1 I was a mimic, but my sister was the only person I ever copied. When we were kids, Nora broke her left leg. Afraid my impression wouldn’t be authentic enough, I waited until the house was empty, climbed up to the second-story terrace, and jumped, shattering my right. When Nora turned eighteen and took the reins of our grandfather’s heritage jewelry house, Mercer & Co., I turned around, took out an ungodly line of credit, and bought a bleeding diamond concession in South Africa, telling the press that we were simply vertical integration at its finest. Then came Harrison Hayes. The moment Nora set her sights on the eldest son of the Hayes dynasty, I adjusted my sights, too. She dropped twelve million at a private Sotheby’s gala on a one-of-a-kind vintage Patek Philippe for Harrison; I bought the sister piece from the same commemorative collection and handed it to his younger brother, Austin. She stood outside the Hayes Tower in Manhattan through an absolute deluge, soaking through a white silk dress, so I pitched a weatherproof expedition tent on the sidewalk right beside her, keeping Austin company while he waited for a ride. Harrison returned her watch in broad daylight. “Stop following me, Nora,” he said, his voice flat and dismissive in front of half his corporate staff. “I will never fall for you.” Nora’s eyes rimmed with red, but she forced a smile. “That’s fine. I don’t mind waiting.” I immediately whipped around, held out the matching velvet box, and shoved it toward Austin. “Your turn. Reject me.” Austin looked at the box, then up at me, his gaze dark and unreadable. A beat passed. “I don’t like you, Hazel.” I recited Nora’s exact line with serene devotion: “That’s fine. I don’t mind waiting. And if I don’t get you in this life, I already bought the plots next to yours at Green-Wood. We can pick this back up in the dirt.” Nora’s face drained of every drop of color. That very evening, at the Hayes family’s annual equestrian charity derby in Westchester, a thoroughbred stallion went mad on the second lap, violently bucked its rider, and charged straight for Harrison by the paddock rail. Nora moved on pure instinct, throwing herself across his chest. Seeing that, I didn’t hesitate. I vaulted the timber rail, barged right past her, and spread my arms wide. “Step aside, Nora! Let me take it!” Nora’s face twisted into something feral. Instead of taking the blow, she hooked her boot behind Harrison’s knee, kicked the heir to the Hayes empire flat onto his back in the mud, grabbed me by the waist, and dragged us both rolling down the embankment into the brush. As the hooves thundered past, shattering timber into kindling, Nora buried my face in her chest and screamed at the empty sky: “Terminate me, then! Go on, wipe my existence out! I’m fucking done with this mission! If I keep trying to romance this bastard, my kid sister is going to order us a four-person family mausoleum!” Nora and I are identical twins, separated by exactly seven minutes. She came into the world first, and because of that, I grew up anchored to a single, stubborn truth: whatever path Nora walked, she had tested the ground before me. Her steps were safer. When we were six, she tumbled down the curved oak staircase at our family’s country estate and broke her tibia. I spent hours squatting beside her hospital bed, staring at the thick white cast, plagued by a gnawing sense of asymmetry. The next afternoon, the moment the nannies turned their backs, I dragged a wrought-iron patio chair to the edge of the upstairs veranda, closed my eyes, and pitched forward. Nora hobbled into the emergency room on crutches just in time to find me howling through the pain of a fractured fibula. She slammed her crutch against the bedframe until the steel rattled. “Are you insane, Hazel? What is wrong with you?” I sniffled, wiping snot with the back of my hand, and whispered, “We’re supposed to match.” Our father declared I had an unhealthy competitive streak, insisting I couldn’t even let my sister suffer alone without trying to outdo her. Our mother dragged me to three different child psychiatrists on the Upper East Side, but none of them could untangle the wiring in my head. So the habit calcified. If Nora developed a craving for strawberry shortcake, I ordered it daily. When she enrolled in gemology and jewelry design at Parsons, I packed my bags for the Colorado School of Mines to study geological surveying. If she caught a head cold, I would take freezing showers in the dead of winter, terrified of missing an experience she had already endured. To stop me, Nora simply went cold. After we turned fourteen, she stopped talking about her desires. She never mentioned her favorite colors, her favorite foods, or the books she stayed up reading. On our eighteenth birthday, our grandfather handed her the keys to Mercer Fine Jewelry. The ink on the transfer papers had barely dried before I was on a red-eye to Johannesburg, buying a stake in a struggling rough-diamond mine that three different conglomerates had abandoned. At the press conference, a Bloomberg reporter asked why I was making such a high-risk venture outside luxury retail. I flashed my brightest smile for the flashbulbs. “My sister designs the pieces; I dig up the rocks. She’s downstream, I’m upstream. A match made in heaven.” The soundbite trended across business media all afternoon. Nora, on the other end of a transatlantic satellite phone, went dead silent for a solid two minutes. “That concession has bled money for three consecutive fiscal years,” she said finally. “Did your analysts even look at the seismic scans?” “I know.” “Then why buy it?” “You just took over the house,” I told her, flipping through the core-sample reports in my sweltering field trailer. “You need guaranteed supply lines. Don’t worry. Even if the pipes run dry, I’ll personally pay to fill the crater back in.” There was a sharp crash on the other end of the line—the distinct sound of heavy porcelain hitting hardwood. Nora had been doing that a lot lately. Halfway through a sentence, she would freeze, her complexion turning ash-gray as she stared intently at empty patches of air. Her habits began to splinter in ways that made no sense. She had always despised crowded high-society galas, yet suddenly her name was on every RSVP list for events hosted by the Hayes family. She loathed pushy, arrogant men, yet she hired private investigators to track Harrison Hayes’s weekly schedule down to his gym appointments. When I asked her if she was in love with Harrison, she didn’t blush. Her knuckles simply turned white. “Yes,” she answered, the syllable clipped and brittle as dried glass. Then she leveled a stare at me that bordered on murderous. “Hazel. You are not allowed to copy this. Not this.” I blinked. In eighteen years, that was the first time she had ever forbidden me from walking in her footsteps. I assumed the logic was simple: Harrison Hayes was notoriously guarded and difficult to crack. Nora was probably afraid I would fumble the execution, embarrass myself, and by extension, embarrass her. That night, I had my executive assistant pull dossiers on every eligible bachelor in the Hayes bloodline. Harrison was off-limits—he was Nora’s target, and I never poached. By morning, the file on Austin Hayes was resting on my desk. The photograph showed a man with sharp, clean-cut features, cool gray eyes, and an expression that suggested he found the entire universe mildly irritating. He shared about sixty percent of his older brother’s bone structure, though he spoke less and moved quieter. Perfect. Nora pursues the elder; I pursue the younger. Symmetry restored. I closed the folder and looked at my assistant. “Find out what Austin Hayes likes.” My assistant hesitated, adjusting his glasses. “Ms. Mercer… do you actually like him?” “I don’t know,” I said, thinking it over. “Nora likes Harrison. That’s enough.” A week later, the Hayes Foundation hosted an invitation-only charity auction at the Metropolitan Club. The centerpiece lot was an ultra-rare mechanical tourbillon from a discontinued master line—virtually identical to the timepiece Harrison wore daily. Nora drove the bidding up to twelve million. The ballroom fell pin-drop quiet. By the time the gavel cracked down, Harrison’s jaw was already set in hard, rigid lines. Yet Nora approached him as if she couldn’t see his irritation, carrying the silk-lined velvet box in two hands. She walked agonizingly slow, her fingers gripping the velvet edges so hard her veins showed. She didn’t look like a woman offering a romantic tribute; she looked like someone walking toward a firing squad. It clicked in my head. Nora was using high-value gestures to demonstrate unwavering intent. Right on cue, the auctioneer announced a late addition to the catalog—a companion piece from the same limited release, consigned by a private Swiss collector. I raised my paddle immediately. “Twelve million.” Someone across the room countered. I countered back. “Fourteen million.” Austin was seated three rows behind me. At the sound of my voice, he lifted his eyes. His gaze was glacial, completely oblivious to the fact that he was about to receive an exquisite token of my dedication. I took the watch for fourteen point five million. Before Nora could even reach Harrison, I cut across the parquet floor, slipped past two waiters, and pressed the velvet box directly into Austin’s chest. “For you.” Austin didn’t lift a finger to take it. “Why?” I glanced toward Nora, who was hovering ten feet away. “My sister bought one for your brother. Naturally, I bought one for you.” A ripple of suppressed laughter washed over the surrounding tables. Austin followed my gaze, taking in Nora’s rigid posture, then looked back at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Ms. Mercer, you don’t even know my wrist circumference.” “We can have the links adjusted.” “Do you know what my interests are?” “Not yet.” Austin shifted his eyes between Nora and me, a cool cynicism settling over his features. “Are you doing this because you want me, or because your sister wants Harrison?” To me, the distinction was entirely meaningless. Nora’s choices were vetted by a superior instinct; I simply adopted the conclusion. “Maybe I’ll want you eventually,” I said, nudging the box an inch forward. “Just hold onto it for now.” Austin still didn’t budge. But before I could insist, a hand clamped down on my wrist like an iron vise. Nora’s grip was shockingly hard. “Hazel. We’re leaving.” “You haven’t given Harrison your watch yet.” “I’m not giving it to him.” She spat the words out like a woman furiously rebelling against an invisible leash. She took a single step toward the double doors, and then she froze. All the blood drained from her face in an instant. A sheen of icy sweat broke across her hairline, and she doubled over, her chest heaving. I caught her instantly. “Nora? What hurts? What is it?” She gritted her teeth so hard I could hear the enamel grind. It took fifteen agonizing seconds of ragged breathing before she managed to stand upright again. Without looking at me, she turned right back around, walked straight up to Harrison, and offered the box. “For you,” she forced out. Harrison didn’t take it. “I already have a watch.” Nora’s fingers trembled, but her trained smile stayed pasted onto her lips. Austin, who had watched the entire bizarre tableau from his seat, suddenly reached out and plucked the box from my hands. “Fine,” Austin said quietly. “I’ll take it.” Satisfaction settled warm in my ribs. See? If Nora could execute the play, so could I. By the third month of Nora’s campaign, a late-autumn nor’easter slammed Manhattan. When my driver alerted me, Nora had already been standing outside Hayes Tower for four hours. Rainwater was sloshing over the sidewalk curbs. She was wearing a thin white slip dress under an unbuttoned trench coat, standing dead center beneath the downpour, completely drenched. The building’s security guards had offered her umbrellas. The front desk receptionists had brought her warm tea. She had refused every single one. I had my assistant dispatch an SUV packed with heavy-duty mountain gear and pitched an all-weather geodesic tent right outside the glass revolving doors. Just as I pounded the final stake into the granite seam, Austin emerged from the underground executive garage, his umbrella already angled against the wind. He stopped, staring at me, then at Nora standing shivering in the rain. “What kind of bizarre sorcery are you Mercer sisters running out here?” “Nora is waiting for Harrison,” I explained, brushing wet hair out of my eyes and patting the canvas camping chair next to me. “I’m keeping you company while you wait for your driver.” Austin glanced down at his phone. “My private car was canceled twenty minutes ago due to street flooding.” “Then I’ll keep you company while you hail an Uber.” “My chauffeur is in the building.” “Then I’ll wait with you for him to clock out.” Austin stared at me. “He’s literally parked in the basement.” A minor operational snag. Fortunately, I was adaptable. I zipped up the storm flap. “Then we wait for the rain to stop.” The storm howled all night. Austin didn’t stay in the tent with me, but at two in the morning, his executive secretary brought down a thermos of hot cider. At dawn, Harrison finally descended the tower elevators. When he saw Nora shivering on the pavement, his expression didn’t contain an ounce of warmth or pity. He placed the twelve-million-dollar watch box on the low concrete planter beside her. “Take it back,” he said, cold enough to rival the frost on the glass. “Stop orbiting my life. I will never feel anything for you.” Employees filtering into the lobby paused, their eyes darting across the scene. Nora stood under the weight of dozens of pitying stares. The rims of her eyes flushed crimson. And then she smiled. “That’s fine. I don’t mind waiting.” I immediately unzipped the tent flap, pulled out the sister watch from my backpack, and marched over to Austin, who had just stepped back out to inspect the morning damage. “Your turn,” I demanded, thrusting it out. Austin’s eyes tracked down to the box, then slowly back up to my face. “My turn for what?” “To reject me.” He looked at me as if I were speaking Aramaic. But my script was locked in. Whatever milestone Nora hit, I had to match it stroke for stroke. Austin sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and indulged me with flat resignation: “I don’t like you, Hazel.” I beamed at him, perfectly mimicking Nora’s tragic, devoted smile. “That’s fine. I don’t mind waiting.” Then I felt a sudden spike of ambition. Nora’s dedication was profound, almost mythic; my response couldn’t afford to sound lazy. So I leaned in and added: “And if I don’t get you while we’re breathing, I already reserved plots right next to yours at Green-Wood. We can spend eternity waiting side by side.” Austin’s calm, detached facade cracked wide open. Nora snapped her head toward me so fast her wet hair whipped across her face. “What did you just say?” “I called the cemetery director last night,” I explained helpfully, showing her my phone screen. “The Hayes private family enclosure is fully deeded, obviously, but there was an adjacent parcel with exceptional morning sun. I put down a deposit on two plots—one for me, one for Austin.” Austin stared at me like I was an escaped mental patient. Nora lunged forward, ripped the phone out of my hand, and frantically hit the cancellation button. “Who authorized this?” she yelled, her voice trembling, her eyes bloodshot with pure panic. “Hazel, for once in your life, can you stop copying me?” I couldn’t fathom her anger. “You said you’d wait for Harrison. I’m just saying I’ll wait for Austin.” Nora’s lips parted, and then she abruptly folded over, clutching her stomach with a choked gasp of agony. I rushed to steady her. Cold perspiration was streaming down her temples, and her bottom lip was bitten raw, bleeding into her chin. It took several long minutes before she could force air back into her lungs. “I have to pursue him,” she whispered, her voice reedy and cracked. “I don’t have a choice.” “Then neither do I.” Nora grabbed the lapels of my dry jacket, her knuckles white, her gaze wild. “Hazel… what if I die? What if this kills me?” I didn’t blink. “Then I’ll go with you.” Nora’s face went entirely blank with horror. That afternoon, she personally confiscated my passport, froze my corporate cards through our board, and seized my real estate documents. Before she left our penthouse, she looked at my personal assistant: “Lock her in. Do not let her anywhere near the Hayes charity derby tomorrow.” I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, watching her black town car speed away into the traffic. If Nora was this terrified of that equestrian event, something monumental was going to happen there. And this time, I had to be right on her heels. The Hayes annual polo and equestrian derby took place at an expansive private estate in North Salem. Nora had taken thorough precautions: my garage keys were locked in her safe, and two private security guards stood outside my door. But she had forgotten that during my first year in South Africa, I had spent months scaling security fences alongside local engineers. I shimmied down the copper drainage pipe from the second-floor balcony, caught an early delivery van hauling floral arrangements, and slipped onto the estate grounds unnoticed. When I finally spotted Nora, she was standing near the paddock rails, adjusting the safety clasps on Harrison’s riding gear. Harrison was visibly irritated. “The stable hands handle the tack, Nora.” She didn’t let go. Her head kept swiveling, her eyes darting across the manicured grass of the track as if counting down the seconds. Then she saw me. She froze solid. “Hazel? How did you get here?” She dropped the leather straps and sprinted toward me. “Get out of here. Right now.” “The race hasn’t even started.” “I said get the fuck out of here!” Her voice cracked so loudly that several guests in the VIP tent turned to stare. Harrison frowned, walking over. “If she wants to watch, let her watch. Why are you screaming at her?” Nora didn’t spare him a glance. She gripped my arm, trying to drag me toward the gravel exit. Two steps in, she locked up again. Her gaze fixed on an empty patch of blue sky above the stables, her expression curdling into sheer, helpless dread. I looked up, but there was nothing there—only branded pennants fluttering in the autumn breeze. The starting horn blared. A cluster of thoroughbreds burst from the gates. Austin appeared from behind the tent, catching my shoulder. “Your sister told me to get you off the grounds.” The knot in my chest tightened. Nora’s shoulders were drawn so tight they were shaking. She wasn’t watching the race; she was bracing for an impact. I thought about her sudden fainting spell at the auction, the phantom agony on the sidewalk outside Hayes Tower. Every single time she tried to back away from Harrison, her body revolted. Yet our private physician had sworn to me that Nora’s scans were entirely clear. On the second bend of the track, the outside black stallion suddenly reared, snapping a rein. The jockey was thrown violently against the dirt. Spooked by the shouting crowd, the beast bolted sideways, smashing through the inner white rail and barreling straight toward the VIP enclosure. Directly toward Harrison. People shrieked, scattering in a frenzy of spilled champagne and overturning chairs. Harrison, hemmed in by the fence, had no angle to dodge. And Nora moved. As if she had memorized the choreography weeks in advance, she lunged forward, spreading her arms to shield him with her own body. So this was it. This was the trial. I didn’t think. I ripped my arm out of Austin’s grip, cleared the low hedge, and sprinted ahead. If Nora could take the hit for Harrison, I could take it for Austin’s brother. For once, I was going to beat her to the punch. I cut in front of her, threw my arms wide, and planted my boots. “Step aside, Nora! Let me take it!” The black horse’s iron-shod hooves churned the turf, less than ten feet away. Behind me, Nora let out a sound that wasn’t entirely human—a broken, feral roar of pure maternal fury. In the next breath, she slammed her boot into the back of Harrison’s knee. Harrison went down like a felled tree, splashing into the mud. Nora grabbed my waist, leveraged her weight, and threw us both down the grassy bank. The horse tore through the rail above us, wood splintering with the crack of a rifle, before galloping away across the lawn. Nora pinned me beneath her, shaking so violently her teeth clicked. Terrified she had been trampled, I tried to push her up to check for blood, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was glaring directly into the empty air above our heads, her eyes blazing with the venom of an animal backed into a corner. “Terminate me, then!” she screamed at the sky. “Go on, wipe my existence out! I’m fucking done with this mission!” She crushed me against her ribs, her voice breaking into a ragged sob of rage: “If I keep trying to romance this bastard, my kid sister is going to order us a four-person family mausoleum!”
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