Chapter 1

My identical twin sister and I were in a car accident.

My brilliant, dazzling sister didn't make it.

After a long, agonizing rehabilitation,

her boyfriend showed up right in front of me, frantically producing all kinds of proof, dead set on the idea that I was actually my sister.

My head was pounding like it was about to split wide open.

Who the hell was I, really?

Watching Ethan lose his mind only made me feel more completely out of my depth.

The pounding in my head grew worse, like a hairline fracture ripping across my skull.

He insisted I was his girlfriend, but my sister died in that car crash a year ago.

It happened last year on Valentine's Day. We had planned to grab dinner and hit the mall together.

Both of us had boyfriends at the time.

The only difference was that her boyfriend, Ethan, was stationed abroad on an overseas assignment, and mine, Tyler, was out of state on a business trip.

Before heading out the door that day, my sister had curled my hair to match hers and picked out one of her favorite maxi dresses for me to wear.

I linked my arm through hers as we walked down the street.

She carried herself with this effortless, magnetic glamour, while I was always the quiet, girl-next-door type. Walking together, we naturally turned plenty of heads.

We hailed a cab to the mall. She lightly brushed a strand of my long hair aside and smiled, promising to buy me a pair of earrings once we got there. I just beamed and leaned into her shoulder.

In the back of the cab, she was casually chatting with me, asking how things were going between Tyler and me.

Then, out of nowhere, disaster struck.

A heavy semi plowed straight into our taxi.

She threw her arms around me, shielding my body with hers. Through a blinding flash of fire and glass, I blacked out.

Days later, I woke up in the intensive care unit.

Forcing my heavy eyelids open, I asked in a raspy, broken voice how my sister was doing.

My dad looked utterly drained, aged ten years in the span of a few days.

The second my mom heard me speak, she choked back a sob before completely breaking down into wails.

That was when I learned that today was the seventh day since her passing—the day of her memorial.

To be precise, it wasn't until the moment I opened my eyes that they finally knew for certain which one of us had died.

Only then did they bring themselves, through blinding tears, to carve her name onto the tombstone: Claire.

My sister, the one who burned as bright as the sun, was gone.

And the plain, unremarkable one—me, Chloe—had survived.

I didn't know how much of my parents' tears were purely for the agony of losing Claire, nor did I know whether, deep down, they had quietly wished the one who didn't make it had been me instead...

Yet here was Ethan, blocking my parents and me right in the middle of the shopping center, completely losing his grip.

"I just landed back in the country—why didn't you pick me up at the airport?" Ethan demanded, grabbing my wrist tightly.

I froze, bewildered by the confrontation, and tried to wrench my hand away.

"Claire, why are you ignoring me? Why did you avoid seeing me the second I got back?"

The moment the name Claire left his lips, both my parents and I blanched.

"You've got the wrong person. I'm not Claire. I'm Chloe."

"Are you out of your mind?!" he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "How could I possibly mistake my own girlfriend? You think I can't tell Claire apart from Chloe?!"

"I know Chloe's death tore you apart, but you can't play a sick joke like this with me, Claire!"

"Look in the damn mirror! Look at yourself and tell me if you're Claire or Chloe!" Ethan dragged me toward a storefront display window.

Reflected in the glass was a young woman with long, cascading curls, wearing an elegant maxi dress. Her smile held an easy, sophisticated confidence—not a trace of shyness in sight.

My parents stared at the reflection in the glass, at a face bearing an expression identical to Claire's, their eyes darting away in guilt.

Ethan's words felt like a stone shattering the fragile illusion my parents had been living in.

It was true. Ever since the accident, I had looked more and more like my sister.

Before, we were identical twins, so naturally our facial features were the same.

Yet our vibes and tastes had always been night and day.

After she died, whether out of overwhelming grief or some desperate psychological displacement, my parents treated me with endless warmth and care. But every now and then, they would fix their eyes on me for long, quiet stretches, their gaze dripping with a mournful, nostalgic ache.

I simply chose to look the other way.

Whether by collective delusion or sheer coincidence, I truly had begun shifting into her likeness.

I used to love sweets; she craved spicy food.

I preferred pin-straight hair; she loved soft, voluminous curls.

I lived in comfortable jeans and sneakers; she was devoted to flowy dresses.

Her smile had an intoxicating, bold allure, while mine was always soft, faint, and guarded...

Yet lately, my tolerance for spicy food had skyrocketed. I wore long dresses, curled my hair every morning, and smiled just the way she used to...

And I had been completely blind to the transformation.

Ethan's outburst struck like a crack of thunder, jolting me wide awake.

At a loss, I turned to look at my parents.