The car slowed to a stop.
Ava realized they weren't anywhere near her house.
Soft lights glowed behind tall glass walls, warm and elegant, the kind of place she had only ever walked past—not entered. A private restaurant. Quiet. Too quiet.
Her fingers curled into the hem of her skirt.
"Where are we going?" she asked, trying—and failing—to keep the tremor out of her voice.
Matthias leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, one arm resting casually by his side. He didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched long enough to make her chest tighten.
"Out," he said finally.
That was all.
The driver stepped out first, opening Matthias's door. Ava hesitated before following, her heart thudding as her shoes touched the pavement. The place felt sealed off from the world, like once you entered, nothing followed you inside—not noise, not help.
Matthias straightened his jacket and walked ahead without looking back.
She had no choice but to follow.
Inside, it was dim and refined. Empty. Not a single other guest in sight.
Her throat went dry.
They sat across from each other. The table between them felt too small.
Matthias rested his elbows lightly on the surface, studying her the way one might study a locked door—not impatient, just certain it would open eventually.
"You're uncomfortable," he said.
Ava stiffened. "Isn't that normal? You brought me somewhere without telling me where we were going."
His gaze didn't waver. "You didn't ask again."
She frowned. "What?"
"You noticed the change in direction," he continued calmly. "But you stayed quiet. You watched first."
Her pulse spiked.
"That's just—common sense," she said quickly.
A corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile.
"Aria doesn't do that."
The name hit her like a slap.
Ava swallowed. "I don't know what you're implying."
Matthias leaned back slightly, eyes dark, unreadable.
"You choose your words carefully," he said.
"Aria never does."
Silence fell between them again—thick, suffocating.
Ava's mind raced. Careful. Careful.
"So," she said, forcing a breath, "is that why you brought me here? To psychoanalyze me?"
His gaze sharpened.
"No," he said softly.
Her heart skipped.
"I brought you here," he continued, "because I don't like being lied to."
Her fingers curled in her lap.
"And you," Matthias added, voice low and certain,
"are not who you're pretending to be.
He picked up his glass, swirling the liquid once before setting it back down.
His tone was almost idle when he spoke again.
"So," he said, "what's your real name?"
The question landed softly.
Too softly.
Ava's breath caught. For a second, she wondered if she'd imagined it—if this was one of his mind games, a test she could still talk her way out of.
"My name is Aria," she said carefully.
Matthias hummed, unconvinced.
"I don't think so."
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
He leaned back in his chair, unhurried, studying her the way one examined a flaw in a familiar design.
"I've watched Aria for years," he continued. "In class. At events. In rooms where people forget they're being observed."
His gaze flicked to her hands.
"She fidgets when she's nervous. Avoids silence. Overexplains when she feels cornered."
Ava froze.
Her hands were still.
Matthias's mouth curved slightly—not a smile. Something sharper.
"You haven't done any of that."
He straightened, as if the matter were already settled.
"I can keep pretending," he said lightly. "Invite you to events. Introduce you as my fiancée. Let everyone believe this version of you."
Her stomach twisted.
"Or," he added, voice smooth, almost bored, "I can start asking questions. Publicly. In places where Aria's habits are… well known."
There it was.
Not a threat.
A certainty.
Ava's lips parted. She tried to laugh it off. "You're overthinking."
Matthias met her gaze.
"I don't overthink," he said. "I verify."
Silence pressed in.
Her shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her all at once.
"…My name is Ava," she said quietly.
The truth tasted dangerous on her tongue.
Matthias didn't react immediately. No shock. No triumph. Just a slow, measured inhale.
She continued before fear could stop her.
"Aria is my twin," Ava said. "We switched places."
That was when something in his expression shifted—not surprise, but confirmation.
"Why?" he asked.
This time, the question carried weight.
Ava looked down at the table, at the life she was borrowing.
"Because," she whispered, "if I didn't… everything would fall apart."
She lifted her head again, meeting his gaze fully.
"And I was the only one who could hold it together."
Got it — thank you for catching that. You're right, and it's an important distinction for Matthias's authority here. We'll remove shared history and keep his certainty coming from observation and control, not familiarity. That actually makes him more unsettling.
Here's the cleaned, corrected version, same tone, same tension, no prior relationship implied:
Matthias picked up his glass, swirling the liquid once before setting it back down.
His tone was almost idle when he spoke again.
"So," he said, "what's your real name?"
The question landed softly.
Too softly.
Ava's breath caught. For a second, she wondered if she'd imagined it—if this was one of his mind games, a test she could still talk her way out of.
"My name is Aria," she said carefully.
Matthias hummed, unconvinced.
"I don't think so."
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
He leaned back in his chair, unhurried, studying her the way one examined a flaw in a familiar design.
"I've watched Aria for years," he continued. "In class. At events. In rooms where people forget they're being observed."
His gaze flicked to her hands.
"She smiles like she is forced to. Avoids unnecessary talks. Keeps quiet when she feels cornered."
Ava froze.
Her hands were still.
Matthias's mouth curved slightly—not a smile. Something sharper.
"You haven't done any of that."
He straightened, as if the matter were already settled.
"I can keep pretending," he said lightly.
"Invite you to events. Introduce you as my fiancée. Let everyone believe this version of you."
Her stomach twisted.
"Or," he added, voice smooth, almost bored, "I can start asking questions. Publicly. In places where Aria's habits are… well known."
There it was.
Not a threat.
A certainty.
Ava's lips parted. She tried to laugh it off. "You're overthinking."
Matthias met her gaze.
"I don't overthink," he said. "I verify."
Silence pressed in.
Her shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her all at once.
"…My name is Ava," she said quietly.
The truth tasted dangerous on her tongue.
Matthias didn't react immediately. No shock. No triumph. Just a slow, measured inhale.
She continued before fear could stop her.
"Aria is my twin," Ava said. "We switched places."
That was when something in his expression shifted—not surprise, but confirmation.
"Why?" he asked.
This time, the question carried weight.
Ava looked down at the table, at the life she was borrowing.
"Because," she whispered, "if I didn't… everything would fall apart."
She lifted her head again, meeting his gaze fully.
"And I was the only one who could hold it together."
"Ava," he said.
Her name rolled off his tongue slowly, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth.
Ava stiffened.
Then—nothing.
Matthias turned his attention to the waiter who had appeared silently at his side.
"Order for both of us," he said, voice even. "The usual."
The waiter nodded and disappeared without question.
Ava stared at him, pulse racing. That was it? No reaction? No questions? No anger?
She shifted in her seat. "You're not going to—"
"No," Matthias cut in calmly.
He reached for his glass again, unfazed. "Not now."
The dismissal was effortless. Final.
He took a slow sip, eyes closing briefly as if the conversation had never happened—as if she hadn't just cracked herself open in front of him.
Ava's fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt beneath the table.
Her confession hung between them, unanswered. Untouched.
And somehow, that was worse than interrogation.
Because Matthias hadn't dismissed the truth.
He'd accepted it.
And was choosing when to return to it.
The food arrived without ceremony.
Plates were set down one after the other, porcelain barely making a sound against the table. The scent was rich—warm, unfamiliar, expensive. Ava barely registered it.
Her mind was still stuck on the way he'd said her name.
The waiter poured water, adjusted cutlery, then left them alone.
Silence rushed back in.
Ava picked up her fork just to give her hands something to do. She cut a small piece, lifted it to her mouth, and swallowed too quickly—too carelessly.
Big mistake.
The food lodged halfway down her throat.
She sucked in a breath.
Nothing.
Her eyes widened as she coughed once—sharp, embarrassing. She pressed a fist to her chest, trying again.
Still nothing.
The room seemed to tilt.
She coughed harder this time, chair scraping slightly as she bent forward, panic flaring hot and fast.
"Ava."
Her name again—but different.
Matthias was already standing.
He was beside her in a second, one hand firm against her back, the other gripping her shoulder as he leaned her forward.
"Breathe," he said quietly. Not panicked. Controlled. Certain. "Slowly."
She tried. Failed.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
Then his hand slid lower, pressure precise, practiced. A sharp thrust.
The blockage cleared suddenly, violently.
Ava gasped, choking air into her lungs as she coughed again—this time free, messy, real.
She sagged forward, hands shaking, breath coming in uneven pulls.
Matthias didn't let go immediately.
His hand stayed at her back, steady, grounding—until her breathing evened out.
Only then did he move away.
He returned to his seat like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
"Chew," he said calmly, picking up his cutlery. "You rush when you're nervous."
Ava stared at him, chest still tight, throat burning.
He hadn't asked if she was okay. But from his actions, she could not help but wonder.
Concern? Or something else?
And somehow, that unsettled her more than the choking had.
The lunch ended without another word. Plates were cleared, and the private restaurant felt emptier than when they'd arrived—though the air between them was heavier, thick with unspoken questions and measured tension. Ava picked at the last bite on her plate, unable to meet Matthias's eyes, her chest tight with nerves.
Finally, he stood, straightening his uniform with effortless precision. "Shall we?" he said, voice even, betraying nothing.
Ava nodded, following silently as they left the restaurant. The driver opened the door for her first, then slid behind the wheel. Matthias climbed in without another glance, hands folded, eyes fixed ahead.
The car started, gliding through the streets in complete silence. Ava's mind raced—every possible question she wanted to ask, every thought she had, died before it could reach her lips. The quiet pressed against her ears, heavy and unyielding.
When they arrived at her home, Matthias didn't speak. Not a word. Not a glance. He only opened the door for her, and she stepped out, her heart still hammering.
He shut the door, the engine revving for a moment, then he was gone—leaving her standing on the curb, the weight of the afternoon pressing down, and a single thought looping in her mind:
He didn't have to say anything. She really didn't want to hear it.
And the silence… was more terrifying than any words could have been...