CHAPTER TWO: THE BROTHER WHO WATCHED
If Ethan Vale was the man everyone trusted, then Evan Vale was the man everyone underestimated.
That was his curse.
Growing up, Evan learned early that being identical didn't mean being equal. Teachers praised Ethan's discipline while scolding Evan's curiosity. Neighbors admired Ethan's politeness and whispered about Evan's temper. Their parents loved them both, but love—Evan realized—was never evenly divided.
Ethan was the golden son.
Evan was the shadow.
And shadows learn how to wait.
Evan noticed Lydia Harper the moment Ethan brought her home for dinner.
She stood in the doorway, fingers nervously twisting the strap of her bag, eyes scanning the room like she was already deciding whether she belonged. Most women who dated Ethan arrived confident, eager to impress, desperate to be chosen.
Lydia wasn't like that.
She was quiet but observant. Soft but not weak. And when she smiled at Ethan, it wasn't admiration—it was trust.
That was the moment Evan felt something twist violently in his chest.
She looks at him like he's enough.
Evan watched her throughout the evening, memorizing her without effort. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking. The way her laugh came suddenly, like it surprised even her. The way she touched Ethan's arm when she spoke, unconsciously grounding herself in him.
That touch burned.
"She's beautiful," Evan said casually, lifting his glass.
Ethan smiled. "I know."
Something about the certainty in his brother's voice made Evan's jaw tighten.
From that night on, Evan paid attention.
He learned Lydia's routine without meaning to—at first. The café she favored on Wednesdays. The art studio she rented on the edge of town. The evenings Ethan was late, leaving her alone and unguarded.
Evan told himself it was harmless.
I'm just curious, he thought.
Just protective.
But curiosity curdled into fixation faster than he expected.
The first time Evan spoke to Lydia alone, it was accidental.
Or at least, that's what he told himself.
She was leaving the studio late one evening when she nearly walked into him.
"Oh—sorry," she said quickly, startled.
Evan smiled. "Ethan talks about this place all the time."
That wasn't true.
But Lydia didn't know that.
"He does?" she asked, her face lighting up.
"All the time," Evan repeated smoothly. "He's proud of you."
That lie slid between them effortlessly, settling into something warm and believable.
They talked for ten minutes. About art. About dreams. About how hard it was to build something that belonged only to you.
When Lydia laughed, Evan felt a dangerous satisfaction.
She listens to me, he realized.
She sees me.
When Ethan arrived later that night and kissed Lydia hello, Evan watched the way she relaxed into him.
Jealousy bloomed sharp and bitter.
Evan didn't plan to interfere.
At least, not at first.
But every time he saw Ethan take Lydia's love for granted—every distracted glance, every delayed reply—it fueled something ugly inside him.
He doesn't deserve her, Evan thought.
And maybe, if Evan was honest with himself, the worst part wasn't wanting Lydia.
It was wanting to take her from Ethan.
The first lie was small.
Almost kind.
"Ethan worries about you," Evan said one afternoon, sitting across from Lydia at the café. "He just doesn't know how to say it."
Lydia smiled softly. "He's been stressed."
"Yeah," Evan said. "He hides things when he's overwhelmed."
Which was true.
Just not in the way Evan meant it.
The second lie was bigger.
"You know," Evan said another day, voice low, "Ethan's always been… tempted by attention. Women like him."
Lydia stiffened. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Evan replied gently, "that you should be careful with your heart."
The seed planted itself perfectly.
When Ethan began acting distant—buried under work, exhausted by wedding plans—Evan watched Lydia's confidence fracture piece by piece.
He was there every time she doubted.
Every time she hesitated.
Every time she asked a question Ethan didn't answer properly.
And slowly, imperceptibly, Evan stepped into the cracks.
Then came the night under the streetlight.
Evan had planned it carefully.
The woman was a stranger—someone desperate enough for attention not to ask questions. Evan wore Ethan's coat, moved like him, laughed like him. Years of imitation made it easy.
When Lydia saw them, Evan felt it.
The moment her heart broke.
He didn't feel guilt.
He felt power.
Evan expected Lydia to confront Ethan.
He expected chaos.
What he didn't expect was how quickly Ethan defended himself—or how quickly Lydia folded under guilt.
That surprised Evan.
She trusts him more than I thought.
That wouldn't do.
So Evan escalated.
He started answering Ethan's phone when Lydia called and Ethan was busy. Started replying to texts before Ethan could. He mirrored his brother's speech patterns perfectly, altering just enough to create confusion.
"Are you okay?" Evan texted once, pretending to be Ethan.
"I'm fine," Lydia replied. "Just tired."
"So am I. Maybe we both need space."
That single message haunted her for days.
The jealousy became something darker.
Evan hated watching Ethan kiss Lydia now. Hated the intimacy he felt entitled to. Hated that no matter how hard he tried, Lydia still chose his brother.
So Evan decided to make sure she wouldn't have a choice.
The opportunity came sooner than expected.
Their parents' anniversary party filled the Vale home with laughter, music, and champagne. Lydia wore a deep blue dress that clung to her like a secret Evan wanted to keep.
"You look incredible," Evan murmured when Ethan stepped away.
"Thank you," she replied politely, stepping back.
Evan leaned closer. "If he ever hurts you… I'll make sure he regrets it."
Lydia frowned. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
Something in his tone unsettled her.
And Evan saw it.
Good.
That night, Evan followed Lydia into the hallway.
"Why do you keep doing this?" she demanded. "Saying things you shouldn't?"
"Because someone has to tell you the truth," Evan said.
"And what truth is that?"
"That my brother doesn't love you the way I would."
The words hung between them, heavy and dangerous.
Lydia slapped him.
Evan didn't flinch.
He smiled.
From that moment on, Evan knew there was no turning back.
He wasn't just jealous anymore.
He was at war.
And Lydia—sweet, loyal Lydia—had no idea that the man she trusted most and the man who wanted to destroy her life wore the same face.
By the end of the week, the final move was already in motion.
The confrontation that would shatter everything was coming.
And when it did, Evan planned to make sure no one walked away unbroken.