A Twin Romance

I slipped out of Declan's bed and snatched my slip dress off the floor. He slid a black bank card across the sheets. "I tie the knot next month.

Camilla worries about you." His voice stayed flat. "I set up a blind date for you. Go meet him. Take this ten million dollars as my wedding gift." Blood drained from my face.

I shook my head, rejecting the offer. His thumb swiped a tear from my cheek. A gentle touch, but his tone dripped with pure threat. "Baby, the ring only goes on Camilla's finger.

Play nice. I don't want to ruin you. Understand?" He had it all twisted. I rejected the date, but not out of some toxic obsession with him.

My dad already locked down an arranged marriage for me back home. The second I leave this city, I walk down the aisle. Yet, here I sit in a dark café booth. My breath hitches.

I stare at the two identical, dropdead gorgeous faces across the table. Twins. Both of them? Chapter 1 My muscles utterly gave out.

I only stayed upright because Declan’s heavy arm banded around my waist, his skin slick with sweat against mine. The ragged sound of his breathing finally leveled out.

I stooped, grabbing the ruined shreds of my favorite red dress. "You ripped it again," I mumbled, tracing a frayed edge. "I actually liked this one.

Only wore it twice." Usually, he’d pull me back against his chest, a low rumble of amusement vibrating in his throat. "My bad," he’d whisper against my neck. "I’ll have my assistant overnight two new ones." Today, dead silence.

He tapped a cigarette from his pack and flicked his lighter. The flame illuminated the deep crease between his brows. A heavy, suffocating weight dropped straight into my stomach.

He slid a cold, titanium card across the nightstand. "I’m getting engaged next month," his voice grated out, rough and businesslike. "Camilla is worried about you.

Blair, I set you up on a date. Go see the guy. Take this ten million dollars as my wedding gift to you." Acid burned the back of my throat.

I blinked hard, dropping my gaze to the floor before the searing heat behind my eyes spilled over. The ticking time bomb finally detonated.

My nerves had been shot ever since Camilla’s divorce finalized two months ago. She was his ultimate red flag—the one that got away.

This was the man who once wrapped his Aston Martin around a tree streetracing to win her a vintage Tiffany pendant. He spent two months in trauma care for it.

He once trudged through a blizzard at 3 AM, hitting every bakery in Manhattan just to find her favorite limitededition raspberry cruffin. And me?

I only snagged Declan's attention because my cheekbones and eyes mirrored hers.

At the beginning, Declan's attitude towards me was no different from how he treated those previous standins.

He wouldn't whisper sweet nothings, wouldn't drive me home, and rarely said an intimate word. His grip was always bruising, his thrusts punishing and relentless.

Whenever my voice cracked, begging him to slow down, he'd just push harder, thoroughly ignoring me. And the second he finished? I was out the door.

He would send his driver to take me home, refusing to let me stay the night. A brutal twist of fate flipped the script. A rival firm had tampered with his brakes.

When the SUV flipped, I threw my body over his, taking the brunt of the crushed steel. My monitor flatlined twice on the operating table. After that, the ice in his eyes thawed.

He started intertwining our fingers walking down Fifth Avenue. He stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, searing steaks for me.

He hauled me onto his lap, his lips softening against mine as he murmured baby against my skin.

He even cleared out a closet for me, burying his face in my hair every night as we drifted off. These three years of happiness gave me the delusion that I could grow old with him.

Then Camilla touched down at JFK, and shattered my entire reality. It happened on my birthday. I sat alone at a Michelinstar table until the staff started flipping chairs.

My phone buzzed with a single text—he was at the terminal, picking her up. My pulse had been in a permanent state of panic since that text.

I kept comforting myself, swearing that as long as Declan didn't bring up a breakup, we still had a future. But today, the guillotine finally dropped.

Declan hooked two fingers under my chin, forcing my face up. His thumb swiped a wet track off my cheek. A soft, breathless chuckle escaped him. "Still such a crybaby? Stop.

It physically hurts me to see you cry." Liar. Bullshit. If it actually hurt him, he wouldn't be arranging a blind date for me.

I sucked in a jagged breath, my chest heaving. "I'm not going on any date." The smile never left his lips, but his eyes deadened.

He leaned in, the raw scent of tobacco and mint invading my space, his voice dripping with lethal warning. "Baby, Camilla is back.

The ring on that finger belongs to her, and only her." His grip on my jaw tightened just a fraction. "Be a good girl. Don't overstep and make a mess of things.

I really don't want to destroy you. Do we have an understanding?" Chapter 2 His paranoia tracked. I had a rap sheet.

For three years, I warmed his bed exclusively, but the obsession from his orbit never stopped.

Scorned socialites loved using me as a punching bag, cornering me to trash my zip code and spit that I belonged in the gutter, not next to Declan.

Relying on Declan's blatant favoritism, I never swallowed my pride. I threw hands whenever they crossed the line, and I never lost a single fight.

I clearly remembered shredding the cheek of some Silicon Valley heiress. She cried, complaining to Declan that I was a shrew, and threatened to call the cops to arrest me.

Declan merely arched an eyebrow, a dark amusement dancing in his eyes. "I don’t even dare cross her. Why the hell did you? You brought this on yourself.

You can't call the cops because of your own mess." He shielded me entirely. The heiress choked on her rage, but with Declan’s empire backing me, she swallowed it.

The rumors exploded. High society swore the untouchable Declan was totally whipped. But against Camilla? All that fierce protection instantly evaporated. "Camilla isn't them.

If you two go headtohead, my loyalty is to her," his voice left no room for debate. "So, Blair, don’t paint a target on your own back. Got it?" The air was sucked out of the room.

My throat tightened so hard it ached. I forced the words past the sandpaper in my mouth. "Even if she’s the one coming for me?

You’ll stand with her?" "Yes." The blunt truth felt like a physical blow. I clawed for any scrap of dignity. "Relax. I’m not going to stalk you.

I won't touch your relationship with Camilla. You don't need to stress over my dating life, either. My dad already finalized a match for me.

I’ll be walking down the aisle soon." A vicious sneer twisted Declan’s handsome features. "Blair, who are you trying to bullshit? Your dad died twenty years ago.

At least draft a believable lie. If you refuse the blind date, fine. Take the money and get out of Manhattan. Camilla is hung up on our last three years together.

I refuse to let your presence stress her out." He missed the plot twist entirely. I had only discovered the truth recently myself. My parents were foster parents.

My biological family finally tracked me down, begging me to move back to Boston with them. They also had an ironclad marriage pact waiting for me.

My toxic attachment to Declan anchored me here, so I dragged my feet and rejected them. He ghosted me so hard this past month, I never found the right second to drop the bomb. Now?

Dead air. He wouldn't care anyway. "Fine. I'm leaving." Fate had a sick sense of humor. I bumped into Camilla browsing the display cases at Cartier.

She obviously recognized me, a condescending smirk twisting her lips. "Some girls love the shortcut. Swiping black cards for luxury goods. Barely a step up from an escort.

Wouldn't you agree, Miss Blair?" I dropped the diamond tennis bracelet onto the velvet mat, squaring my shoulders. "Declan and I are done, but we had a committed, exclusive relationship.

Do not project your trashy narratives onto me." A sharp, mocking scoff punched out of her.

She lunged forward, wrapping her manicured fingers around the bicep of the man stepping through the glass doors. "Declan. Perfect timing. Blair has this hilarious delusion.

She actually thinks she was your girlfriend. It’s unhinged. Clear this up for her.

I’d hate for her to run her mouth and tank your PR." Camilla drew a line in the sand, forcing his hand. Chapter 3 Declan delivered exactly what she wanted.

He threaded his fingers through Camilla's hair, his touch sickeningly fond. "I've never had a girlfriend besides you.

The rest were just blowing off steam." His dark gaze cut to me, dropping several degrees. "Miss Blair, our relationship was merely a transaction.

Please do not spread rumors in front of my fiancée." The breath was knocked right out of me. A sharp ache twisted deep in my stomach.

The weight of a dozen mocking stares pressed down on my shoulders. "Getting shut down by the actual fiancée? Tragic." "Imagine being a side piece and claiming you're the girlfriend.

The delusion." "Side piece is a compliment. She's a glorified escort. If she was my daughter, I'd break her legs." The toxic whispers hissed in my ears like static.

Declan’s jaw flexed. He snapped a lethal glare at the loudest socialite. "Shut your mouth." The woman physically recoiled, instantly swallowing her words. Bile rose in my throat.

He threw me to the wolves. Playing the white knight now was a sick joke. My nails dug brutal halfmoons into my palms. "Declan." He turned.

My palm cracked violently across his jaw. "You are a piece of shit." His head snapped to the side. He froze, utterly blindsided. Camilla lunged.

She shoved me hard in the chest. "Don't you ever touch him!" My stilettos caught on the marble floor. I crashed hard, a sharp, whitehot tear ripping through my ankle.

I wasn't about to just take the hit. I scrambled up, throwing a wild swing at her face. A steel grip locked around my wrist in midair.

He towered over me, a pitchblack fury in his eyes I had never seen before. "Blair, if you touch one hair on Camilla's head, I will destroy you." The blatant double standard snapped something inside me.

The last pathetic shred of my love for him instantly evaporated. Pure, unadulterated rage took its place.

I drove the pointed toe of my heel directly into his kneecap. "My only regret in this life is knowing you!" He hissed, buckling forward. "Drop dead," I spat, spinning on my heel and marching out the glass doors.

We were officially dead to each other. Vincent and the rest of my biological family treated me like royalty in Boston, desperately trying to spoil away twenty years of absence.

As for the arranged marriage, my sister laid it out flat. "When Mom made the ironclad pact years ago, she had no clue Catherine was carrying twins.

One is a brooding suit, the other is an absolute menace. Meet them both, and just pick whoever you like better." I just never expected those twins to be Miles and Knox.

I sat in the café booth, utterly dumbfounded. They sat entirely unbothered, zero shock registering on their identical faces.

Watching me spiral, the younger twin, Knox, flashed a wicked, arrogant smirk. "I only showed up because they dropped your name.

Otherwise, I'd have shredded that archaic marriage contract.

Who actually does this arranged bullshit anymore?" The older twin, Miles, offered a slow, calculated curve of his lips. "It is a wild coincidence.

You being Vincent's missing heir." We definitely had history. Chapter 4 Two years ago, Miles was handling corporate mergers in Manhattan.

Knox’s indie rock band was headlining a gig downtown. I caught a groupie slipping powder into Knox’s drink at a dive bar. I tipped him off, saving him from being thoroughly played.

Knox relentlessly tried to buy me dinner to settle the score. Considering Declan didn't like me having too much private contact with other men, I politely declined.

The guilt ate at Knox. He made Miles hand my firm a massive corporate account. I cleared a sixfigure commission check. I ran point on the project, dealing directly with Miles.

Knox constantly crashed my office out of sheer boredom. We all fell into an easy rhythm. Then Knox dropped the Lword out of nowhere. I froze on the pavement.

A speeding Ducati tore past the curb. Knox yanked my forearm, dragging me flush against his chest to clear the asphalt. Declan’s black SUV idled right there.

He clocked Knox’s grip on my skin. The temperature plummeted.

He was terrifying when he was jealous, tossing me around so much that night that my legs were too weak to get out of bed the next day.

I permanently blocked both twins to pacify his rage, swearing off any future contact. Knox cornered me in the lobby days later. Bloodshot eyes.

A shattered expression. "We're seriously dead to each other?

Not even friends?" My throat clamped shut. "I'm sorry." The light completely died in Knox's eyes. "When he inevitably wrecks you… will you give me the first shot to fix it?" I shook my head, deep in my delusion. "Declan won't.

We will definitely be together for a long time." The absolute joke of that confidence stung like a physical slap now.

Over a year of total radio silence, and now I was staring down an arranged marriage with one of them. My brain couldn't process the whiplash.

Miles tracked my spiraling panic. "Blair, breathe. Knox and I established a level playing field. Whoever gets the ring, the brotherhood stays intact." Pure confusion hit me.

He didn't even want me.

Why throw his hat in the ring? "He was obsessing over you way before I made my move," Knox dropped the bomb. "He just played the morality card because you belonged to Declan.

I told him he was an idiot. You see a girl you want, you take her.

Playing the saint is a fast track to lifelong regret." Miles pushed up his wirerimmed frames, his voice smooth and lethal. "You made your move.

And it got both our numbers permanently blacklisted." Knox rubbed the bridge of his nose, suddenly defensive. "How was I supposed to know Declan was a possessive psycho? Whatever.

Serves him right you dumped his ass." I had to be honest. "Actually, I got dumped." Knox didn't miss a beat. "Then he’s legally blind. He fumbled a diamond.

The regret is going to eat him alive." Miles offered a slow nod. "Declan never deserved you, Blair. You deserve so much better." An upgrade. Did he mean them?

The coming days delivered a masterclass in what "better" actually looked like. I was hunting for a limitededition Van Cleef jewelry set. Sold out everywhere. Total dead end.

I was swallowing the disappointment when Miles knocked on my door, a heavy velvet box resting in his palm.

Chapter 5 I practically leaped off the floor. "I seriously don't know how to repay you!" Miles offered a low, steady smile. "Seeing you happy covers the bill." I pulled up Venmo, but he instantly blocked the transfer.

I shook my head, refusing to drop it. "Absolutely not.

I'm paying." He tilted his head, his tone careful and calculated. "If you really want to thank me, let me take you to a movie." I let out a breath. "Sure.

But a date with me isn't exactly worth a Van Cleef set…" "To me, you're priceless," he murmured. Miles was a lethal shark on Wall Street. He gutted corporations without blinking.

But right now, the gaze behind his wirerimmed glasses was so devastatingly soft I could drown in it. The oxygen in the room thinned out.

My lungs seized up, and I had to physically break eye contact just to catch my breath. A few nights later, I posted an IG story craving matcha pistachio cruffins at 1 AM.

Exactly an hour later, Knox’s Ducati idled outside my Boston brownstone. He yanked off his helmet.

Sweat dampened his dark hair, his signature diamond stud catching the streetlights.

His tattooed fingers hooked the handles of a paper bakery bag, extending it toward me. "Fresh out of the oven." My jaw literally dropped. "You found a bakery open at 2 AM?" A cocky, arrogant grin split his face. "Didn't buy them.

I baked them." Total system failure. "You bake?" I only knew him as the chaotic frontman who destroyed guitars on stage. The domestic visual gave me serious whiplash.

He popped an eyebrow, pure unfiltered confidence. "Obviously.

Whatever you crave, I'm making it." A genuine smile finally broke through my shock. "Thank you." Later that week, my sister cornered me. "You've been rotating between them for a month.

Who's the frontrunner?" My brain stalled out. "I… They're both toptier." She dropped a nuclear bomb. "If you can't pick, lock them both down." I choked, coughing out my water. "Oh my god, stop joking around.

How could that even work?" A wicked, scandalous smirk hit her lips. "Why not? Miles on Monday, Wednesday, Friday.

Knox on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday." She paused, her eyes gleaming with absolute chaos. "And Sundays are for—" The visual hit me like a freight train. "Stop!

Do not finish that sentence," I begged, my face burning.

If Declan hadn't called, his existence would have fully dissolved from my memory. "Where did you pack my charcoal Tom Ford tie?" His voice was clipped.

He had a pathological rule against housekeeping touching his personal wardrobe. For three years, that was entirely my job. A brutal headache spiked behind my eyes. "Walkin closet.

Rightside vanity. Fourth drawer down," I snapped. I opened my mouth to tell him to lose my number for this domestic bullshit, but he crossed the line. "I don't see it.

Come over and find it for me." A harsh, incredulous laugh ripped from my throat. "Did you hit your head and get amnesia?

You literally exiled me from Manhattan." A heavy, awkward silence stretched over the line. "If… if you want to fly back, I'll send the jet. I can set you up with a corner office.

Get you a penthouse." Complete gaslighting. He nuked my life because Camilla couldn't handle my zip code. Now he was backpedaling?

He probably just couldn't handle dressing himself without a livein maid. I wasn't playing this twisted game. "If you want to find a maid, go to a housekeeping agency.

Can you stop bothering me?" I gritted my teeth. "My life is absolute perfection right now. I am never stepping foot in New York again." I stabbed the red button.

And permanently blocked his number. Chapter 6 That night, an unknown Manhattan number lit up my screen.

I swiped to answer, only to hear Pierce, Declan’s righthand man. "Blair, look. I know you're still spiraling over the breakup. I get why you're being so hostile.

But I see how it is. He’s completely hooked on you. Ever since you bailed on New York two months ago, he’s been a ghost. Just zoning out, staring at his phone." "You know how he is.

Born with a silver spoon, everyone kissing his ass. He actually swallowed his pride today to throw you an olive branch. And you just block him? He’s losing it.

He’s been drowning in scotch all night. The guy is wasted right now, slurring your name. Trust me, his feelings are real.

If you fly back right now, he'll absolutely take you back." A designated wingman. Cute. But playing the absolute dictator didn't really scream "olive branch" to me.

The whole pitch was completely unhinged. "He literally put a ring on Camilla," I deadpanned. "And you're pitching me the sidepiece position?

Are you insane?" Pierce didn't miss a beat, pushing his ridiculous agenda. "He and Camilla are constantly at each other's throats lately.

Anyone with eyes can see they're going to crash and burn.

You come back, whisper the right things in his ear… you could easily secure the ring." The shiny new toy lost its appeal the second he unboxed it.

A cold, cynical laugh slipped past my lips. "Whatever happens between them has nothing to do with me, I don't care. Declan and I are dead and buried. I don't recycle trash.

Do not call my phone with this bullshit again." Pierce opened his mouth to argue. I ended the call and permanently blocked his number.

I tapped the screen dark, firmly erasing the conversation from my brain. My cardio was practically nonexistent. Halfway up the hiking trail, my lungs were actively burning.

Miles unzipped his massive tactical backpack. He pulled out a sleek, ultralight camping chair, snapping it open on the dirt. "Blair, sit.

Catch your breath." I stared at him, genuinely floored. "Are you always this insanely prepared?" A low, easy smile touched his lips. "I knew you'd hit a wall." I flashed him a thumbsup, collapsing into the canvas. "Absolute lifesaver." Knox stepped into my line of sight, twisting the cap off a matteblack Yeti tumbler. "Hydrate, Blair." I despised soda and ice water.

Three hundred and sixtyfive days a year, even in a blistering heatwave, I only drank roomtemperature water. Knox had my bizarre microhabits totally mapped out.

I took the tumbler, a warm smile breaking through my exhaustion. "Thank you." We were midconversation when two girls jogging down the trail suddenly braked.

They zeroed in on the twins, instantly pulling out their phones to ask for their IG handles. Miles shut it down with absolute ice. "Sorry.

I'm already spoken for." The brunette's face instantly dropped. Knox flashed a wicked, entirely unapologetic smirk. "My bad.

I'm obsessed with someone else." The blonde pouted, completely crushed. Miles and Knox immediately tuned them out.

Their focus snapped right back to me, rapidfiring questions about whether I was overheating or needed a protein bar. The two girls froze, tracking the sudden shift in energy.

They exchanged a wild, wideeyed look.

Their gazes darted between the three of us. "Wait," they blurted in perfect unison. "Are you two chasing the exact same girl?!" Miles didn't confirm or deny.

Chapter 7 A wicked smirk played on Knox's lips. "You catch on fast." The girls stared, absolute awe written across their faces.

The brunette shot me a look of pure envy. "Girl, drop the masterclass." Heat flooded my cheeks. I offered a weak, awkward laugh.

They jogged off, their whispers drifting back down the dirt path. "You think a California King is big enough for that?" The implication hit me instantly.

I inhaled a mouthful of water, violently choking into the Yeti tumbler. Two kids sprinting down the trail slammed hard into my spine. My sneakers slid out across the gravel.

I hit the ground, a sharp tear ripping through my ankle. Knox beat Miles to the dirt. He stripped off my sneaker, hauling my bare foot onto his denimclad thigh.

His thumbs instantly dug into the arch of my foot, working the twisted tendon. My phone vibrated against the rocks. Another unknown Manhattan number. I swiped accept.

Declan’s icy, clipped tone instantly filled my ear. "I blacked out last night. I only just found out Pierce went behind my back to call you. Ignore his absolute bullshit.

I am doing perfectly fine. You leaving didn't put a single dent in my life. I poured a drink because I felt like it. It had zero to do with you. I don't miss you.

And I definitely didn't slur your name while I was wasted." He rapidfired the denials. I stared at the screen, my brain totally stalling at his unhinged logic.

I opened my mouth to completely end him. A sudden spike of agony shot up my calf.

A breathy, sharp moan slipped past my lips. "Back off the pressure," Miles ordered, his voice dropping an octave. "You know her threshold is low.

You're leaving red marks all over her skin." Knox’s dark eyes flicked up, filled with raw apology. "My bad. I'll take it slower." The interaction remained purely medical.

But filtering through the phone speaker, the audio painted an entirely different, highly explicit picture. The line went dead silent.

Then came the harsh, ragged sound of Declan’s breathing. He finally snapped. "Blair, why the fuck are there two men with you?

What exactly are you doing?" A feral growl ripped through the speaker. "Are their hands on you right now? Since when are you into this kind of twisted game?

How fucking dare you let them touch what belongs to me!" His toxic obsession completely hijacked his brain. The volume physically assaulted my eardrum.

I yanked the phone away from my face, my patience instantly vaporizing. "Take your paranoid psychotic breaks to your fiancée! Who touches me is none of your damn business