Mirror Crown
Xavier stood there, frozen in the doorway of the living room, trying his best to maintain his composure as the woman—Christian's sister, he assumed—moved closer. He felt like an imposter, like a stranger in a world that wasn't his, surrounded by people who had no idea that the person they were looking at wasn't who he seemed to be.
How did Christian treat her? How did he treat any of these people?
Xavier didn't know. He didn't know anything about Christian's life, his relationships, or his history with these people. Every smile, every word, every glance they gave him was a reminder that he was a fraud. They saw the heir, the son, the brother. But they didn't see the man—the real Christian. And they certainly didn't see Xavier.
Christian's sister was looking at him like she expected something—an answer, a reaction, some sort of familiarity. But Xavier had nothing. He had no memory of Christian's interactions with her, no clue how he treated her, or how they related. Did they fight? Did they get along? Were they close?
He had no way of knowing.
Xavier could feel the pressure of the room around him. The silence was deafening, and he could almost feel the weight of the expectations pushing against him. He was supposed to be Christian now, the one they all depended on. But he didn't know how to be that person. Not when he didn't even know what they expected from him.
The woman—Christian's sister—was still smiling at him, waiting for a response. Her eyes were full of anticipation, like she was looking for something that Xavier couldn't give her.
Just smile. Just nod. Just say something.
Xavier cleared his throat. "It's been a long time," he said weakly, repeating the same words he'd said earlier, hoping they'd work this time. But there was something in her eyes, something sharp, that told him he was failing miserably.
She stepped closer, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Yes," she said, her voice soft but laced with an unspoken question. "But how have you been, Christian? How are you really?"
Xavier stiffened. That was the problem, wasn't it? How could he answer when he didn't know how Christian had been? How was he supposed to know what Christian would have said, what kind of person Christian really was? For all Xavier knew, Christian might have been distant, cold, or affectionate. There was no way to predict what kind of relationship they had.
The woman's expression shifted slightly, as if reading something in his face that he didn't intend to show. "You don't have to pretend, you know," she said quietly, her voice tinged with something Xavier couldn't place. "I know things have been tough. It's okay to be honest."
Xavier's heart skipped a beat. Had she noticed?
But before he could say anything, a man entered the room, breaking the tension. He was tall, with sharp features and a confident presence that radiated authority. He looked at Xavier, then to Christian's sister, and nodded as though he'd seen something familiar in the interaction. "Everything alright?" the man asked, his voice smooth, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that made Xavier uneasy.
Xavier blinked, trying to pull himself together. "Yeah, everything's fine," he said, forcing a smile. "Just... adjusting."
The man's eyes lingered on him, like he was searching for something Xavier couldn't give. He nodded again, but the look in his eyes lingered, making Xavier feel like he was under a microscope.
"Good," the man said, before turning his attention to Christian's sister. "The meeting's about to start."
At the mention of the meeting, the tension in the room seemed to relax a little, but not entirely. The woman—the sister—looked at Xavier once more, her gaze softening slightly. "We'll talk later," she said, and though her words were calm, there was an underlying tone of something unresolved.
Xavier nodded, but inside, he was reeling. What was that about? What had she meant by that?
The man who had entered earlier glanced at Xavier before leading the sister out of the room, leaving him alone again. Xavier took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, and he fought to stay composed. He had to stay in character. He couldn't afford to slip up, not with all these people looking at him, expecting him to be someone they knew.
But how could he be that person? How could he be Christian when he didn't even know how to act around his own sister?
Xavier glanced around the room, trying to regain some sense of control. The luxurious décor, the expensive art, the rich, polished furniture—all of it felt like a dream he was about to wake up from. He wasn't Christian. He wasn't supposed to be here. But the longer he stayed, the harder it became to pretend he wasn't.
What do I do now?
He didn't have the answers. He had no idea what kind of person Christian had been, what kind of brother he had been. And that terrified him. How long could he keep up the façade before someone noticed the cracks?
He wanted to run. He wanted to scream, tell someone the truth, but he knew it would all come crashing down if he did.
So, instead, he stayed. And he watched. And he waited for the moment when the mask would slip—and prayed that it never would.