The CEO's Regret: You made me your lie, I become your Loss-Chapter 72: Me first

Amira swept into the room, her movements lacking the soft, rhythmic grace that Seb had fallen in love with. She tossed her hair back, a bored pout on her lips that looked entirely foreign on Amara’s features.

"Listen, I have an idea," she sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "I’m so bored, I’m going to lose my mind. Let’s play a game. Are you open to a threesome?"

Seb didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn his head toward her. The word felt like a physical weight in the small room. "A threesome?" he repeated, his voice dangerously level.

"Yes! I know it’s not something I would usually do," Amira pushed on, moving closer, her eyes searching for the spark of interest she usually manipulated in men. "But I was hoping to spice things up a bit. You know, I’m trying to... explore."

Seb finally turned. He looked at her, really looked at her, not as the woman he loved, but as a puzzle he had finally solved. He remembered that first day outside the school; the girl he’d met was sharp, wild, and fleeting.

Then, the Amara he met the next day had been different, soulful, kind, the one he had truly lost his heart to. He had always thought it was just a change of mood. Now, he knew it was a change of person.

"Yeah... explore," Seb said, his voice dropping into a calm, terrifying chill. "That’s because you aren’t Amara."

Amira froze, the playful smirk dying on her lips.

"I know that for a fact," Seb continued, gesturing vaguely to the glowing screen behind him. "Because the real Amara is back home. And Elara is dead. So tell me..."

He stood up slowly, his body still weak, but his gaze pinning her to the spot. "How are you related to her? Why do you two have the same face? And who the hell are you?"

The tension in the room snapped, replaced by a cold, hollow clarity. Amira didn’t look ashamed; she looked liberated. She walked over to the mini-bar, pouring herself a drink as if they were discussing the weather rather than a decade of deception.

"Busted," she murmured, a sharp, jagged smirk crossing her face. "So much for the ’no phones, no internet’ rule on our little getaway."

She turned, raising the glass in a mocking toast. "Amira Pedro Piers. Nice to officially meet you, Seb. Though, as you’ve realized, we’ve shared quite a few moments over the years."

Seb leaned against the desk, his head spinning. The memories shifted like glass, the girl outside the school, the girl after the accident. "Ten years ago... and right after my car crash. That was you?"

"In the flesh," Amira said. "Amara’s sister. Well, the invisible twin. Amara never mentioned me once, did she? Though I doubt she told you I was her carbon copy."

"She said she had a sister," Seb whispered, his voice thick with a mix of rage and exhaustion. "I just didn’t realize she meant a shadow."

Amira stepped closer, her eyes flashing with a long-buried resentment. "You met me first, Seb. We talked, and you were happy. I was the happiest I’d ever been. But then... You chose her. You looked right past me for the ’gentler’ version. So, yes. I used to sneak out. I’d pretend to be her just to feel what it was like to have you look at me that way. I’d kiss you, and you never even knew."

Seb let out a dry, jagged laugh that turned into a sob. "I was drunk that first night, Amira. I wanted to have fun, sure. But I fell in love with Amara because she was Amara. It was never about the face. It was her soul, her warmth, all of her. And all this time, I was so arrogant, so confident that she’d just forgive me because I was her first and greatest love."

He stood up, his gaze sweeping over her with a sudden, freezing indifference. "I already know you’re sleeping with the chef, Amira. So go ahead, have your threesome. Count me out. We’re leaving on the first flight tomorrow."

Amira’s face contorted, her vanity wounded. "You mean I’m not as attractive as she is? We have the same body, the same eyes!"

"It’s not about looks," Seb said, heading for the door. "It’s the feeling. I never had that with you. Even when Amara was furious with me, that desire, that connection was there. With you? Nothing. Just a void."

Amira scoffed, tossing her hair back. "You’re all the same. I was just making sure you didn’t lose your precious Amara. Honestly? I don’t care about you anymore, Seb. I’ve seen men way more handsome than you."

Seb stopped at the door, looking back one last time. "I know what you’re doing. You want me to keep chasing her, to keep hurting her. I was wrong. I regret so many things I’ve done... I might not even be able to live with myself after today. But I’m going to try. Not to win her back, but to stay away."

His voice broke, a final admission of his own failure. "A lifetime wouldn’t be enough to beg for her forgiveness. She deserves better... and I am not the one."

"Fine. If that’s what you want."

The words felt like ash in Amira’s mouth. She watched Seb, waiting for a flicker of hesitation, a ghost of the man who used to look at her with something resembling warmth. But there was nothing.

Instead of the messy, yearning conflict she expected, she saw a terrifying, sharpened clarity in his eyes. He wasn’t just rejecting her; he was purging her. He was finally cutting the anchor so he could drift toward Amara with a clean conscience.

As she turned away, a hollow ache settled deep in her chest. She wondered, with a bitterness that burned worse than any drink, what all of this had been for. The whispered secrets, the years of positioning herself, the quiet sacrifices, all of it had evaporated in the span of a single conversation.

It was a recurring theme in the story of her life: People looked through her, never at her. No one ever seemed willing to break a sweat for her, let alone their own hearts.

If it had been Amara standing there, the world would have stopped turning. For Amara, men didn’t just stay; they moved mountains. They rewrote their destinies. For Amira, they barely bothered to pack their bags before leaving.

She walked to her room, her footsteps sounding heavy and foreign against the floorboards. Each step felt like an admission of defeat. She didn’t slam the door; she didn’t have the energy for drama anymore. She simply clicked it shut, locking the world and the image of Seb’s resolute face on the other side.

The room was cold, but the bottle on her vanity offered a different kind of heat.

She didn’t reach for a glass. Precision felt like too much work. She pulled the cork and let the sharp, antiseptic scent of the alcohol fill her senses before taking a long, jagged swallow. It tore down her throat, a welcome distraction from the tearing sensation in her soul.

She sat on the edge of the bed, the shadows of the room closing in. With every tilt of the bottle, the sharp edges of her resentment began to blur. She didn’t want to think about mountain-movers. She didn’t want to think about Amara’s effortless grace or Seb’s newfound peace.

She just wanted to sink until the water closed over her head, and for once, feel absolutely nothing at all.