MARRIED TO MY BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND, PREGNANT FOR HIS TWIN BROTHER

THE TWIN

Rosaline's POV

The silence that followed what he said felt like screamings in my ears.

We both stared at each other and for a moment I genuinely could not speak. I had thoughts of a lot of things I wanted to say on the drive to his place but everything had abandoned me.

Then, like a tidal wave, it all came rushing back at once.

"Why?" My voice cracked, my throat burning with painful heat. "Why would you do that to me? To your own brother?"

Wesley moved to the window. He stood with his back to me for a moment, looking out of the window like he was trying to carefully select the next words he was going to say. He finally stared at me and with such calm that I wanted to throw something at his face.

"I've been in love with you for three years, Rosaline."

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Since the engagement party. The first night Donald brought you home." He said it so plainly.

I laughed. Not because anything was funny. I guess the only reaction I could let off was a hollow laugh that only came out when something unbelievable happens.

"You've been in love with me," I repeated slowly. "So you decided that the best thing to do was climb into my bed on my wedding night and…" I couldn't even finish the sentence. "You call that love? That's not love, Wesley. That's not even close to love. This is something else entirely."

"I know." He looked pained about it, and somehow this only made me angrier. "I know it was wrong."

"Wrong." I took a step toward him. "I was a virgin. Did you know that? Did Donald tell you that?"

My voice was rising and I didn't try to stop it. "I saved myself. Twenty-eight years I waited and I gave that to you thinking you were my husband. You took something from me that you had absolutely no right to touch and you're standing there telling me it was wrong like you accidentally stepped on my foot."

His face changed into something genuine. Shame? Regret? I couldn't tell exactly.

"Rosaline…"

"Don't." I held up a hand. "Don't say my name like that."

I opened my fist and threw the cufflink at his chest.

"You're going to keep your mouth shut. You are never going to tell Donald what happened. Not ever. As far as anyone in this family is concerned, last night did not happen. Do you understand me?"

He looked at the cufflink at the floor and then at me.

"And if I don't agree to that?"

“Then I will do everything in my power to ruin you. I’ll tell Donald and everyone else what you did today and show them what kind of man you are. Is that really what you want?”

A long pause.

"No," he said finally.

"Good. Stay away from me."

I walked out of the house feeling like I couldn’t breathe.

I was on autopilot throughout the entire drive back home.

***

Donald came home two days later, totally clueless about what had happened. He came back with a bouquet of flowers and an expensive pendant he had especially picked out for me and this made my chest hurt even more. He held me like he had missed me and kissed my forehead and called me his wife and I smiled back at every single thing he said, that made me feel dirty and shameful.

I had done nothing wrong.

I knew that.

But try telling that to the guilt weighing on my chest.

I tried acting totally normal. I cooked for him, laughed at his stories about Singapore. But sitting across from him at the dining table, looking at his face, a face that looked identical to his twin brother that had taken advantage of me, I felt an emotion I couldn’t quite put a tag on.

I was so busy being normal that I almost didn't hear the phone ring.

Donald reached for it first, glanced at the screen and stood up from the table. His expression shifted.

"I need to take this," he said. "Work."

He stepped out of the dining room.

I sat with my fork halfway to my mouth and told myself it was nothing.

Except it kept happening.

Calls that he had to move away to take. Late nights that extended to early mornings. Whenever he was with me he still acted the same. He still called me baby and held my hands in public.

But something was different.

I didn't have the emotional space to dig into it. Not with everything I was already carrying.

Then three weeks after Donald came home, my phone rang at eleven in the morning. I was sitting in the living area, doing nothing in particular when a call from my mother came in.

Except it wasn't my mother calling.

It was her housekeeper, Maria. Her voice sounded wrong before she even said anything.

"Miss Rosaline," she said. "You need to come. Something has happened."

"What?" I sat up, my voice turning anxious . "Maria, what happened? Where is my mother?"

"Please just come," she whispered. "And call your husband."

Twenty minutes later I pulled up to my parents' house to find two police cars parked outside and my father sitting on the front steps with his face buried in his hands. Panic shot through my body and I froze for a minute, my mind going through the worst possible scenarios.

I ran to him. "Dad. Dad, where is Mom? Where is she?"

He looked up at me and his eyes were so empty it stopped me cold.

"She's gone, Rosaline," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Your mother is gone."

The world basically came to a pause.

And somewhere in that silence, before I could even begin to process what he had just said, my phone buzzed in my hand.

A message from an unknown number.

Four words.

This is just the beginning.