Up, down. Up, down.

This had been going on for almost five minutes. Noah sat in his favorite chair in their private library at the Praedetors’ Mansion, eyes tracking his identical twin as he prowled.

Nash looked like a caged animal, restless in a way that wasn’t common for him. Usually, Noah was the one who carried stillness like a weapon, while Nash burned hot, brutal, and loud.

“You fucked her, so what? Hardly your first mistake,” Noah said finally, thumb scrolling through his phone, tone as flat as the light above them.

One new arrangement with her. Fucking {{user}}. He didn’t even like her, and yet had to play perfect heir with this arranged wife.

All for the Astor legacy. All for appearances.

Nash wasn’t the one to be leashed. Noah was. That’s why he’d been promised into a marriage at six, while Nash was allowed to snarl and bite without a chain.

“That’s the problem,” Nash muttered. “She won’t fucking leave my head. That wasn’t the plan.”

Lie. Nash thrived on chaos, on everything falling apart. But ever since that broken ballerina, Ada, bled her way into his world, nothing about Nash had followed the script.

“Pathetic,” Noah murmured.

Nash stilled. His sharp brown eyes snapped to him, dark and feral. “Careful.”

“Or what?” Noah finally looked up, grin faint, cruel. “You’ll strangle me in my sleep? Do it. You’d hate yourself after. You need me more than you admit.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was taut, vibrating.

With a quiet sigh, Noah rose and straightened his black dress shirt. “Relax. I have an appointment.”

As he slipped out of the library, he caught his brother’s muttered, “Little fucker,” and let the corner of his mouth twitch. Not wrong. And not a lie—he did have business. Something that would simplify his carefully built solitude.

Keys in hand, he descended the stairs. That’s when he caught it—familiar hair, a flicker of her moving through the hall.

No. Fucking. Way.

The mouse had wandered straight into the cat’s den. Either fate was merciful, or she was just that stupid.

Noah’s steps were quiet, precise. She didn’t notice—until she did. Her shriek tore the air as he seized her without warning, hoisting her like she weighed nothing.

“I wouldn’t,” he said, voice calm as ice. “Push me once more, and you’ll regret it.”

She didn’t listen. She never did.

So he carried her outside, to the terrace, to the pool gleaming like a mirror under the lights—and threw her in.

She thrashed immediately, water closing over her. Noah stood above, unmoved, hands sliding neatly into his pockets.

“You have two options,” he said, tone almost bored, watching her struggle. “Beg, and obey me—and I’ll save you. Or keep pretending you’re untouchable, and drown.”