The Ghost Surgeon's Secret Billionaire Twins

The bass from the ballroom speakers vibrated through the soles of Adelia's heels, traveling up her legs until it settled as a dull ache in her stomach. She set the half-empty champagne flute on a passing waiter's tray. Her fingers were trembling. Something was wrong. The crystal chandeliers above the Manhattan ocean-view banquet hall blurred into streaks of blinding white light. A sudden, unnatural heat flared beneath her skin, starting at her chest and rapidly spreading to her fingertips. Her lungs felt tight, struggling to pull in the heavily perfumed air of the room. She needed Greggory. Adelia pushed through the crowd of silk gowns and tailored tuxedos, her vision swimming. She rubbed her collarbone, a nervous habit, but her skin felt too hot to the touch. She scanned the room, desperate to find her fiancé's familiar face, but the faces around her morphed into a dizzying smear of colors. "Adelia? You look pale." Bonny's voice sliced through the ringing in Adelia's ears. Her stepsister stepped into her line of sight, her manicured fingers gently covering her mouth in a picture-perfect display of concern. "I feel like I'm burning alive," Adelia choked out, her knees buckling slightly. "What did you put in my drink?" Bonny's eyes flickered-just for a split second-with something dark and feral. Then the mask snapped back. "Don't be dramatic, sister. You've had too much champagne." She reached into her sequined clutch and pressed a smooth piece of plastic into Adelia's sweaty palm. "He's waiting for you upstairs. Suite 1703. He saw you looking tired. Go rest, Adelia. I'll handle things down here." Adelia gripped the keycard like a lifeline. The plastic dug into her skin. "Thank you," she breathed out, her legs heavy as lead as she stumbled toward the elevator banks. As the polished brass doors slid shut, Adelia leaned her feverish cheek against the cool metal wall. Through the narrowing gap, she caught a glimpse of Bonny's face. The concern was gone. Bonny's lips were curled into a sharp, chilling sneer-and she was counting down on her fingers. Three. Two. One. The elevator ride was a blur of rising nausea. When Adelia swiped the card and pushed open the heavy oak door of Suite 1703, the room was pitch black. The only light came from the faint glow of the Manhattan skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The drug in her veins hit its peak. Her legs gave out completely. She collapsed onto the thick carpet, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The heat inside her was unbearable, melting her rational thoughts into a primal, aching need. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on her upper arm. The grip was scorching hot and bruisingly strong. Before she could scream, she was hauled upward. Her face crashed against a solid, muscular chest. A heavy scent invaded her senses-sharp cedar mixed with the dark, bitter tang of tobacco. It wasn't Greggory's cologne, but her drug-addled brain couldn't process the discrepancy. "Please..." she whispered into the darkness, her voice a broken plea. The massive frame against her went completely rigid. The man's breathing was just as ragged as hers. For a split second, his grip loosened, a hesitation hanging in the black air. Then his fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her face up. "Who the hell are you?" he growled, his voice a dark, tortured rasp. Adelia couldn't answer. The drug had stolen her voice. But her body arched into him, betraying her. A low groan rumbled in his chest. The drug had him too. He pushed her backward. The backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, and they fell into the darkness together. Reason evaporated, replaced by the violent, suffocating demands of their compromised bodies. Somewhere in the haze, just before she lost consciousness, Adelia heard him whisper against her ear: "I will find you." The harsh glare of morning sunlight stabbed through the gap in the curtains. Adelia woke with a violent flinch. Her entire body ached, a deep soreness settling into her bones. She reached out, her hand sweeping across the rumpled, empty sheets beside her. The man was gone. The cedar and tobacco scent still lingered on the pillows, thick and confusing. But something was different. On the pillow beside her, tucked beneath the fold of the sheet, was a single black cufflink. Engraved with a crest she didn't recognize. A lion rampant, crowned. Before she could even sit up, a deafening crash shattered the silence. The heavy suite door was kicked open, slamming against the wall with a force that shook the floorboards. "Get it all!" a voice roared. Greggory stormed into the room. Behind him, three tabloid reporters shoved their way in, hoisting massive cameras. The rapid-fire clicking of shutters sounded like machine-gun fire. Blinding flashes of white light exploded in the room, capturing Adelia's bare shoulders and the chaotic tangle of the bedsheets. Adelia screamed, her vocal cords tearing as she scrambled backward, yanking the heavy duvet up to her chin. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs. "Greggory! What are you doing?!" she sobbed, her chest heaving. Greggory marched to the foot of the bed. His face was twisted in disgust. He pulled a thick stack of papers from his jacket-their prenuptial morality clause-and hurled it directly at her face. The sharp edges of the paper sliced across her cheek as they scattered over the bed. "You make me sick," Greggory shouted, making sure his voice carried to the reporters. "Violating our agreement like this. You are a disgusting, unfaithful whore!" "No!" Adelia cried, her throat raw. "You sent me here! Bonny gave me the key! She said you were waiting for me!" Greggory let out a harsh, barking laugh. He adjusted his expensive silk tie, his eyes cold."Why would I send you to another man's room? You reek of him. And look-" he reached down and snatched the black cufflink from the pillow, holding it up to the cameras, "-he even left you a souvenir. Classy." Adelia's blood ran cold. He had found the cufflink. Now it would be used as evidence against her. "I was downstairs in the VIP lounge with the Wall Street board members all night. They can all vouch for me." The crowd at the door shifted, and Bonny squeezed her way to the front. She gasped, her manicured fingers flying to cover her mouth. Her eyes were wide with perfectly rehearsed horror. "Adelia!" Bonny wailed loudly. "How could you? How could you ruin our family's reputation just for a cheap thrill?" Adelia froze. The tears tracking down her face turned ice-cold. She stared at Bonny's eyes. Beneath the fake tears, Bonny's pupils were dilated with pure, unadulterated triumph. Her stomach plummeted. The air left her lungs in a violent rush. She hadn't just been betrayed; she had been slaughtered. "The engagement is over," Greggory announced to the flashing cameras. "And I will be seeking full compensation from the Compton family for this public humiliation." He turned on his heel and walked out. Bonny followed, casting one last victorious glance over her shoulder. The reporters surged forward, trapping Adelia in the corner of the bed. They shoved microphones toward her face, shouting vile, degrading questions that drowned out her breathless sobs. As the reporters surged forward, Adelia's hand closed around the empty space where the cufflink had been. They had taken it. But she had seen the crest. She would remember. And she would make every single one of them pay.