Lahat ng Kabanata ng Married to the wrong twin, loved by the other: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

I couldn't breathe.Adrian stood in the doorway, his coat still damp from the rain outside, his eyes fixed on the white rose with predatory intensity. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my body had turned to stone beneath the sheets."I asked you a question," he said, stepping into the room. Each footfall measured. Deliberate. "Who was here?""No one." The lie escaped before I could think. "I must have... I brought the rose myself. From the garden."His head tilted. Slow. Calculating. "You brought a rose to bed and forgot?""I was tired. It slipped my mind."Adrian crossed to the nightstand and picked up the flower, twirling it between his fingers. I watched his knuckles, the way they tightened around the stem. "The garden roses are red, Elena. This one is white."My stomach dropped.He brought the rose to his nose, inhaling deeply, and something in his expression shifted—a flash of recognition, quickly buried. "Interesting.""Adrian, I don't understand what—""Go back to sleep

Sleep was impossible.I lay in the vast bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence of the penthouse. Adrian's side remained untouched, the sheets still smooth from where I had made them after Julian left. I had spent an hour erasing every trace of him—vacuuming the carpet, opening windows to clear the sandalwood scent, even wiping down the armchair where he had knelt before me.As though I could erase the memory of his hands on mine.At two in the morning, the front door opened. I heard Adrian's footsteps in the hallway, the clink of his keys in the bowl, the soft thud of his shoes being removed. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep, and felt the mattress dip as he climbed into bed beside me.He didn't touch me. He never did unless he wanted something.I woke to an empty bed and a note on the pillow.Business dinner tonight. Don't wait up.No signature. No warmth. Just Adrian's characteristic efficiency.I spent the morning in a daze, wandering through rooms that felt smaller t

I didn't sleep after Julian left.Instead, I sat by the window, watching the city wake up, my fingers tracing the edge of the key he had given me. My mind replayed his confession on a loop—the boat, the drowning, the brother who had tried to kill him. Every sweet memory of my wedding night with the stranger now carried a shadow. The man who had held me so gently, the one I had mistaken for my husband, was the very man my husband had tried to murder.And I had chosen to meet him again.Dawn bled into morning, and Adrian returned just before noon, his footsteps heavy in the hallway. I braced myself, smoothing my hair, preparing the blank expression I had perfected over the past few weeks.But he didn't come to find me. Instead, the study door slammed shut, and the muffled sound of his voice—sharp, angry—seeped through the walls. He was on the phone with someone, and whatever they were discussing was not going well.I pressed my ear to the door."—incompetent fools," Adrian snapped. "I d

The first thing I did was inventory my assets.It felt cold, clinical—like preparing for a business merger rather than dismantling my own life. But that was exactly what I needed to become: a strategist. Not a weeping bride, not a terrified wife. A woman with a plan.Adrian had left for the office at eight, as predictable as sunrise. Before the door clicked shut behind him, I was already moving.I started with my jewelry. The pearls he'd given me, the diamond bracelet from our engagement, the sapphire earrings from some forgotten anniversary. Every piece was a chain disguised as a gift—his way of marking me as his property. I gathered them into a velvet pouch and hid them at the back of my closet.Next came the passports. Mine was tucked in the bottom drawer of the nightstand, kept handy for the business trips Adrian occasionally dragged me on. It was valid for another three years. Good.Then came the harder part: money. My personal accounts had been frozen when I married—Adrian's con

Victoria’s apartment smelled of coffee and fresh ink.It was small, cluttered with stacks of newspapers and recording equipment, and utterly devoid of marble floors or crystal chandeliers. It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen.“You look like a ghost,” Victoria said, locking the deadbolt behind me and drawing the curtains shut.“I feel like one.” I dropped my bag onto her worn leather couch and sank into the cushions. The adrenaline had worn off an hour ago, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion. “He’s going to come for me.”“He won’t find you here. This apartment is rented under a shell corporation. Even my editor doesn’t know the address.” She handed me a mug of steaming chamomile tea. “Drink. Then tell me exactly what happened.”I wrapped my hands around the warmth of the ceramic, recounting the nightmare in the penthouse. Julian’s desperate offer. Adrian’s cruel revelation. The moment I realized I was nothing more than a proxy for their childhood war.When I finished, Vi