TIED TO THE WRONG TWIN

XAVIER

The roses reeked of decay, their sweet perfume clingling to the back of my throat like a bad omen. The garden was a masterpiece of forced elegance, a tableau of white silk and crystal, the band's deliberate notes hanging in the air . It was the perfect setting for a perfect marriage – one that would cement my place in the family fortune .

I stood at the altar, my palms slick with sweat, as the guests whispered behind their fans and champagne flutes. They were all here for the same reason: to witness a union that would either secure my place in my family wealth. And the bride was a no-show.

Margaret had vanished, leaving behind the gown, the vows, and the carefully crafted facade. In another life, I might have admired her courage.

A hand touched my elbow, and I turned to find Christopher, Margaret's twin, standing beside me, resplendent in his tuxedo. His eyes met mine, a spark of defiance in their depths.

"You look like a man at his own execution," he murmured.

"Executions are merciful," I replied, my voice barely audible over the officiant's voice.

Christopher's smile was a fleeting, cruel thing. "You're angry because you've lost what you wanted. But people aren't possessions, Xavier. Even Margaret."

The ceremony blurred, a haze of words and gestures, until it was done. We were married. As we walked down the aisle, Christopher leaned in, his breath tickling my ear. "You don't have to like me, but we're bound now. And I'm not your enemy."

The reception was a whirlwind of forced laughter and curious glances. I danced with Christopher, his body moving with a fluidity that belied the tension in his shoulders.

Later, in our chambers, the fire crackled, casting shadows on the walls. Christopher stood before me, his eyes flashing with curiosity.

"You've been staring at me all night like I'm wearing someone else's skin," he said.

"You're not Margaret," I replied, my voice low.

He moved closer, his scent – cedar and grapefruit – enveloping me. "I won't be silent, and I won't be meek. You may have been forced into this marriage, but so was I."

The air between us vibrated with tension. I set my glass aside, my fingers brushing against his.

"You think you can win this?" I murmured.

Christopher's smile was a slow, wicked thing. "I know."

---

The kiss was a clash of heat and teeth. We broke apart, breathing hard, our eyes locked in a silent dare.

"You've no idea what you've started," I growled.

Christopher's smile widened. "Oh, Xavier... I'm counting on it."

---

I woke up to an empty bed, the sheets on the other side rumpled, I stepped into the adjoining suite, and there he was – Christopher, sipping coffee by the window, dressed in tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt.

"Good morning, husband," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. "Hardly feels like a good one."

Christopher leaned back, eyes glinting. "Oh? Why's that? The wedding night wasn't... satisfactory.

I crossed the room, stopping inches from him. "You know exactly why."

His smile was slow. "I know a lot of things, Xavier. Like how you kissed me back."

"That was a mistake."

"Was it?" He set the cup down, rising to his feet.

I looked into Christopher's eyes, trying to keep my cool. "It was a moment of weakness, okay? The wedding, the emotions... it meant nothing."

Christopher's smile didn't falter. "Nothing? You kissed me like it meant something."

I pushed back, frustration creeping in. "I was caught off guard. It won't happen again."

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Promise?"

Christopher's eyes glinted with amusement as he leaned in closer. "A moment of weakness, Xavier? Or are you just not as straight as you think you are?"

I felt my face heat up, but I refused to back down. "I'm whatever I want to be, Christopher. And right now, I'm your husband."

The word hung in the air, heavy with implications. His smile grew wider. "Oh, I like the sound of that."