The Despicable Misunderstanding

Clive grinned, his lips stretching over yellowed teeth as he clasped Sylvie’s delicate hands in his massive, sweaty palms. “Nothing much,” he said, his voice a rough rumble in the dim booth. “I simply heard your foster mother saying you like plain water, so I put a little something in it.”

Sylvie’s breath hitched. The drug raced through her veins, stealing the command she had over her own muscles. Her vision swam, the gold and red lights of the clubhouse blurring together into a dizzying smear. The half-empty glass of water sat mocking her from the low table.

Clive leaned closer, his greasy forehead gleaming under the ambient light. He squeezed her fingers, ignoring the raw panic radiating from her gaze. “Don’t worry. Your mother had already promised to let you marry me. So, we will go and get our marriage certificate after tonight. I’ll dote on you and love you and your well-behaved daughter.”

The truth crashed over Sylvie like freezing water. Her foster mother asking her to deliver this package had been a setup from the very beginning. Muriel had sold her out to this monster for a paycheck. Suffocating despair clawed at her throat. She had been a fool to trust the sudden errand, a fool to think her adoptive family held any genuine care for her well-being.

Before she could force out a word of protest, Clive lunged forward and pulled her into a forceful embrace. The sickening stench of stale tobacco and cheap alcohol enveloped her, turning her stomach. Sylvie raised a trembling hand, pressing it against his broad, suited chest in a desperate attempt to shove him away. But the drug had stripped away her strength. Her limbs felt boneless, her resistance so feeble that her hand merely rested against his lapel, sliding down his jacket in slow motion.

To any outsider passing by the booth, her weak struggle looked exactly like a willing lover returning an intimate embrace.

Just then, a few yards down the corridor, footsteps paused against the marble floor. Elias Rowe stepped into the main clubhouse area alongside Julian. Elias glanced toward the semi-open booths, his eyes widening in shock at the sight. He gasped, pointing a finger toward the dim lighting. “Boss, that… isn’t that your future wife?”

Julian stopped. He turned his gaze toward the beam of light illuminating the corner booth. Two figures sat entwined on the leather sofa. His sharp eyes immediately locked onto the woman's exquisite face, illuminated by the table lamp. Then, he noticed the bright yellow fabric of the special takeout uniform she wore.

It was Sylvie.

She was the exact same woman who had fiercely scolded him for being blind just last night in the hospital corridor.

Julian narrowed his eyes. The man holding her was fat, older, and had a face slick with grease. Yet, there Sylvie was, nestled against his chest, her hand resting softly on his jacket. The sight shattered the image Julian had formed of her. Just yesterday, she possessed a sharp tongue and a stubborn, fierce independence. He had assumed she was arrogant, a woman with a strong spine and a personality of her own. Seeing her intimately entwined with such a repulsive figure sent a surge of unexplainable disgust through his veins.

A deep sense of irritation twisted in his chest, tighter than he anticipated. He parted his lips, his voice dropping into a cold, freezing register. “She’s not Giselle. Don’t compare her to Giselle.”

A hint of resentment laced his tone. Julian harbored no romantic interest in Giselle, but in his mind, she was refined, educated, and respected herself. Giselle carried herself with dignity. She would never stoop low enough to sell herself to a greasy older man in a public clubhouse.

Elias stood beside him, confused. If that woman was not Giselle, who on earth was she? And why did the boss look so furious?

Knowing Julian’s prominent status, Elias grew cautious. The existence of a woman who looked identical to the boss’s future wife posed a massive security risk. People with hidden agendas could easily use her face to cause trouble. Seeking clarity, Elias pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped into their secure information network to run a quick facial recognition and background check.

Seconds later, lines of text populated the screen. Elias read the file, his jaw dropping lower with every sentence.

He stared at the screen, shocked by the results. “Boss, look at this,” Elias murmured, tilting the phone toward Julian.

The profile depicted a tragic, chaotic life. Sylvie. Twenty-two years old. Born with a fate deemed unlucky, causing her family to send her to the countryside to be raised by others. The records claimed she possessed a mischievous, stubborn nature since childhood. At fifteen, she partnered with a male classmate to swindle money from others. The most damning detail sat in the middle of the page: expelled during her senior year of high school due to a fatherless teen pregnancy. Dropping out in disgrace, she hid at home.

The file continued, painting a picture of pure selfishness. Her grandmother, the very person who raised her, suffered a stroke and developed cerebral palsy out of sheer anger over Sylvie's actions. The hospital bills fell onto the shoulders of her sister. Now, the dossier stated, Sylvie entertained impure relationships with multiple men, lacking any shred of self-respect.

“Oh my god,” Elias sighed in relief, shaking his head at the screen. “Even though they share the exact same face, their characters are worlds apart. Boss, fortunately the person you are going to marry is Miss Giselle. Otherwise… this would be a disaster.”

Julian scanned the glowing screen. As he absorbed the fabricated information, his handsome face turned as cold as frost. The temperature around him seemed to drop several degrees.

So this woman really was that shameless and unscrupulous. The fierce independence she displayed last night was nothing more than an act, a facade hiding a corrupted core. She was a swindler, a disgrace to her family, and a woman who sold herself for money.

Julian clamped down on his jaw. A strange, lingering frustration gnawed at the back of his mind. Why did he even care? Her life choices had nothing to do with him. She was a stranger who happened to share a face with his fiancé.

Suppressing the irritation, he looked away from the booth. He spoke coldly, dismissing the scene unfolding in the light. “There is no need to discuss something that is impossible. Let’s go.”

“Yes, boss,” Elias replied, pocketing his phone.

Without a second glance back at the booth, the two men turned away and disappeared into the sprawling, luxurious hall of the clubhouse, leaving Sylvie behind to face her nightmare.

A dozen yards away, concealed within a dark corner near the decorative pillars, Giselle stood motionless. She watched the entire scene unfold from the shadows, a smug smile curling her painted lips.

The trap had worked flawlessly.

She had deliberately orchestrated every single detail of this night. She knew Julian’s schedule. She knew he had a business meeting at The Obsidian Room tonight. Armed with that knowledge, she had instructed Muriel to send Sylvie here on a fake errand, timing it so Julian would walk past the exact booth at the perfect moment.

As for the background check that Elias had pulled up? Giselle had prepared that long ago. She anticipated someone looking into Sylvie's past, so she had planted the fabricated, exaggerated information four years ago, burying it deep in the network where investigators would easily find it.

Giselle knew Julian better than anyone. She knew his utter disdain for unscrupulous, manipulative women. Seeing Sylvie in the arms of a man like Clive, combined with the vile details of the fake dossier, guaranteed Julian would never spare Sylvie another glance. Any chance of him discovering the truth or feeling sympathy for her twin was now dead and buried.

She stepped back deeper into the shadows, immense satisfaction swelling in her chest. The suffocating injustice Sylvie was experiencing right now was exactly what Giselle wanted. She watched Clive’s massive hand grip Sylvie's helpless frame.

Giselle smiled lightly, her eyes gleaming with malice as she looked in her twin's direction.

'My dear younger sister,' Giselle thought, savoring the moment, 'you should cherish it tonight…'