บททั้งหมดของ TIED TO THE WRONG TWIN: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 6

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. "Exe

CHRISTOPHER "You should have walked away tonight," Xavier murmured. I met his eyes. "So should have you." The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Xavier's gaze dropped to my lips, and for a moment, I thought he'd kiss me. "We're not doing this here." I raised an eyebrow. "Afraid of a little public display of affection?" His jaw clenched. "I'm not afraid of anything, Christopher. I just don't want to give them a show." I smiled, slow and sly. "You're already giving them a show, Xavier. You're just not sure if you're the star or the audience." He took a step closer, his voice low and rough. "You think you're funny, don't you?" I tilted my head. "I think I'm just getting started." Xavier’s hand shot out, his fingers threading into the hair at the nape of my neck with a sudden, bruising intensity that silenced the next witty remark. He didn’t pull away; he pulled me in until our chests collided, the heat radiating through his shirt. "Then start," he rasped,

CHRISTOPHER The glass doors of Smith-Vance Holdings slid open, and the lobby of the skyscraper fell into a practised, rhythmic hush. This was the debut—the first time the world saw the "unified front" that had cost two empires a fortune and one very long night to construct. "Congratulations, Mr. Smith, Mr. Vance!" The head of security beamed, bowing slightly as we passed the mahogany desk. "Wishing you a lifetime of happiness, sirs," a receptionist chimed in, her eyes darting to the matching gold bands. "Thank you. Get the Sterling files to my office," he clipped out. "Thank you, Janet. The flowers in the lobby are a lovely touch. Though, perhaps a bit much for a funeral, don't you think?" The receptionist’s smile faltered, but I was already stepping into the private executive elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing us in a box of brushed steel and suffocating silence. "A funeral, Christopher? Really?" he hissed, his voice echoing in the small space. "You couldn't manage