THE TWIN CONFRONTATION

Ariana’s POV

I don’t know what kind of masochist part of me thought this was a good idea.

Tracking down Adrian Cole should’ve been at the bottom of my list — below laundry, below unclogging my sink, below literally anything else. But here I am, standing in the lobby of a high-end lounge where I know he spends his nights, praying my legs don’t give out under me.

The place smells like expensive liquor and ego. Velvet couches, chandeliers dripping crystal, laughter spilling out from men in tailored suits and women draped across them like accessories.

And then I see him.

Adrian.

My stomach lurches.

Same face as Damian. Same jawline. Same piercing eyes. Same build. But where Damian is sharp control and pressed suits, Adrian is chaos. His tie is loose, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, tattoos peeking from the collar. His smirk is wide, lazy, like he knows the world exists for his entertainment.

And he’s surrounded. Of course he is. Women on both sides, one perched in his lap, his arm draped around her like she’s nothing more than decoration.

My heart pounds. Every step I take toward him feels heavier than the last.

He looks up when I’m just a few feet away. His smirk falters.

“Well, well,” Adrian drawls, sliding the girl off his lap. “If it isn’t my favorite one-night stand.”

Rage burns hot in my chest. “You son of a....”

“Careful, sweetheart.” He leans back, eyes glinting. “Pregnant women shouldn’t raise their blood pressure.”

The women around him giggle nervously before drifting away. He waves his hand at them like he’s dismissing servants.

Now it’s just us.

I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles whiten. “You knew. You knew I thought you were your brother.”

His smirk widens. “You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”

The words hit me like a slap. My throat closes. “You’re disgusting.”

He shrugs, grabbing his drink, swirling the amber liquid lazily. “Don’t act like I forced you. You were eager enough.”

My hand trembles. I want to throw his glass in his smug face. “I’m pregnant, Adrian. With your child.”

His expression doesn’t change. He takes a slow sip of whiskey, then sets the glass down. “Not my problem.”

My chest caves. “Not your problem?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes locking with mine. “Listen, babe. I don’t do diapers. I don’t do 3 a.m. feedings. And I definitely don’t do family.”

The casual cruelty in his tone makes my stomach twist. “You think you can just walk away?”

“I will walk away,” he says smoothly. “Because I didn’t sign up for this. You want a baby? That’s on you. Don’t come crying to me for help.”

My eyes sting. “I’m not asking for help. I’m asking for responsibility.”

He smirks again, leaning back. “And I’m telling you and no thanks. I’ve got better things to do.”

Tears blur my vision, but fury steadies me. “You’re a coward.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But at least I’m honest about it.”

The door behind me opens, and a chill runs down my spine. I don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Damian.

He steps into the room like a storm in a suit, his gaze slicing straight to his brother. “Adrian.”

Adrian grins, spreading his arms. “Look who finally decided to join the party. Come to clean up after me again, brother?”

Damian’s jaw tightens. “You crossed a line this time.”

Adrian laughs, tilting his head back. “Please. Don’t tell me you’re playing knight in shining armor for her.” He gestures at me like I’m trash. “She was just another night. You know how it goes.”

My stomach twists. “Don’t talk about me like that.”

Adrian’s eyes glint. “Oh, but that’s what you were. A night. Fun, sure. Memorable? Maybe. But not worth this drama.”

Damian steps forward, his voice ice. “She’s carrying your child.”

Adrian snorts. “So? Not the first time someone’s claimed that. Won’t be the last.”

My breath catches. “You bastard.”

Adrian leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Let me guess. You want me to play daddy? To show up at Lamaze classes and hold your hand at the hospital? Sorry, sweetheart. That’s not my role. I’m not built for that.”

Damian’s voice is low, lethal. “You’re not built for anything except destruction.”

“Always so dramatic,” Adrian says, rolling his eyes. “Relax. She’ll be fine. Single moms are all the rage these days.”

My knees weaken, but I force myself to stand taller. “You think this is funny? You think walking away makes you strong?”

Adrian’s grin fades, his expression sharpening. “No, sweetheart. Walking away makes me free.”

For a second, the weight of his words crushes me. My chest tightens, my throat burns, my vision blurs.

But then I look at him—at his smug, careless face, at the way he thinks this is just another game—and something inside me hardens.

“You know what, Adrian?” My voice shakes, but it’s loud. Strong. “You’re pathetic. You think you’re free, but really? You’re just empty. You’ll spend your whole life running from responsibility, and one day, you’ll look around and realize you’ve got nothing. No family. No one who loves you. Just an empty bottle and a broken name.”

His smirk falters. Just a little.

Damian’s eyes flick toward me, something unreadable in them.

Adrian grabs his glass, downs the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, and slams it down. “Enjoy your speech, sweetheart. Because that’s all it is. Words. I don’t care. And I never will.”

The finality in his voice slices through me, but I don’t let him see me break. Not here. Not now.

I turn on my heel, shoving past Damian, my vision blurred with tears.

As I reach the door, I hear Damian’s voice, low and cold, rumbling like thunder. “You’ll regret this, Adrian.”

Adrian laughs. “I never regret anything.”

But his laughter sounds hollow.

And I don’t look back.