Twice You

Rain lashes the stained-glass windows of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York as I repeat the words that are supposed to seal the rest of my life.

“I, Beatrice Ashford, take you, Harvey Prescott, to be my lawfully wedded husband…”

My voice comes out soft. Unsteady. Wrong.

The heavy veil drapes over my face like a sentence, muffling the world, making everything feel distant and hazy. Harvey squeezes my hands too tightly—his grip too strong, too possessive. When I lift my eyes, I meet his smile: confident, satisfied, almost triumphant.

Like he’s already won.

Like he knows that after tonight, I’ll belong to him forever.

I should feel happy. Protected. Certain.

But something inside me is screaming.

Wrong.

Then the church doors explode open.

The crash rips through the air. Wood splinters. Screams echo everywhere. The organ dies mid-note, leaving a grotesque silence before the chaos swallows everything.

My heart explodes in my chest.

Armed men storm down the central aisle.

Three lead the way. The one in the middle is blond, tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in black. Rain streams down his suit as if he walked through the storm just to get to me. But it’s not the rain that holds me captive.

It’s his eyes.

Blue. Ferocious. Locked on me with such brutal intensity that the air is stolen from my lungs.

As if I’m the only living thing in this entire cathedral.

Harvey drops my hands instantly and steps in front of me.

“Who the hell are you?” he roars, his voice echoing off the walls. “This is a wedding. Get the fuck out of here.”

The blond doesn’t slow down.

He keeps walking toward the altar, step after deliberate step, like nothing in this world could stop him. Like every inch of distance between us already belongs to him.

Behind him, more men in black spread out along the sides, surrounding the guests, blocking every exit, turning the church into a prison.

One of them—dark-haired, ice-cold—presses the barrel of a gun to the back of Harvey’s head.

“One move,” he says with terrifying calm, “and I’ll paint the altar with your brains, Prescott.”

Harvey freezes.

Rage still burns on his face, now laced with shock.

I try to step back. The heavy dress traps me.

My stomach plummets.

“No… no…”

The blond climbs the altar steps without hesitation. No permission. No fear. Then his arm locks around my waist like steel.

“Let go! Let me go!” I scream, thrashing the second I’m yanked against his body.

He’s hot. Solid. Dangerous.

His scent hits me first—rain, dark wood, and something wild, raw, and unbearably masculine. Something that shouldn’t affect me.

But it does.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up.

“Evie,” he growls, voice low and rough, thick with pain and possession twisted into one.

I freeze for a heartbeat.

Evie?

“My name is Beatrice!” I spit, fighting with everything I have. My nails rake down his neck, drawing blood. “Let me go, you psycho!”

He rips the veil off with his free hand.

Our eyes meet.

The whole world tilts.

For one second, something deep and visceral rips through me as I stare into those blue eyes. A strange heat floods my body—fast, violent, painful. My skin prickles. My heart races in a way that isn’t just fear.

It’s like my body recognizes him.

Like some forgotten part of me already knows exactly who he is.

Even if my mind doesn’t.

Even if my memories scream empty.

Then he smiles.

Cold. Dark. Starving.

“You were my wife,” he says, in a voice that feels like both promise and threat. “And you still are.”

Before I can react, he hooks an arm behind my knees and throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

The world flips upside down.

My dress rides up. Blood rushes to my head. Humiliation crashes into me with the same force as panic.

“Let me go! Help! Someone help me!” I scream, kicking wildly, pounding his back with every ounce of strength I have.

His hand grips my thigh hard.

Firm. Possessive. Claiming.

“Quiet, Sirius,” he murmurs, carrying me down the aisle like a trophy. “You’ll remember.”

My entire body goes rigid.

“Or I’ll make you remember.”

Harvey tries to break free, face red with fury.

“Get your hands off her, you bastards!” he shouts. “Beatrice!”

One of the men drives a brutal punch into his stomach. Harvey doubles over, gasping, while the gun stays pressed to his head.

No one comes to save me.

No one can.

The rain hits us like icy knives as he carries me out of the church. The New York sky is a dark blur. Flashes. Shouts. Tires screeching. Doors slamming.

He throws me into the back seat of a black armored SUV and climbs in right after, slamming the door shut.

I scramble to the opposite side immediately, desperate, yanking at the handle.

Locked.

“No, no, no…”

He drags me back by the hips with humiliating strength and pins me under his body.

Heavy. Unescapable. Too hot.

“Please…” My voice breaks. “I don’t know you.”

Hot tears spill down my face.

He grabs my chin between his fingers and forces me to look at him.

Those blue eyes are wilder up close. More intense. More insane. There’s pain in them. Hatred too. And a dark, possessive hunger so deep it makes me tremble all over.

“You knew me better than anyone else in this fucking world,” he snarls. “You slept in my bed. You gave birth to my daughter. And I killed for you.”

My blood turns to ice.

No.

This can’t be real.

“Now you’re coming home. To me.”

The car peels out at high speed through the rain-soaked streets of Manhattan.

I fight. Push. Cry. Try to twist free from his grip, from his weight, from his crushing presence.

Useless.

He pins my wrists above my head with one hand. The other slides down the curve of my body in a slow, possessive stroke, like he’s re-staking his claim.

“Fight as much as you want,” he whispers, his mouth brushing dangerously close to mine. “The more you resist…”

His voice drops lower. Darker.

“…the harder I’ll enjoy breaking you again.”

I turn my face away, shaking.

But deep in my chest, that impossible heat still burns.

A spark.

An echo.

A faceless memory.

And as New York disappears behind the curtain of rain, I understand—with ice-cold terror spreading through my veins—that my life has just been ripped from my hands.

Stolen by a man who claims to be my husband.

A man I don’t remember.

But who clearly never forgot me.