The Man of My Dreams
The first time I saw him, I forgot how to breathe.
It wasn't because he was rich or famous — though, clearly, he was both. It was because of the way he smiled, like the world hadn't yet found a way to hurt him.
I was standing behind the floral decorations at the Blake Charity Gala, clutching my design sketchbook like a shield. I wasn't supposed to be there — I was only the event decorator's assistant, invisible among the diamonds and champagne.
But then, he walked in.
Tall. Effortless. Eyes that sparkled like late-summer sunlight.
When our gazes met, I swore time skipped a beat.
"Nice sketch," he said, his voice warm enough to melt through my nerves.
I blinked down — I hadn't even noticed he was looking at my drawing of the hall.
Th-thank you," I stammered.
He smiled wider. "You have talent. Maybe next year you'll be the one hosting the event."
He left me speechless, walking away with that easy confidence only people born into privilege carried. I didn't even know his name then — but that night, I dreamed of him.
Three weeks later, I saw him again.
I was presenting design concepts for a new office project. My boss whispered, "That's the client's brother. Don't mess up — the Blakes are our biggest account."
I turned, and there he was — the man from the gala.
He smiled in recognition. "We meet again." My heart fluttered. "So you're the client's brother?"
He nodded, holding out his hand. "Ethan Blake."
The name echoed like a melody I wanted to remember forever.
From that day on, he started showing up often — pretending to check progress, bringing coffee, asking about my sketches. He made me laugh, and I found myself falling, slowly but deeply.
But every fairy tale has its shadow.
One late evening, while finalizing a design layout, I heard a voice behind me — low, cold, commanding.
"You're still here?"
I turned — and froze.
It was him. Or so I thought.
Same face. Same eyes. But gone was the warmth. This one looked at me like I was an intruder.
"I— I was just finishing—"
He cut me off sharply. "Next time, get permission before staying after hours. Security could mistake you for a trespasser."
My lips parted. "I'm sorry, Mr…?"
He adjusted his cufflinks, his stare piercing.
"Eric Blake."
Eric. Ethan's twin.
He turned and walked away, leaving me trembling — not from fear, but from confusion. They looked identical, yet completely opposite.
I didn't know it then… but that moment would change my life forever.
That night, I called Ethan.
"I met your brother today," I said softly.
He chuckled. "Ah, Eric. Don't mind him, he's always cold. Just stay out of his way."
If only I had listened.
Because soon, fate would blur the lines between the twin I loved… and the twin I would accidentally fall for.