A marked affair

The sun rose slowly over Nexalith, casting a golden glow across the Hills Estate a mansion so vast it seemed to go on forever. Guarded by tall black gates and rows of sycamore trees, the estate was an island of wealth nestled in one of the city's most affluent neighborhoods. Inside, marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers, and the scent of imported rosewood polish lingered in the air.

Mr. Louis Hills, the man who owned the estate and everything in it, was barely ever home. A business tycoon whose empire stretched across continents, he was always halfway across Nexalith or the world. His presence in the mansion was as fleeting as a passing breeze. Most of the time, he existed in photographs on the wall or in brief phone calls made on speaker in his home office.

His wife, Evelyn Hills, on the other hand, was ever present. A woman of poise and precision, Evelyn carried herself like royalty, and she expected to be treated as such. The maids stood straighter when she entered a room. Even the silence seemed to obey her.

Among the quiet, uniformed staff was Mrs. Leah Dean, a widow who worked as a cleaner in the mansion. Life had not been kind to Leah her husband had died when their daughter, Iris, was just four. Since then, Leah had done everything possible to keep a roof over their heads, eventually securing a job at the Hills estate. It paid better than most places and offered room and board, but it came with one condition: humility.

Her daughter, Iris Dean, was now ten. A quiet, observant girl who had learned early on to keep her head down and her emotions tucked in. During school breaks, when there was no one else to care for her, Iris would follow her mother to work, usually settling in the laundry room or sneaking into the backyard garden to read.

And then there was Mira Hills the only child of Evelyn and Louis. Mira was also ten, but where Iris was soft spoken and reserved, Mira was confident and assertive, used to getting her way with a tilt of her chin or a pout of her lips.

What shocked people most about the two girls wasn't just their shared age.

It was their faces.

They looked... identical.

Same brown skin that glowed like honey under the sun. Same oval shaped face with wide almond eyes and lashes too long to need mascara. Same dark curls that framed their small, delicate heads like crowns of silk.

Even the house chef once mistook Iris for Mira from behind and nearly offered her a plate of chocolate dipped strawberries meant only for the Hills child.

The resemblance unsettled Evelyn, but she never spoke of it.

To Mira, however, it was an ongoing irritation an offense to her sense of uniqueness.

"Why do you look like me?" she had once whispered bitterly to Iris during a game of tag in the garden.

Iris didn't answer. She didn't know.

All she knew was that every time Mira saw her, it stirred something sour in the other girl.

That morning, Iris sat on the stone bench beneath the orange tree in the backyard, her mother's soft hum drifting from the open laundry room. A thin paperback novel rested in her lap something Mira had discarded weeks ago. She was halfway through it and completely absorbed when a shadow fell across the page.

"You're still reading that?" Mira's voice cut through the air like a thread snapping.

Iris looked up slowly. Mira stood with her arms folded, dressed in a pastel pink jumpsuit and white ballet flats. Her hair was tied in a sleek ponytail that bounced when she moved.

"I thought you finished it already," Iris said quietly, marking her page with a leaf.

"I did. That's why I threw it away. You don't have to dig through my trash like a raccoon," Mira sniffed, stepping closer.

Iris had known this was coming. Mira's mood swings came like afternoon storms sudden and sour.

"I didn't dig," Iris replied, her voice calm. "It was in the donation box."

Mira scoffed. "You really think I believe that? Just because we look alike doesn't mean we are alike. I read books. You... clean toilets."

Iris didn't flinch. She'd heard worse.

She just stared at the book in her lap. "It's a good story," she murmured. "About a girl who finds her place in the world, even though no one believed she could."

There was a pause brief, but enough for a flicker of something unreadable to flash in Mira's eyes. Then, she rolled them.

"Don't get ideas, Iris. Even in your dreams, you won't be more than a maid's daughter."

Iris didn't answer. What was the point?

She had long accepted that Mira was like this sharp tongued, possessive, and proud. Maybe it wasn't her fault. She was born into a life of pearls and perfection. Iris, into one of folded rags and recycled clothes.

Still, sometimes, when no one was looking, Iris caught Mira staring at her. Not with hate.

But with fear.

As if, deep down, Mira knew how thin the veil was that separated them.

If fate had been kinder to one and harsher to the other... would their lives have swapped places?

Iris would never know. All she could do was swallow her pride and keep her head low.

Behind her, Mrs. Leah called gently from the laundry room, "Iris, come help me fold the sheets, love."

"Coming, Mum," she answered, rising slowly and brushing off her dress.

As she walked past Mira, the other girl tilted her chin higher as if declaring, without words, you'll never be me.

And Iris, with a small, knowing smile, thought to herself, I don't want to be.

She didn't know it yet, but her life was already unraveling. Already shifting toward something far bigger than she could imagine.

A future filled with choices, pain, power... and a night that would change everything.