I stare at the external hard drive in my hands, turning it over as if its plain black casing might offer some explanation for why Lilly kept it hidden beneath her floorboards.

"Just a quick peek," I whisper to the empty room.

My laptop whirs to life, its blue glow illuminating my face in the dim bedroom. I plug in the drive, half expecting sirens to blare or Lilly to suddenly materialize behind me. But there's only silence as the computer recognizes the device with a soft chime.

A single folder appears on my screen, "Private."

Of course, it's labeled that. What else would Lilly call something she literally buried under her floor?

I double-click, and my heart sinks when a password prompt appears. The cursor blinks accusingly, waiting for me to prove I have the right to see whatever secrets Lilly has hidden away.

"Shit," I mutter, drumming my fingers against the keyboard.

What would Lilly use as a password? I try her birthday first, typing in 121406 with hesitant fingers. The computer responds with an error message, the digital equivalent of a slap on the wrist.

"Okay, not that."

My mind races through possibilities. I type in my full name, Seth Miller, but receive another rejection.

I squint at the screen, a strange thought forming. My fingers hover over the keys for a moment before I type "Seth Harris."

The folder unlocks instantly.

Heat rushes to my face as I realize the implications. Seth Harris. Like we're married. Like I've taken her last name.

The folder opens to reveal dozens of video thumbnails, and my breath catches in my throat. Each shows a dimly lit basement scene, and as I scan across them, my blood turns to ice.

"What the fuck?" I breathe.

The thumbnails show Rose and what looks unmistakably like Evelyn in some kind of basement. Evelyn appears disheveled, injured in some shots, while Rose stands over her. My hand trembles as I hover over one of the videos, heart hammering against my ribs.

I click on it.

The video loads, grainy at first, then sharpens. I watch as Rose approaches Evelyn, who's chained to the wall of that concrete basement. My stomach twists as I see the pliers in her hand, gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"You know," she says casually, examining the tool, "I've been thinking about what to do with you."

I lean closer to the screen, something nagging at me. The way she moves, the cadence of her speech, it's not quite right. And then it hits me like a freight train.

That's not Rose.

It's Lilly.

My breath catches as I recognize the subtle differences. The way she holds her shoulders, too stiff, too controlled. The analytical tilt of her head as she examines Evelyn. Rose is all wild energy and impulse, but this woman moves with Lilly's calculated precision, just wearing Rose's clothes, her hair let down to complete the disguise.

"Jesus Christ," I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away as Lilly crouches beside Evelyn and begins a nursery rhyme about fingers.

My stomach lurches as Lilly positions the pliers around Evelyn's index finger.

“You damaged something I love.” I hear her whisper.

I can't look away, can't even blink, as she closes the metal jaws with deliberate pressure. The sickening crunch that follows will haunt me forever. Evelyn's scream is raw and primal, as blood spurts from where her finger used to be.

"Look at that," Lilly says in Rose's voice, examining the severed digit with clinical fascination. "The human body is fascinating, isn't it? So resilient, yet so fragile."

I clap my hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit. This can't be real. This can't be happening. But the video continues, merciless in its clarity as Lilly, still pretending to be Rose, positions the pliers around Evelyn's thumb.

Another crunch. Another scream. Blood pools on the concrete floor beneath Evelyn's mutilated hand.

"Two down," Lilly says with a slight smile. "Eight left. Though I might save those for later."

I want to stop watching, but I'm paralyzed with horror. Just when I think it's over, Lilly grabs Evelyn's other hand. The pliers close again, and a third finger falls to the concrete floor.

I slam the laptop shut, yanking out the hard drive and stumbling to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before emptying the contents of my stomach. Cold sweat breaks out across my forehead as I heave until there's nothing left.

I grip the edge of the toilet, my knuckles white as I try to steady myself. My mind is a hurricane of fragmented thoughts, none of them making sense. I can't process what I just saw. The woman I love, the woman I've been clinging to like a life raft, tortured someone. Mutilated them. And she did it while pretending to be her own sister.

"Lilly," I whisper, my voice breaking on her name.

My stomach heaves again, but there's nothing left to bring up. The cold bathroom tile presses against my knees as I slump back, trying to catch my breath. The images won't stop replaying behind my eyelids, Lilly with those pliers, the calculated look in her eyes as she... as she...

I press my palms against my temples, trying to make it all stop. This can't be real. This has to be some kind of sick joke or twisted misunderstanding. My Lilly wouldn't do that. She couldn't.

But I know what I saw.

The realization hits me like a physical blow, Lilly tortured Evelyn while disguised as Rose. Then Evelyn escaped somehow and, thinking Rose was her torturer, killed her in revenge.

"Oh my god," I mutter, bile rising in my throat again. "She killed her own sister."

I remember Lilly at Rose's funeral, standing at the podium with perfect composure, not shedding a single tear as she delivered that heartfelt eulogy about her "beloved twin." Was she acting then too? Was any of it real?

I drag myself to my feet, legs trembling so badly I have to lean against the wall. The girl who's been my rock through all this chaos, who's held me while I cried, who's promised to take care of me forever, she's a monster.

And I've been sleeping beside her every night.

The horror of my realization staggers me. All this time, I've been terrified for Lilly's safety, obsessively tracking her location, desperate to protect her from whatever monster hurt Evelyn, never suspecting that she was the monster all along.

I grab my phone, and my heart nearly stops. Eleven missed calls from Lilly in just the last thirty minutes.

‘Does she know?’

‘How could she know?’

"Fuck," I whisper, panic surging through me.

I stumble out of the bathroom, the hard drive clutched in my sweaty palm. I need to put it back, hide any evidence I've seen what's on it. My legs feel like rubber as I make my way toward her bedroom, my mind racing with excuses, lies, anything to explain away what I've done.

The front door slams downstairs.

I freeze, blood turning to ice in my veins. The sound of keys hitting the entryway table echoes through the silent house, followed by footsteps on the stairs, quick, purposeful steps I recognize immediately.

She's home. Hours early.

I dart into her bedroom, dropping to my knees beside the bed. My fingers fumble with the loose floorboard, trying to lift it without making noise.

"Come on, come on," I mutter, desperation making me clumsy.

The bedroom door flies open, slamming against the wall with enough force to make me jump. I whirl around, standing with the hard drive clutched in my hand like a smoking gun.

Lilly stands in the doorway, her face unnervingly calm despite the storm raging in her eyes. She's still wearing her coat. Her ponytail is perfect as always, not a hair out of place, but there's something different about her. Something terrifying.

Before I can speak, she's across the room. Her hand connects with my chest, shoving me backward against the wall with surprising strength. My head cracks against the plaster, stars exploding behind my eyes.

"What are you doing, Lilly?" I gasp, the hard drive still clutched in my trembling hand.

Her laugh is nothing like the warm sound I've come to love. It's hollow, sharp-edged, like broken glass in honey.

"You think I don't have cameras in my room, Seth?" she asks, her voice eerily calm despite the manic gleam in her eyes.

The hard drive slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor as I desperately shove against her chest. My palms meet solid resistance, like pushing against a brick wall. She barely budges an inch.

"Please," I gasp, terror clawing up my throat. "You can do whatever you want to me, but leave Chris out of this. Don't hurt him."

Lilly's eyes flash with something between amusement and irritation. She rolls her eyes dramatically, applying more pressure until my spine is flush against the wall, her forearm pressing against my collarbone.

"I don't give a damn about Chris," she says, her voice unnervingly calm despite the wild look in her eyes. "He doesn't even cross my mind. I’m not going to hurt him. And I'm not going to kill you."

She leans in closer, her breath hot against my face. "I didn't spend an entire month torturing that bitch Evelyn just to let you slip away from me now."

In one fluid motion, Lilly spins me around, slamming my chest against the wall. I hear a metallic click before feeling cold steel around my wrists. Handcuffs.

‘Where the hell did she get handcuffs?’

"Lilly, what are you…" My question is cut short as she shoves me backward, sending me sprawling onto her bed.

"Stop!" I shout, twisting awkwardly with my hands restrained behind me. "This is insane!"

"No," she says simply, her voice unnervingly calm. She looms over me, green eyes glittering with something I've never seen before, or maybe something I've always seen but refused to recognize.

"Why did you do it?" I ask, my voice breaking. "Why, Evelyn? Why Rose? Your own sister..."

Lilly tilts her head, studying me like I'm a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. "To kill two birds with one stone, of course." She smiles, a terrifying parody of the expression I once found so comforting. "I eliminated the woman who was touching what's mine, and I removed the sister whom I had to share you with."

I try to scoot backward on the bed, but she catches my ankles, yanking me toward her with surprising strength. Her fingers move to my pants, expertly undoing the button and zipper despite my attempts to twist away.

"Jesus, Lilly, stop!" I plead as she tugs my pants down just enough to expose me.

She ignores my protests completely, pulling me free from my boxers. The cool air hits my skin, and I'm horrified to feel myself responding despite the terror coursing through my veins.

Lilly's expression transforms as she looks down at me, a mixture of hunger and possessive satisfaction replacing the cold calculation from moments before. She leans down, pressing her face against my growing hardness, inhaling deeply like she's savoring my scent.

"Look at you," she murmurs, her cheek sliding against me. "Even now, your body knows who you belong to."

I hate myself for it, but she's right. Despite everything I've just discovered, despite knowing she's a murderer and a torturer, my body betrays me. Her beauty is undeniable, those perfect features now animated with a manic energy that's both terrifying and somehow magnetic.

"This isn't right," I manage to say.

Lilly nuzzles against me, dragging her cheek up and down my cock with a disturbing tenderness that makes my skin crawl even as my body responds. Her eyes flutter closed, almost reverent in her movements.

"I really wish you hadn't gone snooping, Seth," she murmurs, her lips brushing against me as she speaks.

"You went snooping first," I manage to say, my voice strained as I try to ignore the unwanted pleasure. "In my room, remember? In my safe?"

She pauses, considering this, then nods slightly. "That's fair," she admits, her tongue darting out to taste me briefly. "But I didn't judge your creepy little diary, did I?"

My face burns with humiliation and rage. "There wasn't any murder in it."

She stops abruptly, pulling back to look at me. The playful, sensual expression vanishes, replaced by cold irritation. Her eyes narrow dangerously.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" she asks, her voice suddenly flat.

"How could I?" I struggle against the handcuffs, the metal cutting into my wrists. "You killed your own sister, Lilly. You tortured Evelyn for weeks. How am I supposed to just forget that?"

She sighs heavily, like I'm being unreasonable about something trivial. She stands up, straightening her clothes with precise movements.

"I didn't want to have to do this," she says, reaching into her pocket. When her hand emerges, she's holding a syringe. "This would have been so much easier if you'd just stayed in the dark."

My eyes widen at the sight of the needle. I thrash wildly on the bed, trying to get away from her despite the handcuffs.

"What is that?" I demand, panic making my voice crack. "Lilly, don't!"

She moves with terrifying precision, lunging forward before I can react. I feel the sharp sting as the needle pierces my neck, the cool rush of whatever drug she's using flooding into my bloodstream. My struggles weaken immediately, limbs growing heavy as lead.

Lilly leans close, her lips brushing against my ear. Her ponytail tickles my cheek as she whispers, "Shh, don't fight it."

I try to respond, to curse her or beg or something, but my tongue feels massive in my mouth. The room starts to spin, Lilly's face blurring at the edges as the drug takes hold. My eyelids grow impossibly heavy.

"Just sleep now," she murmurs, stroking my hair. "When you wake up, everything will be okay."

I struggle against the darkness creeping in from all sides, but it's useless. My last conscious thought is that I've completely misjudged everything about this woman, about my entire life.