For three years, I was Damian Hawthorne's pretty bird in a gilded cage. The day I discovered I was pregnant, I overheard him talking to his twin brother. "Damian," his brother said, "I've been pretending to be you, playing with your little bird for so long... she's not gonna flip out and leave when she finds out, is she?" Damian's voice was laced with indifference. "Why would she? She'd never give this up." "Besides," he added, "it's not the first time we've swapped." "Just don't get her pregnant. I find that... dirty." At that moment, live comments scrolled across my vision, a strange quirk I'd had for years. 【LMAO, the side character is pregnant and she's actually happy about it. Little does she know, the great Damian Hawthorne has never even touched her. It was his twin brother who knocked her up.】 【Damian only has eyes for the main female lead. Even if the baby was his, he'd kick them both to the curb without a second thought.】 I didn't cry. I didn't throw a tantrum. I just kept playing the part of the devoted lover for the man who wasn't Damian. But in secret, I booked an appointment at a clinic and a one-way ticket out of the country. The day he caught me there, he grabbed his brother by the throat, his eyes blazing with a madness I'd never seen. "Who the hell gave you permission to touch her?" 1 The day I found out I was pregnant, I drove through a torrential downpour to the exclusive lounge Damian always frequented. By the time I arrived, my hair was damp, clinging to my cheeks as I reached for the heavy oak door. Just as my fingers brushed against the cold brass handle, I heard his voice from within, as cool and remote as a winter sky. "Had your fun yet? When are you going to switch back?" It was his twin brother, Julian, who answered. "Not yet. I'm not done playing." A hint of irritation crept into Damian's tone. "You haven't touched her, have you? You know the rules." There was a barely perceptible pause from Julian, then a slow, sly smile spread across his lips, audible in his voice. "What are you so afraid of? Of course not." He took a sip of what sounded like whiskey. "But even if I had, you wouldn't really care, would you?" Damian hesitated, a flicker of something unnatural in his voice. "Of course not. It's just... dirty." The private room erupted in a chorus of jeers. "Damn, Julian, you're even going for your brother's leftovers?" "Can you blame him? With a face like Zoe's, who wouldn't want a piece of that?" "And that body... curves in all the right places. That ass is like a ripe peach, ready to be picked." "Only a saint like Damian would keep her around and not touch her." A woman sitting next to Damian let out a delicate laugh. "The way you all talk, it's like Zoe is a public restroom, open for anyone." A wave of cruel laughter filled the room. I recognized her voice. Isabelle Thorne, the untouchable princess of New York's elite, Damian's childhood friend, the woman he’d cherished his entire life. Someone else asked, "Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway? This is a high-stakes game." Isabelle's voice was smug. "They're so clueless. It was mine, obviously. Zoe probably doesn't even dream that Damian has an identical twin. You should be thanking me. Without my little plan, you'd never get to have this much fun." Damian let out a fond chuckle. "Alright, alright, you're the cleverest one here." "I heard there's a wedding in seven days," one of the guys chimed in. "Damian and Zoe. Is that for real?" Damian laughed it off. "Of course not. The girl wants a title, so I'm just playing along." Isabelle suddenly sat up, a wicked glint in her voice. "Oh, I have a perfect idea. On their 'wedding day,' right at the altar, you two tell her the truth. That for the past year, you've been taking turns with her. I want to see the look on her face. Pushing her into the abyss right when she thinks she's found happiness—isn't that just delicious?" Damian's laugh was weary but indulgent. "You're still such a kid." Isabelle pouted. "And you've been indulging this 'kid' since we were little, giving me whatever I want. And you two better be careful. Don't go and get her knocked up by accident. A girl from the slums like her... she'd be impossible to get rid of if she got pregnant." Damian's voice tightened. "Don't even joke about that. We've never touched her." "But what if?" Isabelle pressed, her tone playful. "What if it happened by accident?" Damian's laugh was careless, dismissive. "Then we'd just tell her to get lost. Right, Julian?" Julian, who seemed to have been lost in thought, answered a second too late. "Yeah. Right." The comments flared in my vision: 【LMAO, Julian says he hasn't touched her, but he's been sleeping with her behind his brother's back this whole time.】 【And the dumb side character is pregnant and happy, not knowing it's the brother's baby and the man she thinks she loves has never laid a hand on her.】 【Damian is all about the main girl. Even if the baby was his, he'd make them both disappear.】 【I'm shipping this so hard! Damian stays pure for our girl Isabelle, and Julian is just using the side character for practice. This is the kind of story I live for!】 I looked down at the pregnancy test in my hand, its two stark lines a silent, screaming confirmation. Running through the rain, my original plan had been to rush to Damian and share the news. I was pregnant. But now, it seemed, there was no point. 2 That same afternoon, I scheduled an appointment at a clinic and booked a flight for seven days later. The same day as the "wedding." The timing was perfect. I could collect one last generous allowance from my patron. Since they wanted to humiliate me at the wedding by revealing their grand deception, why shouldn't I ruin their little play first by simply not showing up? Turn their script into a complete farce. Besides, I’d been a full-time kept woman for years. I’d squirreled away a nice little nest egg. The savings rate had been particularly good lately, almost doubling. I'd wondered why "Damian" kept forgetting he'd already sent my allowance, wiring it over and over. Now the mystery was solved. Damian would send it once, and then his brother, Julian, would send it again. I mentally patted my secret treasure trove. I'd first gotten entangled with Damian in college. Isabelle Thorne was my roommate. She had a cruel hobby: orchestrating elaborate pranks to ruin people's lives. In high school, she’d had one of her rich friends pursue a normal, hardworking girl, showering her with roses, luxury bags, and gifts. The girl, who'd never seen such extravagance, fell head over heels. Right before the final exams, Isabelle had the friend brutally dump her. The girl was so devastated that she bombed her exams and, shortly after, jumped from a building. She survived, but as a vegetable. Isabelle, meanwhile, went off to Princeton and became my roommate. Her new target became me: the tragic campus beauty working three jobs to support a gambling-addict father, a deceased mother, and a sick grandmother. This time, I was the game. And Damian Hawthorne was the leading man she'd handpicked for me. The prodigy of Princeton's math department, a man whose candid photos could break the internet, and the heir to the Hawthorne Corporation. A man with a limitless future. She tasked him with conquering me, making me his girlfriend. According to Isabelle's script, Damian would spoil me rotten with money until I was completely dependent on his lifestyle. Then, he'd dump me, sending me into a spiral of despair from which I'd never recover. And Damian played his part perfectly. He showered me with gifts, expressed deep sympathy for my tragic background, forbade me from working my menial jobs, and surprised me with new romantic gestures every day. But I was a squirrel by nature. Every dollar Damian gave me, I saved. Every piece of jewelry, I never wore. I'd sell them online for a premium. I’d known poverty too intimately to feel worthy of such things. Money, tucked away and growing, was the only security I understood. And I wasn't stupid. I could feel it—Damian was acting. Every time he held my hand, I caught the fleeting flicker of derision in his eyes. I didn't know why he pursued me when he clearly disliked me, but he was generous, and I wasn't going to miss the opportunity. I had to hoard as much as I could. We acted like any other couple—we dated, we hugged, we kissed. That winter, I even knitted him a scarf as a gift. The day my grandmother's condition worsened, I broke my own rule and asked Damian for an expensive birthday present for the first time. I remember how he froze for a second, then smiled. I'll never forget the triumphant, predatory gleam in his eyes. Like a snake finally flicking its tongue. They thought their plan had worked, that I was finally corrupted. The very next day, Damian broke up with me. Isabelle waited, expecting a show. She wanted to see me break down, unable to cope with a life of poverty again. She wanted to see me cry, beg, and cling to Damian, a pathetic, ugly mess. But she was disappointed. I just went back to my old life—working my jobs, going to class. My routine was just... quieter. I even managed to cut back from three jobs to two. Sometimes, I'd upgrade my instant ramen with a hot dog and an egg, and a small yogurt drink for dessert. I even gained a few pounds. I never begged him to take me back. In fact, the moment we broke up, I deleted his number. Her game had failed to produce the desired result, and she threw a fit, declaring it utterly boring. From then on, she made my life in the dorm a living hell, putting tacks in my shoes or pouring cold water on my bed in the dead of winter. Later, my father’s gambling debts spiraled out of control, and he ended up owing a fortune to the Hawthornes. To settle the debt, he offered me. That's how I, by a cruel twist of fate, became Damian's gilded bird. Lately, I’d actually started to think we could build a real life together. Damian had always been cold, distant. He’d never even touched me intimately. But at the beginning of this year, something shifted. He started to kiss me. One night, he came home drunk. I helped him to the sofa and went to make him some tea. Suddenly, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me into his lap. He gently pressed his lips to mine. I was so unused to it, I almost forgot to breathe. He chuckled softly. "So that's what you taste like. Sweet. Next time, remember to breathe." That night, he took me. After that, he became more adventurous, more demanding. He hated using protection. He got a thrill out of making love to me when the housekeeper and maids were in the house, forcing me to bite my lip to stifle my cries. The more I resisted, the more excited he seemed to get. He had a strange quirk. When we were in the throes of passion, he'd make me say his name, over and over. "What's my name?" "Damian. You're Damian." "Wrong. Say it again." "What's wrong with you, Damian—mmph..." He would press down, a storm of something fierce and untamed in his eyes. The more I said the name, the harder he'd become. Even though he was strange and intense, like a wild dog that needed calming, he could also be incredibly sweet. He'd cuddle, kiss me tenderly, and knowing my stomach was sensitive, he'd cook me warm, soothing porridge. On my birthday, he lit up the entire city skyline with fireworks. As they exploded in a shower of color, he stroked my hair. "My love," he'd whispered, "let's make a real life together." When I had nightmares, he'd wake me, hold me tight, and murmur, "Shh, my sweet girl, I'm here. You're safe." Slowly, I began to think I was falling for him. A few months ago, he had me pinned to the bed again, refusing a condom. "What if I get pregnant?" I'd asked. He kissed me. "Then we'll have it. I'll raise it with you." The proposal was his idea. One night, after we'd made love, he lay over me, his voice soft. "My love, stop being my mistress. Be my wife." Looking back now, it's so painfully clear. The man who first took me to bed, the man who proposed... it was never Damian. It was Julian. And the proposal? Just the start of a new, crueler game. I had truly considered having this child. But now, it seemed, there was no point. 3 Five days until my departure. I had become an expert at telling the Hawthorne brothers apart. Damian was the cold, brooding workaholic who rarely smiled. Julian was the affectionate, playful one with a small mole on his V-line, visible whenever we were undressed. I had no idea if Damian had one there, too. He'd never given me the chance to find out. That morning, I came downstairs to find Damian sitting in the living room, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, reading the newspaper. "Zoe, wear something nice today. We have guests coming." The morning paper, the glasses, the icy tone. This was the real Damian. The comments in my head went wild. 【Hehe, today's the day she officially meets Julian!】 【She's been slept with by Julian countless times, he knows every sensitive spot on her body, and now she has to pretend she doesn't know him. It must be torture.】 【That's how people from the gutter are. They'll endure anything for money. Our girl Isabelle is so much better, a true leading lady who never depends on anyone.】 【This meeting is all a setup for the public humiliation at the wedding. I can't wait!】 【Isabelle is such a cunning little minx. I love her!】 I went upstairs and changed. At noon, Julian arrived with Isabelle. Seeing him, a perfect copy of Damian, I feigned a gasp, my expression a carefully crafted mask of shock. Damian made the introductions. "Zoe, this is my twin brother, Julian. He just got back from a business trip abroad." Julian extended his hand, his smile warm and harmless. "A pleasure to meet you." I took his hand. "You too." I let out a small, amused laugh. "I can't believe it. You two are absolutely identical." Julian's expression didn't falter. "There's a lot you don't know," he said, his voice smooth as silk. Sometimes, I had to admire his acting. After sleeping together countless times, he could still look at me like a complete stranger. Isabelle laughed. "Oh, I don't need an introduction. Zoe and I were college roommates, remember?" She looped her arm through mine. "I heard you're getting married soon! Damian and I already talked it over. I'm going to be your maid of honor." Just then, the chef announced that lunch was served. At the dining table, Isabelle sat strategically between the two brothers. Propping her chin on her hand, she asked me with a saccharine smile, "Zoe, have you noticed any changes in Damian lately?" I knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to see me squirm. Fine. I'd give her what she wanted. I put down my fork and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, he has changed a lot this past year." For a moment, the world seemed to stop. All three of them froze, their expressions stiffening. Then I let out a soft laugh, a delicate blush coloring my cheeks. "He's become... so much kinder to me. I find myself falling for him more every day." Damian shot a dark look at Julian. During the meal, Julian casually peeled a shrimp and placed it in my bowl. "Garlic shrimp for my darling," he said affectionately. "No shells. Your favorite." The air went still. We all froze. He realized his slip-up instantly but recovered with practiced ease. "That's what my brother calls you. Slipped out." I nodded. "How thoughtful of you." Damian shot Julian a look that could kill. I ignored them, popping the shrimp into my mouth and chewing. And then I frowned. Something was wrong. It tasted... off. Fishy. My stomach lurched. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom. When I came back out, Isabelle was watching me with a knowing, malicious glint in her eyes. "Morning sickness, perhaps?" Two pairs of identical eyes, Damian's and Julian's, snapped to me. "No," I said quickly. "Just an upset stomach. Besides, throwing up is good for the figure." Damian put down his fork, his smile thin and humorless. "If you get any thinner, you'll be sharp enough to cut."
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