Hiding Behind the Curtain

The brutal, demanding heat of his mouth was still devouring her breath, trapping her in a dizzying nightmare she thought she had escaped four years ago. Just as the crushing weight of despair and grievance threatened to swallow her whole, a sharp, electronic chime pierced the thick tension in the room.

*Ding dong.*

The doorbell echoed through the quiet walls of the villa. A split second later, a soft, familiar feminine voice drifted through the thick oak of the front door.

"Julian, open the door. I’m carrying something in my hands."

Sylvie’s blood ran ice-cold.

It was her sister. Giselle.

Her entire frame began to shake. The sheer terror flooding her veins provided a sudden, desperate surge of adrenaline. With a frantic shove, she planted her palms against Julian’s hard chest and pushed him away, breaking the heavy, suffocating kiss.

She was dead. She was actually dead.

Her sister was standing right outside! What was she supposed to do?

Julian staggered back half a step, his dark brows knitting together in harsh irritation. He stared down at the trembling, pale-faced woman before him. The burning haze of lust in his eyes rapidly cooled into sharp confusion. Turning his head, he reached out and tapped the security screen mounted on the wall.

The video feed blinked to life. His pupils contracted.

Standing in the brightly lit hallway, holding several bags, was a woman who looked exactly like the 'Giselle' currently shivering in his entryway.

The air in the room froze.

What kind of twisted game was this? Why was there one Giselle standing outside his door, while another one was right here in his arms, her lips bruised and swollen from his kiss?

Sylvie couldn't care less about the dark, calculating gaze Julian was currently dragging over her face. She felt like a cat thrown onto a blazing hot tin roof. Her mind raced with catastrophic scenarios. Giselle had strictly forbidden her from ever appearing in front of Julian all those years ago. If her sister walked in and saw her like this—hair tangled, clothes rumpled, her face flushed from a man's forceful possession—it would be the end of everything.

Tears of sheer panic welled in her eyes. "Sir, please help me!" she begged, her voice a desperate, trembling whisper.

Julian stared at her. The gears in his mind turned with lethal precision.

So, this woman wasn't Giselle.

The handsome angles of his face hardened. The temperature around him seemed to drop ten degrees. "Who are you?" he demanded, his tone laced with a dangerous edge.

Sylvie bit her lower lip, her fingernails digging into her palms. She was Giselle’s younger twin sister. But telling him the truth right now might only make things worse. What if he exposed her identity on the spot?

*Ding dong! Ding dong!*

"Julian, are you there?" Giselle’s urging voice cut through the silence again, robbing Sylvie of any chance to formulate a lie.

Julian’s deep, swirling gaze remained locked on the frantic woman before him. A dozen rational calculations flashed through his mind. Whoever she was, dealing with an explosive confrontation right now was a waste of his time. To avoid unnecessary trouble, he made a swift decision.

"Go inside first," he ordered, his voice devoid of the fiery heat from just moments ago. It was rigid, freezing, and left absolutely no room for defiance. "You are not allowed to come out without my order."

"Okay," Sylvie breathed out a frantic nod. Like a frightened rabbit darting from a predator, she spun around and sprinted deeper into the spacious living room. Her eyes darted around the minimalist space before locking onto the heavy, floor-to-ceiling drapes framing the large windows. She slipped behind the thick fabric, pressing her back flat against the cold glass, willing her racing heart to quiet down.

Julian watched the fabric settle before he smoothed down the front of his shirt with slow, deliberate grace. His expression was a mask of aristocratic indifference as he reached out and pulled the front door open.

Giselle stood in the hallway, balancing a stack of elegant takeout boxes in her arms. The moment the door opened, her face lit up with a picture-perfect, virtuous smile.

"Julian, you’re here?" she breathed, her tone dripping with gentle affection. "I thought you weren’t home because you didn’t answer the door for so long."

She looked the part of the perfect, caring fiancé.

Julian looked down at her. The face was identical to the woman hiding in his living room, yet the demeanor was worlds apart. He kept his posture relaxed but maintained a high wall of cautious scrutiny. "Aren’t you busy with work?" he asked, his tone carrying a heavy, conceited distance. "Why did you come over?"

The practiced smile on Giselle’s face faltered for a fraction of a second.

Things had been so strained between them. Ever since his grandfather passed away unexpectedly, their plans to get a marriage certificate had been shelved indefinitely. He never brought it up again. Instead, he treated her with this infuriating, icy detachment. She had gone out of her way to request a job transfer just to be in this city, just to close the gap between them. She wanted to spend more time by his side, hoping to rekindle whatever affection he once held for her. She expected him to be at least mildly pleased to see her holding dinner.

Swallowing the bitter lump of disappointment in her throat, she forced her smile back into place. "I was worried about you," she said softly. "You always find it difficult to settle into a new place, and you never get used to the local food easily. So, I set aside some time to come over and bring you proper meals."

Julian didn’t step aside to let her in immediately. He simply reached out and took the stack of containers from her hands. His jaw was set in a firm, unforgiving line.

"Don’t bother doing that in the future," he stated flatly. "Hayes and I are used to eating takeout."

His words were cold, arrogant, and lacked even a shred of appreciation.

Behind the thick curtains, Sylvie strained her ears to listen. Despite her own terror, she couldn't help but criticize the man in her head. What an insufferable tyrant! Her sister actually went through the trouble of bringing him food, and he brushed her off with such staggering arrogance?

Giselle stood frozen on the welcome mat. She hadn't expected him to reject her overture so bluntly. A wave of dejection washed over her, making her chest ache. She opened her mouth to try and salvage the conversation, to perhaps invite herself in for a drink, when her eyes caught something against the stark white fabric of his shirt.

She gasped, her eyes widening in genuine shock. "Ehh? Julian... why is there a strand of a woman’s hair on your chest?"

Behind the curtain, Sylvie stopped breathing.

Hair!

Her hands flew to her own messy locks. During her frantic struggle to push him away just moments ago, a strand of her hair must have clung to his shirt. The realization hit her like a physical blow. What was she going to do? If Giselle found her hiding here, sneaking around in Julian's apartment with messy hair and swollen lips, there would be no way to explain herself. She would be ruined.

Sylvie clamped a hand over her mouth, terrified that even the sound of her own heartbeat would give her away.

Julian didn't flinch. He casually lowered his gaze, plucking the long, dark strand from his shirt with practiced indifference. "The woman who delivered the takeout just now must have dropped it," he said.

His delivery was flawless. The sentence held zero emotion, sounding as natural as commenting on the weather.

But Giselle wasn't stupid.

Why would a delivery woman step close enough to leave hair on his chest? Why would a delivery woman even enter the premises? Add that to the fact that Julian took forever to answer the door...

A dark, poisonous suspicion bloomed in Giselle's mind. Was there another woman inside? Was some cheap tramp in his apartment right now, trying to seduce her fiancé?

She masked her burning jealousy behind a polite, elegant veneer. "Oh, is that so?" she chimed, stepping past him into the entryway. "In that case, you can go ahead and eat while the food is hot, Julian. I’ll just clean up your room for you."

Without waiting for him to object, Giselle moved into the living room. She set her purse down and immediately began her tidying.

It was a thinly veiled hunt.

She walked straight to the decorative cabinets, opening the doors and running her hands along the shelves. From there, she moved to the center of the room. She bent over the expensive leather sofa, making a show of fluffing the cushions, but her eyes darted underneath the furniture, scanning the shadows. Julian walked over and took a seat on the sofa, watching her sweep the room.

Behind the curtains, Sylvie pressed herself harder against the glass. The air in her lungs burned. She watched her sister’s silhouette moving closer and closer through the narrow slit in the fabric.

Giselle was looking for the woman. She was hunting.

The living room was spacious, but it wasn't infinite. There were only so many places a person could hide.

*Click. Click.*

The sharp sound of Giselle’s heels on the hardwood floor echoed like a countdown in Sylvie's ears. Less than two minutes into the search, Giselle paused. She stood up straight, her head turning slowly.

Her gaze locked directly onto the floor-to-ceiling curtains.

Sylvie’s stomach plummeted into an endless abyss. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails biting so hard into her sweaty palms that they nearly drew blood.

The clicking of the heels resumed. Slow. Deliberate. Moving straight toward her hiding spot.

She was done for.

She was going to be discovered...