The Billionaire's Gemini Bride
After her twin vanishes, Gwendolyn is forced into a contract marriage with New York's most powerful billionaire, Thomas Ciccotelli, to protect her baby nephew and secure his future.
Thrown into wealth and glamour, the world knows her name, but behind closed doors, it's a battle to resist the man who was never meant to be hers while trying to figure out the mystery of her lost sister.
***
"But you don't have to worry a damn thing, Red," he whispers. "Till death do us part."
***
Night after night, the temptation pulling Gwen into Thomas's embrace melts hate into passion.
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Chapter 1
GWEN
"Get your hands off me, you wanker!" I snap at the man dragging me down the bleach-scented hallway.
Still half-asleep, with exhaustion weighing on my shoulders, it dawns on me that I'm being arrested for jewelry theft.
But when did I even have the time or nerve to steal from the high-security jewelry store where I work?
"Oh yeah, who do you think you are?" He growls back, tightening his hold on my upper arm, no worse than the metal handcuffs on my wrists. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."
A high-pitched baby cry erupts. I look at the second male officer holding Mikey in his arms. He returns a stern look, as if daring me to speak.
In a matter of minutes, I'm sitting inside a cold interrogation room. My skin turns pale, while my chest pounds.
Was Mikey safe? Or were those idiot cops scrolling through their smartphones instead of watching him?
Finally, a tall man walks in, and I quickly stand.
"You have the wrong person!" I say desperately. "Can you at least let me call a lawyer or anyone?"
He points a finger back at the chair. "Please sit down."
I suck in a deep breath and sink back into the chair.
I stare at him as he flips through an official blue folder. Detectives weren't supposed to be this attractive. My eyes drop to his Rolex. I can't believe a New York detective could afford one like his.
"Now, let's get down to business, Miss Moscowitz?" He asks, raising a brow.
I narrow my eyes at him. "That's not my last name."
He smirks a bit. "Incredible. O'Brien then. We can settle this nice and easy if you tell me who you sold the Ciccotelli's Medallion to."
My mouth drops open. "I haven't stolen anything."
"That medallion is worth tens of millions in the black market," he informs. "So tell me how you could afford that penthouse in Manhattan?"
I quickly blink as I try to process the question. "I don't understand. Are you talking about my sister's penthouse?"
"Don't lie to me, Genevieve." He sneers as he leans forward. "You're not fooling me with your cheap acting skills. You have the choice to confess or spend the rest of your life in jail."
I search his face with confusion; a sudden chill runs through my skin.
Did he just call me Genevieve?
Now that I think about it, he looks sort of familiar; perhaps I'd seen him on a billboard ad in Times Square.
"What did you say your name was again, Detective?" I ask.
Suddenly, the angry police officer from earlier casually strolls into the room and sighs at the other man.
"Mr. Ciccotelli, I thought I told you to let me handle the interrogation," the police officer says. "You've just tampered with the entire investigation."
I widen my eyes at Ciccotelli. "Wait a second, you're the Thomas Ciccotelli?"
Thomas shoots me a look. "Still playing games, huh, Tanya?"
I look behind me, then back to Thomas. Why is he calling random names? "Do you have dementia or something?"
Thomas rolls his eyes and turns to the officer. "I don't care about what you do; just make sure she confesses to the crime so I can get that medallion back."
The officer presses his lips together and faces me.
"It's very vital you tell us where your sister is, Gwendolyn," he says.
I can feel my palms grow moist with sweat, and an empty hole bores deeper in my heart.
So, the police are actually after my sister.
Thomas raises a brow at him. "Her name's Genevieve."
"Apparently, we made a mistake. I just checked this lady's records with immigration and child protective services." The officer hands Thomas another folder, and he opens it and rubs his mouth before breaking into a laugh.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," he barks. "Genevieve and Gwendolyn are identical twins?"
While Thomas is suspended in disbelief at the existence of twins, everything that has happened in the last few months comes back to me.
"She's missing," I reveal.
Both men stare at me.
"At the hospital, I just left to get some tea, but when I got back to Genevieve's room, she was gone," I whisper, as water uncontrollably fills my eyes. "She left her phone and Mikey behind. I-"
"Hold on a second," Thomas interrupts in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that all this time, you weren't pretending to be Genevieve?"
Thomas then swings his head at the startled cop in fury and slams the folder to the table. "You amateurs can't even do your job properly!"
"I told you to be patient."
"The hell I will; that medallion has been in the family for centuries. I've been waiting since October for this moment!"
Something clicks in my mind. If the theft happened around October, then Genevieve's sudden wealth and the penthouse all make sense now.
I can't believe it.
She stole the medallion.
My breath slows down upon realization.
"Oh my God, you're him!" I say. "Michael Angelo?"
Thomas eyes me. "What?"
"That's the baby's name." I gasp. "Obviously, Genevieve didn't mean to name him after the artist. It's because Mikey's father is Italian-American."
Thomas's face visibly creases. "What are you talking about?"
"You slept with Genevieve, didn't you?"
Thomas's shoulders shift uncomfortably as his eyes trail away. "I suppose, but it was all part of her grand scheme to steal from me with that fake name."
A snort breaks out of my lips. "You are the most selfish prick I've ever met. She tried to tell you about the pregnancy, but you turned her away. You abandoned your own child!"
His low, bitter chuckle takes me by surprise. "She told you... Or you were actually there?"
I swallow deeply, suddenly feeling foolish. Genevieve just showed me unread texts, and I never even tried to send one myself because I'd been upset.
"Now, why would I spend months searching for Genevieve if she claims I'm the father?" He inquires in a low tone. "You and your sister are the classic terror twins. You won't get a single cent out of me using this fake baby scam."
Leaping up from my chair, I struggle to wrap my hands around Thomas' neck, but the police officer quickly holds me back as I growl with rage, while Thomas backs into a wall.
* * * * * * * *
Around twenty minutes past eight, the police released me from custody. Just before I can threaten to sue the department for unfair breaking, they make it clear: I'm not to leave town until Genevieve is found.
Mikey is thankfully calm and fluttering his eyes to sleep. Unlike him, my body shivers with anxiety.
Suddenly, the loneliness of being in a new country wraps around me, with Genevieve gone and the baby being all that I have left. I wanted to pour my frustrations on someone, like Thomas Ciccotelli, for example.
Looking up, I catch Thomas, who's about to climb into the back of a black Mercedes.
"Oh no, you don't!" I call on him.
He looks at me, and I hurry to his side while breathing hard.
"Stay away from me," Thomas warns.
"Do you have any idea what you've just put me through?" I ask.
"Come on," he sighs dramatically as his eyes move up and down to my worn-out running shoes. "All you need is a hairbrush and a bottle of beer to cheer yourself up-"
"I am talking about your son, you buffoon," I hiss.
Thomas jerks back, his face twists in a wince at the sight of Mikey, like a vampire before the blazing sun.
Then Thomas simply shrugs off his embarrassing reaction with a quick smile and says, "Trust me, Red, this kid isn't mine."
"Hmm," I smile back. "Have you ever heard of a paternity test?"
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9.1
He was a ruthless CEO who always got what he wanted until he noticed her, a homeless girl surviving outside his office building. Quietly proud, clever, and impossible to read, she became the one woman who refused to fall at his feet, forcing him to chase for the first time in his life.
As she steps into his workplace, she faces ridicule, betrayal, and a wealthy woman determined to erase her from his world. While his family pushes him toward an arranged marriage with an entitled heiress, his heart is already bound to the girl everyone underestimates.
In a world ruled by power and status, she must prove her worth through strength and integrity, while he learns that love cannot be bought, controlled, or inherited.
7.7
On the third anniversary of our marriage, Adrian Griffin had a new face in his passenger seat.
This time, I, Audrey Lawson, didn't storm over to tear them apart. I didn't scream or demand explanations.
I simply went home and poured the dinner I had spent the entire afternoon preparing into the trash.
The housekeeper tried to stop me. "Mrs. Griffin, you worked all afternoon on those dishes..."
I wiped my hands, my voice flat. "It's cold. I don't want it anymore."
Not the food. Not the man I had once given up my career to marry.
I took out the divorce papers I had prepared long ago. Without hesitation, I signed my name-slowly, carefully, stroke by stroke.
Then I began packing my things. Clothes. Jewelry.
And the honors that were rightfully mine.
Adrian had no idea that every award-winning design Griffin Group had received in the past five years had come from my hand.
He had built his reputation in the industry on my work.
I dialed a number that had lain dormant for three years.
"Professor, I'm back."
From this day forward, I would reclaim everything that belonged to me.
8.2
My son Leo had just died, and the silence in our cramped apartment felt like a physical weight crushing my chest.
Before I could even process the grief, my husband, Preston, kicked the door open and threw divorce papers onto the table.
Behind him stood Gloria, wearing a pristine cashmere coat and the diamond pendant Preston swore he had pawned to pay for Leo's hospital bills.
"Sign it," Preston said coldly. "You get nothing."
Gloria smirked, mocking me for failing to keep my sick child alive. When I tore up the papers in a blinding rage, Preston slapped me to the floor.
Then, my biological mother, Jerilyn, walked in. Instead of helping me, she pulled a serrated kitchen knife from her bag and plunged it deep into my stomach.
As I lay dying in a pool of my own blood, Jerilyn leaned in and whispered the devastating truth.
"I swapped you in the nursery. Gloria is my blood, and you belong in a Manhattan mansion. I can't let you ruin her life."
Until my lungs stopped working, I was consumed by a roaring, violent hatred. My own mother had traded my life of privilege for poverty, let my son die, and then murdered me to protect the fake.
Opening my eyes again, the dingy ceiling and the agonizing pain were gone.
I was sitting at a wooden desk, surrounded by the chatter of teenagers.
I was back in high school. And this time, I was going to make them pay.
8.2
Ashley was tied to a rusted iron pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the noxious fumes of gasoline soaking her clothes.
Her fiancé Devon and her stepsister Brittany stood before her, revealing a horrifying truth. Devon never saved her from that fatal car crash three years ago; he merely stole the credit.
Worse, Brittany smirked and confessed that Ashley's own father had orchestrated her mother's murder. Before Ashley could process the betrayal, Devon callously tossed a lighter. A wall of blistering heat instantly consumed her. Even when Bennett Hawkins, the cold and untouchable billionaire, rushed into the inferno to shield her with his body, they were both swallowed by the explosion.
As the fire melted her skin, Ashley died with agonizing hatred. Why did her own flesh and blood want her dead? What dark secret were they hiding about her mother's tragic death?
Opening her eyes again, freezing saltwater violently flooded her lungs.
She was back at her twentieth birthday yacht party, right after Brittany had secretly pushed her into the freezing Hudson River.
Staring at the hypocritical faces of her family pretending it was an accident, Ashley didn't cry or beg. She calmly snatched a phone and dialed 911.
"Yes. I need to report an attempted murder."
9.7
Ellyn woke to a news alert of her husband, billionaire Hardy Burnett, picking up his "mystery blonde" ex at a private terminal. Just hours earlier, he had been raw and consuming in their shared bed, but by morning, he was a cold stranger tossing a birth control pill at her. He reminded her with mechanical indifference that their marriage was a mere contract, and the Burnett family tolerated no accidental risks.
The mystery woman was Izabella Macdonald, the one who got away. While Ellyn spent her mornings dabbing heavy concealer over the purple bruises Hardy left on her neck, the rest of the world was celebrating the return of the "rightful" Mrs. Burnett. To Hardy, Ellyn was a liability; to his family, she was a placeholder with a bankrupt bloodline.
The humiliation peaked at a high-society gala when Hardy walked in with Izabella on his arm, leaving Ellyn to navigate the vultures alone. His mother mocked her as "cheap polyester," and socialites whispered about the penthouse Hardy was secretly buying for his mistress. Even as Hardy's jealousy flared when he saw Ellyn with his brother, his loyalty remained divided, his heart seemingly anchored to the woman in the white silk dress.
The breaking point came in the pouring rain outside the venue. Hardy ordered Ellyn into the backseat of the car like common cargo so that Izabella could take the passenger seat-the seat of the partner. He expected Ellyn to sit in the shadows and watch his ex-girlfriend play wife in the front, treating her presence as a domestic inconvenience he could simply command.
I stared at the man who owned my nights but despised my existence. The heavy thud of the pill I swallowed every morning felt like a lead weight, a bitter reminder that I was nothing more than a paid commodity in his eyes. He thought he knew everything about his destitute, dependent wife, from the temperature I needed the room to the way I took my tea.
But Hardy didn't know about the encrypted ledgers or the offshore accounts. He didn't know that the "destitute" woman he relegated to the backseat was the secret mastermind behind Skim, the global fashion empire currently worth more than his latest merger.
"I'm not getting in," I said, my voice eerily calm against the thunder. I slammed the door, turned my back on his roar of fury, and walked into the dark. It was time to stop being a ghost in his house and start being the woman who could buy his entire world.
8.6
I was on my knees in the Ohio dirt, frantically scooping wet coffee grounds back into a torn trash bag while my foster mother screamed that I was a useless waste of space.
Then, ten black Escalades rolled into our rotting trailer park like a funeral procession, and a woman in silk fell to the mud, sobbing that she had finally found her "Elara."
I was whisked away to a mansion that looked like a castle, but the nightmare didn't end with a warm bed and sterilized air.
My brother Harlen looked at me with pure disgust, and when he slapped a chicken leg out of my hand at our first dinner, I instinctively dove under the table to eat it off the rug, begging for mercy through my tears.
My billionaire father, Arthur, watched in silent agony as I tried to wash my own rags in a gold-plated sink at dawn, terrified that I would be starved if I didn't "earn my keep."
He promised me a thousand silk dresses and ordered the trailer park bulldozed to the ground, but I still felt like a prey animal caught by very large, very sad predators.
The trauma wasn't a smudge I could wash off; it was a map of cigarette burns and bruises that I was desperate to hide from the family that had spent millions searching for me.
Just as I thought I might be safe, a black helicopter banked over the lawn, carrying a medical team and a cold order from my oldest brother, the "Shark" of New York.
"No one is ever taking you away," my father growled, shielding me from the men in white coats.
But as the rotors shook the windows, I realized that being found was only the beginning of a different kind of war within the Bridges empire.