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⚠️ Content Warning:
This chapter includes themes of family manipulation, emotional estrangement, and betrayal between siblings
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The sky outside the studio was gray when Liv forgot their meeting.
It wasn't like her. Not Liv.
Nia paced the floor alone, scrolling through the pitch slides they'd stayed up late perfecting. The investors were waiting. The samples were ready. And Liv… didn't show up.
She arrived breathless, hair slightly damp, eyes distant.
> "Sorry. I—got caught up. It won't happen again."
Nia nodded and smiled, but something small and sharp lodged in her chest. Something uneasy.
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It started small.
Late replies. Missed calls. Liv canceling shoots at the last minute.
She was tired, she said. Just overwhelmed.
But Liv had never forgotten a thing that mattered. Not the big stuff. Not Nia.
Still, Nia made excuses for her. As always.
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Then came Zavian.
Kavian's old friend. The kind of man who smiled too easily, touched too long, and complimented with too much charm.
> "Liv's got star quality," he said once at a party, not bothering to whisper.
"She could really be something… on her own."
Nia caught Kavian watching her reaction.
She caught something else too.
Liv smiled. Just a little.
And didn't say otherwise.
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After that, things changed.
Design approvals vanished. Emails went unread.
Liv started taking interviews alone. Talking in I's instead of we's.
One night, Nia had enough.
> "Is something wrong?" she asked, carefully. "With us?"
Liv looked up from her phone. And for the first time, her eyes weren't warm. They were tired—maybe even resentful.
> "Why does everything have to be together?"
> "Because we built this together," Nia replied, voice soft.
Liv's silence stretched long.
> "Maybe I want to be seen as more than someone's other half."
Something cracked inside Nia. But she didn't say a word.
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That night, Kavian poured himself a glass of wine.
Zavian had done his part well.
The wedge was working.
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The storm didn't come with shouting.
It began with silence.
And silence, between twins, is a scream.
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The new collection deadline was ten days away.
Liv missed the fabric check—again.
Nia stayed late at the studio—again.
She sent mockups, finalized patterns, pricing estimates.
No reply.
At 1:04 a.m., Liv finally texted:
> With Zavian. Will look later.
Nia stared at the message.
No apology. No explanation.
She didn't sleep that night.
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The next morning, Nia arrived early—only to find Liv already there, barefoot on the office couch, scrolling through edits.
> "Good morning," Liv said, not looking up.
Nia dropped the portfolio on the table.
> "We needed to finalize the lineup last night. I did it alone."
Liv shrugged.
> "I said I'd look later."
> "You were with Zavian."
> "So?"
> "So he's not part of this team."
Liv's shoulders tensed.
> "You don't get to control who I see, Nia."
> "I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to keep us together. We built this—"
> "Together?" Liv snapped. "You mean your way. Your plans. Your timing. I just tag along and smile, right?"
The words hit harder than any slap.
Nia blinked, stunned.
> "Tag along? Liv, this is our company. Our dream."
Liv looked away. Her voice cracked—barely.
> "Maybe I don't want the same dream anymore."
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Silence fell. Heavy. Suffocating.
Nia took a breath. Reached for something—anything.
But Liv turned first.
She walked out without another word.
And behind the tinted glass of the studio's front lobby, Kavian watched.
Not smiling.
Not gloating.
Just watching.
Because sometimes the deepest betrayals don't need celebration.
They just need patience.
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