1 The party was already in full swing, though a few people had yet to arrive. The private dining room of the upscale downtown bistro hummed with the clinking of wine glasses and the low, gossiping murmur of old high school classmates. “Is it true? Are Ethan Hayes and Isla Mercer really getting engaged?” “Oh, absolutely. I heard Ethan recognized her as his childhood savior specifically because of that unique red birthmark near the corner of her eye.” The speaker suddenly turned toward me, their eyes scanning my face with casual curiosity. “Hey, Audrey, didn’t you use to have a mark just like that? Right near your eye?” “Yeah, but hers was on the wrong side. No luck in that one anyway. Good thing you had it lasered off.” My fingers instinctively drifted to the outer corner of my left eye, touching the smooth, slightly sensitive skin. Before I flew back to the States, my father had called me. He reminded me that Isla was a rising social media influencer now, a public figure. “You two look eighty percent alike,” he had said, his voice flat and unyielding over the transatlantic line. “We can’t have you walking around with the exact same mark. It’ll cause confusion. Get it removed before you board the plane.” I had always preferred quiet compliance to endless, exhausting arguments. So, I went to a clinic in Lisbon and had it burned away. Suddenly, someone near the door gasped. “Isla’s here!” The chatter died down instantly, replaced by a collective rustle of heads turning toward the entrance. Isla Mercer walked in, her hand slipped elegantly through Ethan Hayes’s arm. She hadn’t changed at all. She still possessed that rare, effortless magnetism that commanded every eye in the room the moment she stepped across a threshold. Ethan stood beside her, tall and striking in a tailored charcoal suit. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his features were sharp, his gaze cool and composed. He looked far more grounded and formidable than he had three years ago. When his eyes swept across the room, my body reacted before my mind did, and I lowered my head. Only after a second did I realize how foolish that was. We had dated online for an entire year, but he had never once seen my face. To him, I was just a ghost in a locked drawer. Isla let go of Ethan’s arm and glided toward me, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. Before I could move, she threw her arms around me, wrapping me in a suffocating cloud of expensive floral perfume. “Audrey! Oh my god, when did you get back?” I gently but firmly pulled my arm out of her grasp. “Just landed a couple of days ago.” The lighting in the private room was dim, but Isla’s eyes locked onto the corner of my left eye. She stared at the faint, pinkish mark for two long seconds before a satisfied smile curved her lips. “By the way, Audrey,” she said, leaning in as if sharing a precious secret, “Ethan and I are getting engaged next month.” “Congratulations,” I said quietly. “Dad was saying it wouldn’t look right for the younger sister to marry first while the older one is still single,” she continued, her voice dripping with performative concern. “So he asked me to keep an eye out for you. And honestly, Ethan and Dad found someone perfect.” She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. “He’s an Ivy League grad, comes from a wonderful family. He was a little hesitant at first because of your… well, your overpriced, one-year master’s from Europe. But I used some of my connections to convince him to give you a chance.” I didn’t tell her that the “overpriced degree” was a fully funded master’s from one of the top business schools in Europe, or that I had already signed a lucrative contract with a top-tier consulting firm in the city. I didn’t say anything at all. I simply unlocked my phone and began reviewing a spreadsheet my supervisor had sent over. Isla’s smile faltered, her brow furrowing into a look of delicate distress. “Audrey, please don’t let your stubborn pride make things difficult for the family. You don’t want people whispering about how hard it is to marry you off, do you?” I nodded slowly, not looking up from my screen. “Whatever you say, Isla.” She froze, clearly caught off guard by my lack of resistance. Before she could press further, Ethan approached from behind, his hand settling naturally on her waist. He didn’t bother looking at me. “Let’s not waste our evening on irrelevant people, Isla,” he said, his tone smooth but dismissive. “Come on, everyone’s waiting for us.” I kept my eyes on my phone, my fingertips tightening against the glass screen until they turned white. We all took our seats around the long mahogany table. The wine flowed, the laughter grew louder, and the room warmed with nostalgia and easy camaraderie. Ethan didn’t speak much. Most of the time, he simply sat back, his arm draped over the back of Isla’s chair, his thumb occasionally tracing the small, crimson birthmark at the corner of her right eye. It was an intimate, practiced gesture. At one point, a classmate across the table mentioned that they were planning to marry someone they had met on a dating app. The table erupted into playful teasing. Isla seemed to think of something. She turned her head, looking at me with a sweet, speculative expression. “Speaking of online dating… Audrey, didn’t you have a serious online relationship back in high school?” She tapped her chin, her eyes wide. “I remember you mentioning he went to Oakhaven High, too.” The glass in Ethan’s hand paused mid-air. He slowly looked over, his sharp, dark eyes fixing on me with genuine attention for the very first time. Isla blinked innocently, her voice carrying over the din of the room. “Whatever happened to him anyway? Why did you guys break up?” 2 Honestly, the details of that final day had become somewhat blurred over the years. I only remembered the agonizing anxiety of the night before we were supposed to meet. I had been a knot of teenage insecurity, terrified that the real-world version of me—the quiet, bruised girl who hid in the back of the library—would disappoint him. And then, my phone had lit up with a notification. It was a photo of Isla, smiling brilliantly under the streetlights. My breath had caught in my throat. For a wild, terrifying second, I thought he had somehow connected the dots and discovered who I was. I clutched my skirt, my heart hammering against my ribs. But the next message was a notification for a wire transfer. One hundred thousand dollars. Don’t contact me again, he had written. I don’t want her to know you exist. This money is for your trouble, and for your silence. He wrote that he had finally found his savior—the girl with the red birthmark near her eye. I had one too. But mine was on the left. I didn’t argue. I didn’t try to explain that Isla’s birthmark was on her right eye, or that she had never set foot in the neighborhood where he had been hurt. I simply accepted the transfer, logged out of the account, and put the old phone in a box at the bottom of my closet. Until the very end, he never knew that the girl who had spent a year listening to his darkest fears, the girl who had pulled him back from the edge of his own teenage despair, was the quiet outcast sitting three rows behind him in study hall. To this day, I still couldn’t comprehend how Isla had convinced him she was his savior. Isla, who had spent two years ensuring my high school experience was a living hell, was somehow his angel. Shortly after we broke up, Ethan’s name was everywhere. He graduated at the top of our class, went to an Ivy League university, and eventually built a tech empire that made him one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. During a high-profile media interview, he had publicly declared his devotion to Isla, crediting her with saving his life when they were teenagers. I had turned off my phone that day and never searched his name again. I used to think Ethan’s departure would be a permanent rainstorm in my life—a damp, cold ache I could never escape. But then I took that hundred thousand dollars and moved to Portugal. In Lisbon, the sun was generous. It shone for over three hundred days a year, warming even the coldest winters. I spent my days studying, drinking cheap espresso on cobblestone streets, and slowly untangling myself from my family. I forgot the sound of Ethan’s voice. I became the top student in my department. I truly believed that three years of endless sunshine had dried out the old wounds. But sitting in this dim room, feeling the weight of his gaze, I realized some dampness settles deep in the marrow. At the first sign of rain, it starts to seep back out. 3 Ethan’s gaze remained fixed on me, intense and searching. “Oakhaven High?” The silence stretched between us, so tense I could hear the hum of the air conditioner. For a fleeting, terrifying moment, I wondered if he was finally putting the pieces together. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, his expression returning to its usual cool composure. “What was his username? Maybe I know him.” I forced a small, indifferent smile and took a sip of my water. “I don’t even remember. It was just an online thing. No real feelings involved.” He nodded slowly, his posture relaxing. “Right. Just an online thing.” The classmates around us lost interest, disappointed by the lack of drama, and began chatting about other things. But someone else turned back to Ethan. “Hey, Ethan, didn’t you have an online phase too? Come on, tell us the story!” Isla puffed out her cheeks in a mock pout, nudging his shoulder. Ethan let out a soft laugh, his eyes softening as he looked down at her. “Yeah, I did. Briefly.” He reached up, his fingers gently brushing the hair away from her right temple, his thumb settling on her birthmark. “But it didn’t mean anything. I spent years looking for Isla, and when I couldn’t find her, I got lonely. It was a compromise. Just settling.” “And what happened?” someone asked. His expression darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his eyes. “Eventually, I realized that settling is just a waste of time. Luckily, I found the person I was actually looking for.” My throat felt tight, dry. “Oh my god, that is so romantic,” a classmate squealed. “Ethan, you are literally a saint. And Isla, you are so lucky! I saw on social media that you were just named the national ambassador for the anti-bullying foundation. Even our high school alumni page posted a congratulatory banner for you!” Isla waved her hands quickly, her cheeks flushing with a perfect, humble pink. “Oh, stop, it’s really nothing. The foundation just wanted someone who could raise awareness.” Ethan’s tech firm was the talk of the city, and Isla was his beautiful, philanthropic fiancée. I knew all of this from the news. But hearing it in person made me feel entirely hollow. I leaned slightly toward the girl sitting next to me. “Is that… is that real? The anti-bullying thing?” She looked at me as if I had asked if the earth was flat. “Of course it’s real. It’s been trending on Twitter all week. Isla’s been getting endorsement deals left and right because of her clean image. Ethan’s supposedly planning a massive public proposal at the foundation’s annual gala next week.” I lowered my gaze, staring at the faint scar on the palm of my hand. I had physical scars on my shoulders, my ankles, and my lower back. And then there were the ones etched so deeply into my mind that no amount of Portuguese sunshine could ever fade them. I could still hear the sound of the metal bucket scraping against the concrete floor of the high school bathroom stall. I could still feel the freezing water soaking through my thin cotton shirt as I shivered on the tiles, listening to their laughter outside. I remembered going to my father, crying, showing him the bruises on my arms. He had sat at the kitchen table, refusing to meet my eyes. “You’re the reason your mother is dead, Audrey,” he had whispered, his voice heavy and dead. “If Isla needs to blow off some steam, just let her. Is it really necessary to run to your teachers and make a scene?” Isla and I weren’t twins, but we shared a birth week, and my father always insisted on celebrating only hers. One year, I had wanted my own cake. My mother had driven out in a storm to get it for me. She never made it back. That night, my father lost his wife, and Isla lost her mother. And I became the murderer. For the next three years, Isla made sure I paid for it. And now, she was the national face of anti-bullying. 4 As the dinner ended and people began to say their goodbyes, Isla walked over to me, a sweet, pitying smile on her face. “Audrey, let us give you a ride. It’s late, and you probably don’t have a car yet.” I stared at the remaining fruit platter on the table, the alcohol from earlier settling into a dull, throbbing headache behind my eyes. I felt incredibly tired. Ethan stepped up behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder as he looked down at me with cold indifference. “Don’t bother, Isla. Some people will never appreciate your kindness, no matter how hard you try.” I didn’t bother correcting him. Once the group dispersed onto the sidewalk, the class president, Lucas, noticed how pale I looked and offered to drive me home. I thanked him quietly, too exhausted to make polite conversation during the ride. My rented apartment was dark and quiet when I let myself in. I lay on the sofa for a long time, staring at the ceiling, before I finally stood up and walked over to the bedroom chest of drawers. Deep in the back, behind a stack of winter sweaters, was a small, dusty box. Inside lay the cheap smartphone I had used in high school. It was the phone that held all my conversations with Ethan. Back then, he was the only one who knew what I was going through, even though I had never told him the bully was my own sister. He had spent hours messaging me, repeating the same words over and over: “Bullying is bullying, Audrey. It doesn’t become a joke just because she shares your DNA.” His words had given me the courage to start secretly recording the incidents. I had saved dozens of audio files and videos. But in the end, I had remembered my mother’s final text to me: Take care of your sister. I had kept the files locked away, never showing them to anyone. I plugged the old phone into a charger and waited for the screen to light up. I scrolled through the old files until I found one labeled June 12th. I pressed play. My teenage voice, raw and choked with tears, filled the quiet room. “I didn’t know Mom would crash. She was my mother too! Do you think I don’t miss her?” Then came Isla’s sharp, cruel laugh. “Shut up. A murderer doesn’t get to call her Mom. Grab her hair, girls. Keep her down. Just don’t leave any marks where Dad can see them.” I hit the stop button, my chest heaving, my throat tight. I remembered telling Ethan back then that I didn’t want to expose her, expecting him to call me weak or foolish. But he had only sent a long paragraph: “That’s okay. Nobody has the right to force you to be a hero. If your mother were here, she would just want you to be safe.” But keeping quiet now felt like a betrayal of the girl who had shivered on that bathroom floor. I sat at my desk, opened a secondary social media account, and uploaded a single screenshot of the audio file’s wave format along with a fifteen-second clip of Isla’s voice. I wrote one sentence: How can a bully be an anti-bullying ambassador? Then, I hit post.
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