I Was The Ugly Twin Who Outshone The Swan Sister Chapter 07

I Was The Ugly Twin Who Outshone The Swan Sister Chapter 07

By the third minute of the audition footage, Sienna’s hands were clenched pale in her lap.

On screen, I rose from the floor, my spine slowly unfurling.

The practice clothes were nothing special. The lighting didn’t do me any favors.

But every turn, every landing-all of it was locked in, steady the way things only get after

thousands of nights alone in the dark.

The murmuring in the theater faded out.

I couldn’t look at anyone. I kept my eyes on my feet on that screen.

Those shoes were Sienna’s castoffs. The toe had been re-glued, the sole worn nearly through. But

they’d carried me through every single one of those nights.

When the footage ended, the theater stayed quiet for a long moment.

Professor Burke picked up the mic. “The technical execution, musicality, and physical control in that routine genuinely earned first place in this audition.”

Mom’s voice cut across the room immediately. “She stole it from Sienna! Sienna has trained since

she was little-how is someone with zero formal training supposed to perform like that unless she

copied her sister?”

Sienna pulled out her phone, crying.

“I have a video, Professor. This is the routine I was working on during intensive training. Brenna

was home the whole time going through my files-she had to have seen it.”

The screen switched to Sienna’s video. She was in a white practice outfit, standing at the center of

the training room.

The opening sequence-a few of the movements did look familiar.

The audience stirred.

Mom grabbed onto it like a lifeline. “You see that? She stole from her own sister!”

Dad’s voice came out low and flat. “She’s been taking things that belong to Sienna her whole life. Now it’s her choreography.”

I sat in my chair and felt the cold spread to my fingertips.

Those movements were mine. I’d put them together when I was thirteen.

Sienna had a school showcase that year. I was in my room practicing late at night when she walked

in and saw me.

She smiled and said the moves were pretty, asked if she could use them.

The whole school praised her after that showcase. I sat in the audience and listened to Mom tell

someone nearby, “Sienna’s always had a natural gift for this.”

I never said a word. Because back then, I still thought we were sisters.

Up front, Aunt Laurel let out a short laugh-quiet, but enough to pull every eye in the room toward

her.

“Sienna,” she said. “Are you sure that’s your original work?”

Sienna’s expression shifted.

Aunt Laurel reached into her bag and pulled out an old photo album.

She opened to the first page-a yellowed sheet of paper covered in my thirteen-year-old handwriting, stick-figure breakdowns of every movement in that routine. Dated the day of my thirteenth birthday.

The second page was a written note from an instructor at Westbridge Community Arts Center.

[Brenna has a strong sense of rhythm and shows genuine instinct for choreography.]

The third page was a video pulled from Aunt Laurel’s phone backup.Me at thirteen, in her living room in socks, falling and getting back up, over and over.

Every single movement-identical to what Sienna had just called her original work.

The color left Mom’s face all at once.

Sienna’s mouth opened. “I-I didn’t know.”

Aunt Laurel looked at her steadily. “You didn’t know?”

“Then why did you crop the timestamp off your video-the part that would’ve shown it was posted a full year after Brenna put hers together?”

The room erupted.

Mallory stood up suddenly, her voice unsteady. “That’s not the whole story.”

She glanced at me, then looked away. “Brenna used to tell me she was jealous of Sienna. That she’d copy her sometimes.”

I went still.

This was my best friend.

The person I told about the nights I couldn’t afford dinner. The person I showed my bruised knees to after bad practice sessions.

The person who held me and said, “Brenna, one day people are going to see you.”

And she was standing in the middle of that room, twisting the knife in my wound.

Mom jumped on it immediately. “Did everyone hear that? Even her own friend is saying it!”

I looked at Mallory. “Why are you lying?”

Her eyes went red. “Because you scare me now.”

There was a ringing in my ears.

Then the teacher set a printed document on the table.

“Mallory,” she said evenly. “Thirty minutes before this session started, you received a $5,000

transfer from Sienna Rowan’s mother.”

Mallory’s face went pale. Her phone slipped out of her hand and hit the floor.