Pregnant With My Twin Sister’s Fiancé’s Baby

I should have said no. But I never could—not to Sienna.The blue light of my monitors flickered against the darkened walls of my apartment. It was 2:00 AM, and my eyes felt like they were filled with sand. On the screen, lines of C++ code cascaded in a rhythmic waterfall, the heartbeat of my latest project.Just one more bug fix, I told myself. One more patch, and the rendering engine will be stable.My phone buzzed against the desk, the vibration rattling a half-empty can of energy drink.I ignored it.It buzzed again. Then a third time. A relentless, demanding rhythm I knew too well.With a sigh that rattled in my chest, I picked it up. The screen blinded me for a second before my eyes adjusted to the notification that had just lit up half the internet.@SiennaStoneOfficial: I said YES! #FutureMrsCross #Love #Soulmates #BillionaireWifeI stared at the photo.There she was. My twin sister, Sienna. Her skin was airbrushed to porcelain perfection, her blonde hair—the same shade as min

Lily Chen was the sister I chose, not the one genetics cursed me with."If you stare at that invitation any harder, you're going to set it on fire with your mind," Lily said, spinning her ergonomic chair around to face me. "Which, honestly? Would be an improvement."I looked up from the cream-colored card stock resting on my desk. It was heavy, textured, and embossed with gold leaf. It looked like it belonged in a museum, not sitting next to my dual-monitor setup and a tangled mess of USB cables."It was hand-delivered," I muttered, running a thumb over the raised lettering. "By a courier in a tuxedo. Who does that?""Sienna," Lily deadpanned. "Sienna does that."We were in the open-plan office of NeXus Gaming Studios, the beating heart of the city's tech district. The building was a masterpiece of glass and steel, a cathedral to code and creativity. Around us, developers typed furiously, concept artists sketched on tablets, and the low hum of servers provided a comforting white noise

The ballroom glittered like a fever dream. Or maybe that was just my conscience.I had crossed a line the moment I told the check-in hostess, "I'm Sienna Stone." There was no going back now. The velvet rope had lifted, the heavy mahogany doors had swung open, and I had stepped out of my life and into my sister's.The Grandeur Hotel lived up to its name. The ceiling was a fresco of storm clouds and cherubs, illuminated by chandeliers that dripped crystal like frozen tears. Beneath them, the city's elite swirled in a kaleidoscope of silk, satin, and secrets.Everyone was masked.It should have been terrifying. Instead, it was intoxicating.Behind the stiff black lace of my mask, I wasn't Aria the coder. I wasn't the disappointment. I was an enigma. I felt the gaze of the room slide over the black silk dress Sienna had forced me into, but for the first time, I didn't want to shrink away. I wanted to see what it felt like to burn."Champagne, madam?" A waiter materialized at my elbow."Pl

PhoenixRising was ghosting me. Unacceptable.I sat in my office on the top floor of NeXus headquarters, the panoramic view of the city spread out before me like a conqueror's map. But for the first time in years, I didn't care about the view. I didn't care about the quarterly reports glowing on my monitor.I cared about the silence.It had been three days since the masquerade. Three days since I woke up in an empty bed with a note signed "S." Three days since the most intense connection of my life vanished into the morning mist.I clicked open my secure chat terminal.ShadowKnight: Are you okay? (Read: 3 days ago) ShadowKnight: We need to talk. (Read: 2 days ago) ShadowKnight: Phoenix, please. (Read: Yesterday)She was reading them. She was seeing my desperation and choosing to ignore it.We had spoken every single day for three years. We debated patch notes at 2:00 AM. We shared frustrations about the industry. She was the only person who knew I hated public speaking. I was the onl

His office smelled like him: sandalwood, coffee, and danger.I’d rehearsed this conversation a hundred times since Friday. I had scripts for apology, scripts for denial, and scripts for professional detachment. None of them prepared me for the reality of standing in the predator’s den.The office was a testament to the man who built it—intimidating, expansive, and unexpectedly personal. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a god’s-eye view of Manhattan, bathing the room in harsh morning light. The furniture was sleek, minimalist obsidian and leather, shouting corporate power.But behind the desk, a massive built-in shelf told a different story.Amidst the industry awards—glass shards and gold statuettes that caught the sun—was a collection that made my gamer heart ache. A mint-condition NES cartridge of The Legend of Zelda in its original gold casing. A prototype controller for the first NeXus console. A framed piece of concept art from Chrono Trigger.It was a museum of our shared histor