Chapter 3

Claire was born thirty minutes before me, and ever since we were toddlers, she was the golden child everyone in the neighborhood raved about.

Back when kids our age were throwing tantrums and making messes, she was already sharp, polite, and well-mannered.

Even though she was the exact same age, she would hold my hand and say in her sweetest voice, "Say hi to Mr. and Mrs. Miller, Chloe."

I would always clutch my toy tightly, hiding behind her back, refusing to utter a word.

The neighbors constantly told my parents how blessed they were to have twin girls, especially with an older daughter so remarkably mature.

My parents wore that pride like a badge of honor.

From day one, their favoritism leaned toward her.

When I was little, I didn't understand it. Later, when I grew older and realized what was happening, I felt an empty, lingering sting. Still, I told myself she was just extraordinary. It was like getting a gold star for a perfect test score—she was exceptional, so she got showered with praise.

Even so, a quiet bitterness always sat at the bottom of my heart.

As the old saying goes, you can see the adult in the child.

And that was Claire. She was brilliant at four, and as she grew older, she only became sharper—the teachers' pet, a permanent fixture on the academic honor roll.

On top of that, she was gorgeous, with delicate, expressive eyes, a refined nose, and hair that looked stunning whether tied up in a practical ponytail or left cascading over her shoulders.

Though we shared the exact same facial structure, our presence couldn't have been more different. She was outspoken, bold, and decisive.

I, on the other hand, was still that little girl hiding behind her sister's back, soft-spoken and painfully timid.

Despite her striking looks, she was never arrogant. She got along effortlessly with everyone in school.

When we ended up in the same high school homeroom, it felt like an extension of our home life. Claire was the undeniable center of attention, radiant and accomplished. When people mentioned me, it was always as "Claire's twin sister."

Comparisons were inevitable. Whenever people showered her with compliments, they couldn't resist throwing a subtle jab my way.

Whenever that happened, Claire would look them dead in the eye and say firmly, "Chloe is my sister. She has her own strengths, so stop comparing us. If we're going strictly by grades, I'm pretty sure nobody in this room scored higher than me anyway."

"Leave that kind of petty comparing to the adults. Let's not do that here."

Shamed by her words, our classmates would drop it.

Yet behind our backs, the whispers never truly stopped.

Whenever word of it reached her, she shut it down immediately.

Even though she was only older by half an hour, she understood the world so much better than I did.

Back when I was still crying quietly in my room over our parents' blatant favoritism, unable to articulate the pain, Claire already saw it for what it was.

She constantly called our parents out on their unfair treatment, forbidding them from using her accomplishments to belittle me.

Yet human nature rarely divides affection equally.

Even though my parents would nod along and promise not to compare us, saying we were both their precious babies, the reality told a different story.

Neighbors, relatives, teachers... they all looked at Claire with boundless admiration, and whenever their gaze shifted to the less impressive twin, judgmental remarks slipped out naturally.

Day after day, year after year.

No one went out of their way to be cruel to me, but the thoughtless, ambient comparisons and the passive neglect settled into my chest like an unmovable splinter.

I wasn't a failure by any means. In fact, I was quite bright in my own right.

Yet with her shining so brightly before me, anything I did seemed entirely beneath notice.

When I brought home an A and bounced with excitement, my parents had already seen Claire's perfect A+ report card and would only give me an indifferent nod and a perfunctory "Good job, honey."

When we both got accepted into the city's top-tier prep school, Claire was the valedictorian candidate. Even though I made it into the advanced placement track with stellar marks, nobody cared.

Only Claire wrapped her arms around me, thrilled, offering words of genuine pride and comfort.

She was like the sun—dazzling, warm, and impossible to ignore.

As a little girl, I often envied her and would blur out, "I wish I could be you."

Sometimes she would burst out laughing and say, "Starting right now, you're Claire!"

Other times, seeing me genuinely downcast, she would sit with me, shutting down other people's comparisons and talking through my feelings.

She did everything in her power to shield me, wanting nothing more than for me to be happy and untainted by the noise outside.

I lost count of how many times I told myself to stop caring about other people's opinions and sidelong glances.

Yet living under that roof and navigating that world, I had to interact with people every single day. The cold dismissals and the unspoken judgments battered me relentlessly.

The neglect I felt was real, but so was my sister's love.

I couldn't bring myself to blame anyone.

Still, thousands of times in the dark, I caught myself wishing: If only I could just be Claire.

I don't know what kind of spell had come over Ethan, but the very next day, he tracked me down again, stubbornly clinging to the belief that I was his girlfriend.

Around noon, I dragged myself out of bed and headed downstairs to grab some lunch.

Ethan was waiting right by the courtyard planter outside my building.

He caught my arm. "Your parents aren't around now. Can you finally level with me?"

He actually thought I had only lied to him yesterday because my parents were standing right there.

It was beyond absurd.

"Why would I lie to you? I am Chloe!"