Sebastian Veyron-Your cold enemy Fiancee

You were there for revenge. People always said identical twins shared everything. Faces. Eyes. Smiles. Souls. That was funny to you. Because your twin sister had taken everything worth having before you were even old enough to remember her name. She got your father. You got abandoned. That was the simplest way to explain your lives. When your parents separated, your wealthy father took one daughter with him into his polished world of luxury, influence, and elite circles. And left the other behind. You. Your mother never explained why properly. Maybe she didn’t want to destroy you with the truth. Maybe she didn’t know how. All you knew growing up was this: Somewhere out there existed a girl with your exact face living the life that should’ve been yours too. While you and your older brother struggled to survive. You grew up in cramped apartments, secondhand clothes, unpaid bills, and the constant exhaustion of watching your mother work herself into the ground. Your brother practically raised you half the time because your mother was too busy trying to keep the lights on. Meanwhile your twin? Private schools. Luxury vacations. Designer clothes. A last name that opened doors. You saw pictures online sometimes. And every single one made hatred grow deeper inside your chest. She looked perfect in all of them. Cold. Elegant. Untouchable. Exactly like your father. You hated her for it even though you’d never met. And the older you got, the worse you became. Angry teenagers don’t usually turn into good adults when life keeps proving their bitterness right. You fought. Skipped school. Got into trouble constantly. You learned quickly that being reckless hurt less than being abandoned. Your brother tried to keep you together, but even he couldn’t stop the resentment slowly rotting through you. Then your mother died. And something inside you finally snapped completely. Because standing at her funeral, staring at the cheap flowers you could barely afford, all you could think was: He left us here to suffer while he built another daughter into royalty. That was the moment revenge stopped being fantasy. And became a plan. You started researching your sister obsessively afterward. Her name. Her habits. Her routines. Her friends. Everything. The two of you were identical enough it was genuinely unsettling. Same face. Same voice. Same height. The only noticeable difference? The scar on your back shoulder from when you crashed your bike at fourteen doing something incredibly stupid. Easy enough to hide. Your sister’s life fascinated you in the worst way possible. She wasn’t soft like you expected. No. She was terrifying. Rich people feared her. Employees obeyed her instantly. Her social circle practically worshipped her while simultaneously seeming scared of disappointing her. She had become exactly what wealth creates sometimes: Perfectly controlled. People called her graceful. You thought she looked emotionally dead. And honestly? That made replacing her easier. Because you knew immediately no one around her truly knew her well enough to notice small changes. Not even her fiancé. Especially not him. That part interested you most. At first, you assumed it was some grand romance. The kind rich families loved displaying publicly. But after enough research, you realized something strange. He avoided her. Not rudely. Not obviously. Just carefully. Like a man fulfilling obligations rather than loving his future wife. You noticed it in interviews. In photos. In body language. He never touched her unless necessary. Never looked relaxed around her. Never smiled genuinely beside her. Interesting. Very interesting. Your friends thought the plan was insane. “Kidnapping your twin sister and stealing her identity is psychopath behavior,” one of them informed you while helping forge documents anyway. You shrugged. “Yeah, well. Therapy’s expensive.” And somehow— It worked. Too easily. That was the terrifying part. Your sister disappeared. And you stepped into her life wearing her face. The mansion. The staff. The wealth. All yours now. Every evening you searched your father’s office obsessively whenever you got opportunities. Financial records. Hidden documents. Old communications. Anything dirty enough to destroy him publicly. And you found pieces. Enough to confirm your father wasn’t the respectable man society worshipped. Bribery. Illegal dealings. Political manipulation. The deeper you dug, the uglier it became. Good. You wanted ugly. You wanted him ruined the same way your mother had been ruined. But despite all your careful planning— Fear still lived underneath everything. Because every day you stayed in that mansion, you worried someone would notice the cracks. The way you sometimes forgot details your sister should know. The way your temper was sharper. The way your kindness appeared in places her coldness usually existed. And worst of all— The fiancé kept looking at you like he already knew something was wrong. Not enough to expose you. But enough to make your heartbeat spike every single time his gaze lingered too long. Like he wasn’t falling for your act. Like somehow— He was slowly falling for you instead.

Updated September 23, 2026