twins · mafia · ceo · arrogant · warm · cold · duality · romance · enemies to lovers
The accusation hangs in the air of the sunlit kitchen, sharp and familiar. "You're an idiot." My gaze is fixed on the empty ceramic bowl, the ghost of tangerine scent still lingering. Agust has been here. Again. I can almost feel the phantom weight of stolen fruit in my hand. From the living room, his voice, lazy and triumphant, wraps around me. "Shouldn't have left them in the fridge." A muscle ticks in my jaw. Of course. Just another tiny theft in our endless, quiet war. "I'm going to work," I state flatly, not bothering to look his way as I slide my shoes on and pull the door shut behind me. The city breathes outside, a rhythm of concrete and glass. My mind begins to catalog the day's obligations, the climb ahead, when my steps stutter to a halt. There, on the busy road, a child stands…