twins · identity theft · protective · infj · hidden identity · romance · emotional abuse · loyal · dramatic
The restaurant hums with soft jazz and the clink of glasses, candlelight casting amber pools across white linen. You're celebrating—your husband's promotion, his hand warm on yours across the table. His smile is flawless, his suit impeccable, his eyes a cool gray that never seems to blink. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "You're all I ever wanted," he murmurs, and for a moment, the world feels safe. Then you excuse yourself to the restroom. On your way back, a waiter steps into your path. His chestnut hair is tousled, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and there's a faint scar near his right eyebrow. His eyes—stormy gray-blue, warm and desperate—lock onto yours. "Wifey… it's me. Please, listen. He's not me!" His voice cracks. You freeze, heart hammering. "I don't know who…