The soft glow of the evening sun bathed the Hemsworth estate in a golden light, the perfect backdrop for what was supposed to be Helena's happiest day. Her engagement party to Matthew Martins, her childhood sweetheart, was in full swing. The laughter of friends and family mingled with the soft notes of the string quartet playing in the garden. Helena stood by the balcony overlooking the scene, a glass of champagne in hand, her lips curved into a gentle smile.
"You look stunning, Lena," came a voice from behind her.
Helena turned to see her twin sister, Hazel, stepping out onto the balcony, dressed in an emerald-green gown that hugged her every curve. Hazel was always the bold one, her striking beauty a magnet for attention. Helena, in her white lace dress, felt almost plain beside her sister, but tonight, she didn't care. Tonight, she was the bride-to-be, and nothing could ruin that.
"Thanks, Hazel," Helena replied, her tone warm. "You look amazing, as always."
Hazel leaned on the railing, her dark eyes sparkling mischievously. "Well, of course, I do. But let's not forget who the star of the show is tonight. Matthew can't take his eyes off you."
Helena blushed, glancing toward the garden where Matthew was laughing with a group of guests. He was charming as ever, his boyish grin and tailored suit making him the center of attention. "He's been my everything since we were kids," Helena said softly. "I can't believe this is finally happening."
Hazel tilted her head, studying her sister with an unreadable expression. "You've always been so… certain about him," she said, her voice tinged with something Helena couldn't quite place.
"Why wouldn't I be? Matthew's the love of my life," Helena said with a smile.
Hazel chuckled, but there was a sharpness to it. "Let's hope he feels the same."
Helena frowned, but before she could ask what Hazel meant, their mother appeared at the doorway.
"Helena, darling, the guests are asking for you," Mrs. Hemsworth said, her tone brisk as always. "Come on, we don't have all night."
With a glance back at Hazel, who gave her an enigmatic smile, Helena followed her mother back to the party.
---
The evening wore on with toasts and congratulations. Helena floated through the event like a dream, holding Matthew's hand as they mingled with friends and family. Yet, a nagging unease settled in the back of her mind, thanks to Hazel's cryptic comment earlier.
As the night wound down, Helena excused herself to freshen up. She made her way upstairs, the noise of the party fading behind her. Turning the corner to head toward the bathroom, she froze.
Voices. Low, urgent voices coming from Matthew's room.
Her heart skipped. She told herself it was nothing—probably Matthew and one of his friends. But as she approached, she recognized one of the voices.
Hazel.
Curiosity turned to dread as Helena pressed her ear to the door.
"You promised me," Hazel hissed. "You said you'd end it after tonight."
"I'm trying," Matthew shot back, his voice strained. "But it's not that simple. Do you think I want this to blow up in my face?"
Helena's stomach twisted. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was hearing.
"Then tell her," Hazel snapped. "Or do you want me to do it for you?"
"No!" Matthew's voice was sharp. "Look, I'll handle it, okay? Just… give me time."
Helena couldn't breathe. Her hands trembled as the reality of the situation crashed down on her. Matthew and Hazel—her fiancé and her sister. The people she trusted most in the world.
Unable to listen any longer, Helena stumbled away from the door and down the hall, her vision blurred by tears. She needed to get out, to escape the suffocating betrayal that threatened to consume her.
---
The bar was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the bright, elegant engagement party she had left behind. Helena sat at the counter, nursing her fourth—or was it fifth?—glass of wine.
"Rough night?" the bartender asked, his tone casual.
"You could say that," Helena mumbled, swirling the dark liquid in her glass.
The door opened, and Helena barely glanced up as a man walked in. But when he sat a few stools away, she couldn't help but notice him. He was tall, with a sharp jawline and piercing eyes that seemed to take in the entire room with one sweep. His tailored suit hinted at wealth, but there was something rugged about him, something that set him apart from the polished men she was used to.
He caught her staring, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Tough day?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.
Helena blushed, looking away. "You could say that."
"Care to talk about it?"
She shook her head, downing the rest of her wine. "Not really."
He nodded, respecting her silence, but something about his presence felt comforting. When another man approached her, his intentions clear from his leering gaze, the stranger stepped in without hesitation.
"She's with me," he said firmly, his hand resting lightly on Helena's shoulder.
The other man backed off with a muttered apology, and Helena looked up at her unexpected savior. "Thank you," she said, her words slightly slurred.
"Anytime," he replied, his eyes locking with hers.
The rest of the night blurred together. Helena remembered his hand guiding her out of the bar, the warmth of his touch as he helped her into a cab. She remembered his scent—clean and masculine—and the way his lips felt against hers when she leaned in, her inhibitions long gone.
When she woke the next morning, she was alone in a strange bed, the details of the night before hazy but undeniable. Shame and guilt washed over her as she dressed and left, determined to put the incident behind her.
But some mistakes have a way of catching up with you.
Helena's head throbbed as she stumbled out of the bar into the cool morning air. Her dress was slightly wrinkled, her heels wobbly beneath her, but none of that mattered. Her mind was clouded with shame, guilt, and heartbreak—a cocktail far more potent than the alcohol coursing through her veins.
Hailing a cab wasn't difficult at this hour, but Helena barely noticed the bright yellow car that pulled up or the driver's polite inquiry. She sank into the backseat, mumbling her address, and leaned her head against the cool glass of the window.
The city blurred past her, its early morning quiet a stark contrast to the chaos inside her. The memories of last night replayed in flashes—the handsome stranger at the bar, the touch of his hands, the heat of his lips against hers. A single tear slipped down her cheek as her heart twisted painfully.
This wasn't who she was. This wasn't the Helena Hemsworth who grew up dreaming of a perfect life with her perfect man.
"Miss, we're here," the driver said, his voice cutting through her thoughts.
Helena blinked and realized they'd arrived at her apartment complex. She fumbled for her wallet, handing the driver a few bills before stepping out into the crisp morning air. Her apartment loomed ahead, a familiar yet suddenly daunting sight.
She climbed the stairs slowly, each step heavy with the weight of what awaited her inside. The betrayal. The lies. The wreckage of the life she thought she had.
As she unlocked her door and stepped inside, she froze.
Matthew was sitting on her couch.
Helena's breath hitched, and a frown etched itself onto her face. She had loved him so much—so deeply—that she'd given him a spare key to her apartment without hesitation. Now, that decision felt like a cruel irony.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting through the silence like a blade.
Matthew looked up at her calmly, his expression devoid of guilt or remorse. He was still impeccably dressed from the engagement party, though his tie hung loose, and his hair was slightly disheveled. He didn't even flinch at her anger. Instead, he leaned back against the couch, his arms draped casually over the cushions.
"Relax, Helena," he said, his voice maddeningly smooth. "I just came to talk."
Helena's fists clenched at her sides. "Talk? You have the audacity to come into my home after what you did last night? After everything?!"
Matthew sighed as if she were being unreasonable. "Look, I get that you're upset—"
"Upset?" Helena's voice cracked, a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You were sleeping with my sister, Matthew! My twin sister! The night before our engagement party! And you think I'm just upset?"
He shrugged, his nonchalance infuriating. "I'm not here to argue with you. I came to tell you something important. You need to make sure that neither your parents nor mine find out about… last night. It would ruin everything."
Helena's mouth fell open, her disgust palpable. "Are you even listening to yourself?" she spat. "You cheated on me—with Hazel—and you're worried about appearances? What the hell is wrong with you?"
Matthew stood, taking a step toward her. His calm demeanor didn't waver, which only made her angrier. "Helena," he said, his tone measured, "it's not about appearances. It's about avoiding a scandal. Both of our families are deeply involved in this union. If they find out about Hazel and me, everything will fall apart."
Helena's lip curled in disdain. "And what exactly are you going to do if I tell them?"
Matthew chuckled softly, the sound low and chilling. He closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to tilt her chin upward. His touch was gentle, but it sent a shiver of revulsion through her.
"You don't want to find out," he said, his voice almost a whisper.
Helena's eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, she felt her resolve falter. This was the man she had loved with all her heart. The man she had trusted above all others. Yet now, all she saw was betrayal staring back at her, hidden behind that confident smirk.
Pain swelled in her chest, hot and unbearable. Without thinking, she slapped his hand away, the motion sharp and decisive. "Get the hell out of my house," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and heartbreak.
Matthew didn't react immediately. Instead, he smirked, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a way that sent a chill down her spine. He turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps slow and deliberate.
Just as he reached it, he paused, his hand on the doorknob. He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his eyes cold and unfeeling. "For the record, Helena," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion, "I never loved you. It was always Hazel."
The words hit Helena like a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs. She stood frozen, staring at the man she had planned to marry, the man she thought loved her. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision, but she refused to let them fall.
Matthew didn't wait for a response. He opened the door and walked out, leaving Helena standing alone in the silence of her apartment.
For a moment, she didn't move. The weight of his words settled heavily on her, and her knees threatened to give out. The tears she had been holding back spilled over, hot and relentless.
She clutched the edge of the counter for support, her body trembling with the force of her sobs. The man she loved most had not only betrayed her but had never even loved her at all.
Helena sank to the floor, her tears falling freely now. The pain was unbearable, but amidst it, a spark of something else began to stir. Anger. Determination.
Matthew might have broken her heart, but she knew he wouldn't break her spirit.
Not completely.