me. "Don't start. You'll ruin your tie."

He laughed, but it came out thin. "I just can't believe my little girl is marrying into the Vale family."

I could have said something about how it wasn't about the Vale family, how it wasn't about the money or the name or the empire Adrian would inherit someday. I could have told him that I loved Adrian long before I understood what his last name meant to the rest of the world.

Instead, I just smiled and let him kiss my forehead.

"Five minutes," someone called from the hallway.

My father squeezed my hand one last time before he left to take his seat, and I was alone with my reflection and the sound of my own heartbeat.

I thought about Adrian. About the way he'd looked at me three nights ago, right before he told me he had something he needed to take care of before the wedding. He'd been distracted lately. Distant, even. I told myself it was nerves. Every groom got nervous.

I didn't know, standing there in that room, that I would never see him walk into that church.

The doors opened, and the music swelled, and six hundred faces turned to look at me.

I recognized almost none of them.

Business partners. Senators. A famous actress who'd once been on the cover of the same magazine that did a twelve-page spread on my engagement. Cameras everywhere, discreet but present, capturing every second for the society pages that would run this wedding as the story of the year.

My father offered his arm, and I took it, and we started down the aisle.

That was when I noticed Adrian's mother.

Eleanor Vale sat in the front row, back straight, chin lifted the way it always was in public. But her hands were folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white, and she wasn't looking at me. She was staring at a spot somewhere past my shoulder, her eyes glassy in a way I'd never seen before.

Richard Vale sat beside her, unreadable as always. He had a way of looking at every room like he owned it, like nothing that happened inside its walls could ever surprise him. But even he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the altar.

I followed his gaze, and my stomach dropped.

Alexander wasn't there.

I scanned the front pews, searching for that familiar scowl, that stiff posture he always held like he was bracing for an argument. Alexander never missed family events, no matter how much he clearly hated attending them. He always showed up, always stood in the back with his arms crossed, always made his disapproval of me radiate off him like heat from a stove.

But he wasn't there.

I told myself that meant nothing. Maybe he was running late. Maybe he was seated somewhere I hadn't spotted yet.

The man at the altar had his back to me. Same broad shoulders. Same dark hair, cut the same way Adrian always wore it. The same charcoal suit we'd picked out together at the tailor on Fifth Avenue, the one Adrian had complained was too tight across the shoulders.

To six hundred strangers, he was simply the groom. Nobody but the people who actually knew the Vale twins could have told the difference from behind, and most of that crowd had been invited for the seating chart, not the family.

But I noticed his hands weren't clasped in front of him the way Adrian always stood when he was nervous. And his wrist was bare.

Adrian never took off our grandfather's watch. Not once, not for anything.

My father's grip tightened slightly on my arm, as if he sensed something too.

"Everything okay?" he whispered.

"I'm fine," I whispered back, though I wasn't sure that was true anymore.

We kept walking. The music kept playing. Every step brought me closer to the altar, closer to the man with his back to me, and something in my chest kept twisting tighter and tighter, like a key wound too far.

Then he turned around.

And it wasn't Adrian.

For a moment, I thought I was imagining it. I thought grief or nerves or some trick of the light had made me see Alexander's face where Adrian's should have been.

But the moment stretched, and he didn't disappear, and the face staring back at me was unmistakably his.

Alexander Vale.

The man who had never once looked at me with anything warmer than contempt. The man who'd told his brother, more than once and within my hearing, that I was after the Vale name and nothing else. The man I had learned, over three years, to simply avoid at every family gathering because being near him felt like standing too close to a fire.

He was standing where Adrian should have been standing.

Wearing the suit Adrian should have been wearing.

Waiting for me the way Adrian should have been waiting.

I stopped walking. My father stumbled slightly beside me, caught off guard by the sudden halt.

"Lucy?" he murmured.

I couldn't answer him. I couldn't look away from Alexander's face, searching it for some kind of explanation, some sign that this was a joke, a mistake, anything other than what it appeared to be.

Alexander didn't smile. He didn't smirk, didn't gloat, didn't do any of the things I would have expected from a man who had just humiliated me in front of six hundred people.

He looked afraid.

I had never seen that expression on him before. Not once, in three years of holiday dinners and stiff conversations and the particular way he used to look at me like I was something unwelcome tracked into his family's home. His jaw was tight, and there was something in his eyes I couldn't name yet, something that made the anger rising in my chest hesitate for just a second.

But only a second.

The front rows were the first to understand. I heard Eleanor make a small, broken sound. I heard someone near her mutter, "That's not—" before catching themselves. From there the confusion spread backward through the church in a wave, most of the six hundred people behind me still not knowing why the bride had stopped walking, only that something was wrong, only that the murmur moving toward them had teeth in it.

By the time it reached the back pews, one word had survived the trip.

Twin.

My face burned.

I let go of my father's arm and walked the rest of the way to the altar myself, because if I was going to be humiliated in front of everyone I knew, I wasn't going to let them see me stumble while it happened.

I stopped in front of Alexander, close enough now to see the fine tremor in his jaw, close enough to smell the same cologne Adrian wore, because of course they'd smell the same. They were identical down to the bone.

"Where is Adrian?" I asked, low enough that only he could hear me.

Alexander didn't answer right away. His eyes moved past me, toward his parents, toward the doors at the back of the church, like he was checking to see who might be listening.

"Where. Is. Adrian." I said it again, sharper this time.

"Lucy." His voice came out rough, quieter than I'd ever heard it. "You can't leave."

I almost laughed. The sound that came out of me was somewhere between disbelief and fury.

"Excuse me?"

"Stay at the altar." He said it fast, low, like the words cost him something. "Just... stay. Please."

"You want me to marry you." My voice shook. I hated that it shook. "In front of everyone I know. And you're not even going to tell me where your brother is."

Alexander's jaw worked like he was chewing on an answer he didn't want to give.

"Say something," I said. "Anything. Tell me this is a joke. Tell me your family thought this was funny."

"It's not a joke."

"Then what is it?"

Nothing. His eyes went to the pews again, to his parents, to the doors, everywhere but me, and his hand (I noticed it now, really noticed it) had started to tremble at his side. The same small tremor my father's voice got when he was trying not to cry.

Why would Alexander be afraid?

He'd never been afraid of anything in his life, or at least not in front of me. He was the Vale son who ran the company's legal division like a blade, the one senior partners twice his age were careful not to cross. Fear didn't belong on his face. It didn't fit him.

And yet there it was.

Behind me, I heard the murmur of the crowd growing louder, restless. Someone near the front called out, asking if everything was all right. A phone camera flashed somewhere in the pews, and I realized with a sick jolt that this moment, whatever it was, was already being recorded, already being sent out into the world before I even understood what was happening to me.

"I need to leave," I said, taking a step back from him. "I'm not finding out what's going on standing at an altar."

"Lucy"

"No." My voice cracked, and I hated it for cracking. "Three days. Three days of no one telling me anything, and now this"

"He didn't leave you."

The words stopped me cold.

Alexander looked almost as surprised as I was that he'd said them, like they'd gotten out before he could stop them. His eyes held mine, and for the first time since I'd turned to face him, I saw something underneath the fear.

Desperation.

"What do you mean, he didn't"

I didn't get to finish the question.

Somewhere behind us, the heavy doors of the church groaned, and then came the unmistakable sound of them being pulled shut. I turned in time to see two men in dark suits, men I didn't recognize, sliding the iron bolts into place across the entrance.

The murmuring in the pews turned to something sharper. Someone gasped. A woman near the back stood up so fast her chair scraped against the stone floor.

"What is that?" I asked, spinning back to Alexander. "Why are they locking the doors?"

His hand found my wrist, gentle but firm, and he pulled me half a step closer to him, close enough that no one behind us could hear what he said next.

"He's alive," Alexander whispered. "And if you walk away from this altar, he may not stay that way."