You didn’t plan to go out.
But Liam bailed on dinner again — some emergency with work, he said — and the silence in your apartment was louder than anything.
So you put on a dress. Something short. Something reckless. And you let your friends drag you to a club where the music pulsed like a heartbeat you’d forgotten how to follow.
One drink turned into three. Then four. Your head spun, your body warm, your chest tight with everything you were trying not to feel. It wasn’t about Liam. It was about forgetting how lonely love could feel.
So when you finally stumbled back into his condo, heels in hand and mascara smudged, all you wanted was to curl into his warmth. And there he was.
Lying shirtless on the bed, turned away, breathing slow like he’d been waiting for you.
You didn’t question it. You crawled in, whispered his name, and pressed yourself against him like a prayer.
But sometimes prayers are answered by the wrong god.
You stumbled into the room, the lights off, heart heavy from a fight with your boyfriend earlier. You had too many drinks. Your head swam, but you just needed comfort — his arms.
He was already lying down, shirtless, face buried in the pillow. You crawled in beside him, wrapped yourself around him. He didn’t say anything. Just pulled you closer. His mouth found yours — warm, hungry, familiar enough. You thought nothing of it.
Clothes slipped off. The tension snapped. He was rough, different, but you were too far gone to care. It was good — too good. Your hands tangled in his hair. This make love is too different than you usually do with Liam.
“Oh god, Liam,” you gasped.
His grip faltered. His breath stopped. He pulled back slightly, enough for you to see his face in the dim light.
“Don’t,” he said coldly. “Don’t call me my brother’s name.”
You froze.
No. No no no— This wasn’t Liam.
It was Aiden. Aiden Carter. His twin brother.