Twisted Twins: The Billionaire's Hot Revenge Plan

Hannah zipped into the dress alone, her hands trembling uncontrollably. The dress cost more than her first car, and she worked the hidden clasp at her ribs by feel. 

The fabric settled like an unwanted second skin. She smoothed it once, then again, and flipped her phone over for the eleventh time in twenty minutes. Still, nothing. 

Hannah had sent countless messages to her husband, counting the ten missed calls under her breath. The silence in the room only made her even more anxious.

Danny and Hannah hadn’t shared a bedroom in three weeks—not since the “renovation” that had never actually begun. 

The guest suite still smelled faintly of someone else’s perfume from the last time the cleaners had been through. She shifted her weight from one heel to the other, the straps already biting into her ankles. 

Three hundred of the city’s most powerful people would be standing under those restored chandeliers tonight. Every one of them would notice if Danny Vaughn’s wife walked in alone.

Then, the doorbell rang at 6:52pm.

“Oh, finally!” Relief washed over her, causing her knees to nearly buckle. Hannah hurried down the hall, her heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor. Before the door even creaked open, she had already formed the words in her head and forgiving him.

But it wasn’t Danny.

Same face. Same height. Same dark hair, styled that careless-on-purpose way. It was Andy. Danny’s identical twin.

“Hannah.”

When she heard it, she almost recalled how Danny usually called her name playfully. However, when Andy said it, it felt like he was confessing something, as if he needed time to utter each syllable.

“Andy, oh! What a surprise! What are you doing here?”

He was in a tux, black on black, no tie, top button undone. Hands in his pockets. Looking at her the way he looked at everything—like he was already three moves ahead and didn’t love the board.

“Danny’s not coming,” he said.

“Obviously. I’ve called him ten times.” Her voice came out thinner than she wanted. “Is he with you? Something happened at Vaughn Holdings?”

“No.”

“Then what—”

“Get your coat.” Andy’s jaw tightened. “I’ll take you tonight.”

Hannah let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “You’ll take me. To the gala. As what, a favor?”

“As your brother-in-law who doesn’t want you walking into that ballroom by yourself.” His voice was calm, but there was something firm beneath it. “Get your coat, Hannah. We’re leaving.”

Hannah bit her lip. Clearly, going to the gala alone hadn’t been a good idea. But going with her brother-in-law while they were both married? Wasn’t that just creating another problem?

“Ticktock,” Andy urged.

She grabbed her coat, her thoughts racing. It was a bad idea. She knew it was a bad idea. And yet, she followed him anyway.

They left the apartment together and headed for the elevator. The doors slid shut behind them, and the quiet hum of the descent seemed far too loud in the silence between them.

Hannah stood stiffly beside Andy, her fingers tightening around the strap of her clutch. She kept her eyes fixed on the glowing floor numbers, refusing to look at him.

When the elevator opened, her heels clicked against the marble as they crossed the lobby.

A doorman she didn’t recognize held the door open for them. His eyes flicked briefly between Hannah and Andy, his expression remaining politely blank, the practiced discretion of someone paid not to ask which Vaughn brother was escorting which Vaughn wife.

“Good evening,” Hannah greeted the doorman, forcing a polite smile as she kept pace beside Andy.

Once they were in the car, the silence stretched even longer. Hannah watched the side of his face. “You’re doing the jaw thing.”

His eyes flicked to her, then back to the road. “What jaw thing?”

“The thing you do when you’re deciding how much to tell someone.” She turned in her seat, the dress shifting against her skin. “You did it when we were kids, too. Right before you told me your parakeet died. Right before you told the teacher you’d broken the fish tank instead of Marcus.”

Something moved behind his expression—surprise, maybe—then it was gone.

“I need you to trust me tonight,” he said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Apparently not.”

They passed the turn onto Lakeshore. Streetlights slid by in the wrong order. The GPS on the dash stayed dark.

Hannah’s voice went very quiet. “Andy. This isn’t the way to the Hendricks Ballroom.”

His hands tightened on the wheel. For the first time since the doorway, Andy Vaughn—the guy who negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking—had to dig for the words.

“We’re not going to the gala,” he said finally.

“Then where—”

“Danny’s not at the office, Hannah.” He kept his eyes locked straight ahead. “He’s not sick. He’s not stuck in traffic. I know exactly where he is right now. I’ve known for a while.”

Hannah froze. What did he mean by that?

“Tell me exactly where he is, Andy. Don’t play games with me.”

Andy looked at her. For one unguarded second, the boy from art class was sitting right there behind his eyes.

“I don’t think I should have to,” he said quietly. “I think you should see it yourself.”

He took the next turn toward the Warrington Hotel.

“A hotel?” Hannah suddenly felt the cold drop in her stomach that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Why are we here?”