RAQUEL'S POV

Kyle’s apartment smells faintly of coffee and cologne. He’s not home—probably working late—so I toss my bag onto the couch and head toward the kitchen, stomach growling.

Halfway there, I freeze.

There’s a sound coming from upstairs. Soft, rhythmic, unmistakable.

No.

Kyle isn't home, so someone must have broke in.

A dark smirk crawl it's way into my lips. Too bad for them I'm having a bad day, and they will have to suffer for it.

I grab the baseball bat from the kitchen corner and tiptoe toward the staircase, every step making the sound clearer. By the time I reach the bedroom door, I know exactly what it is.

I might not be familiar with it, but I can recognize one when I hear one

Moans.

Pleasurable grunts.

The door is slightly ajar. I glance in. My eyes land on a red lace bra and panties, making my mind flash to Rachel. Red is her favorite color.

A pairs of heels and a pair of boots. Which I find weirdly familiar.

My heartbeat slams in my ears as I look up, confirming my fear.

My twin sister, riding my boyfriend's cock like it’s the goddamn Olympics.

Betrayal. Disappointment. Rage. All flooded me immediately like a wave of emotions.

The bat slips from my fingers and hits the floor with a loud clunk alerting them of my presence.

They both face me, their widen in surprise. Kyle hastily push Rachel of him. Rachel didn't even bother to cover her nakedness as she falls shamelessly on the bed.

Kyle has an expression of guilt on his face, while Rachel grin widely like she just won a prize.

I guess that's what this is for her.

Kyle tries to get down from the bed, then he remembers he's naked underneath the sheet so he remains in the bed. Pathetic.

"I'm sorry Raquel. I didn't mean to hurt you, but you wouldn't even allow me touch you. I used to love you..."he trails off.

My heart aches at his choice of tense.

".... and I tried staying in love with you, but you kept making it hard.  Rachel was the only one that could understand me and decided to help.  I'm sorry Raquel, but I'm in love with your twin now" Kyle says, staring at Eliana like an elementary boy in love.

I turn to Rachel, staring at her naked form. Just how long has this been going on? Does this mean she never meant to go on with the alliance?

Different thoughts wander through my head.

Rachel leans back against the bed, legs still shamelessly spread. “Pity you can’t give him what he wants because of your… condition.” She slides a finger between her legs, then licks it, smirking. “By the way, he’s good. But weak.”

She dresses slowly, every click of her heels a deliberate stab. She leaves.

Kyle stays on the bed, sheet clutched around his waist, looking pathetic. I don’t even feel anger toward him—just pity.

He in love with Rachel?

I scoff inwardly.

He must be delusional if he thinks the feeling is mutual.

Rachel is a famous model, and only goes for men with high status. Celebrities. Models. CEO. She doesn't settle for less. And that's what Kyle is—a highschool homeroom teacher.

I sigh loudly, brushing my hair backward with my fingers. I guess this is it.

I should just help lessen his guilt. I open my mouth and says, "I got married, Kyle"

His eyes widen in shock and disbelief.

I raise my hand and show him the shining ring in my finger." I tied the knot with someone else today, so I guess it's high time we put an end to this long term torture".

He opens his mouth to speak, but I am already walking out.

Outside, the night air hits me hard.

I’m tired and can't even afford a hotel right now. I promise not to cry but I'm kind of rethinking it. 

My life is such a mess.

My phone dings. It’s a text from Mom.

Just an address.

Kai's address.

I laugh—short, bitter. Looks like I have no choice now but to go 'home'. And it's quite funny how I've been running out of choices lately.

I call another cab and wait by the curb.

*****

I stare out the window, watching the trees blur past. The further we drive, the more the city fades, swallowed by dense woods and endless quiet.

Why the hell would anyone leave the city to live in the middle of nowhere?

The car finally rolls to a stop in front of a towering black gate.

I step out, heels crunching against gravel, and stare.

The driver gives me one last look before pulling away.

I step up to the intercom. There’s a small camera embedded beside it.

“Identify yourself, please,” a robotic voice says.

I swallow. “Raquel Mil...” I pause. No. “Raquel... Rodriguez.”

The name feels foreign on my tongue.

No reply. Just a click and the gate swings open.

And then I step in.

My jaw drops at the sight before me.

This isn’t a mansion. It’s not a penthouse. It’s a goddamn manor.

Sleek black exterior. Sharp modern architecture. A dark fairytale brought to life.

I hurry toward the massive door, practically buzzing with curiosity.

It opens before I can knock. A middle-aged man in a crisp black suit greets me. A sprinkle of gray in his beard, handsome in a James Bond kind of way.

“Who did you say you were?” he asks, suspicion threading his voice.

He clearly hasn’t been informed.

“I’m Raquel Rodriguez. We just got married today. You can call your boss if you need to confirm.”

He nods slowly and steps away, presumably to make the call.

I take the opportunity to drink in the manor’s interior.

Red and black. Everywhere.

The damask wallpaper gleams under dim lighting. Deep crimson drapes frame towering arched windows. A colossal fireplace sits like a throne, carved from stone and edged in gold. The dining hall stretches like a shadow into the distance. A long mahogany table, pendant lights hanging low above it like a crown.

The grand staircase winds upward, carpeted in red, guarded by wrought-iron rails. The whole place breathes drama. Passion. Power.

Creepy. But breathtaking.

The man returns. “My name is Danio. You can call me Dan. I’m the butler. My wife, Fedora, is the cook. You’ll meet the rest of the staff with time.”

I nod, barely listening. My legs ache. My brain’s fried. I just want to crash.

“Your room is this way,” he says, turning.

I follow, as we both climbs up the stairs.

We pass a long corridor lined with doors. What could be behind those doors? My curiosity flares—but I tamp it down. There’ll be time to explore later.

We stop in front of the last door. “This is yours. Let me know if you need anything.”

I nod again. He gives a slight bow before leaving.

Weird. Definitely going to need time to get used to that.

I open the door and step inside. Black and red, like the rest. I love the mix, so there will be no need for redecorating.

I toss my purse on the lampstand, kick off my sneakers, and breathe.

Time to let off steam.

There's this thing Eliana and I usually does anything life gets rough—we dance it out. Wild and free.

I grab my phone and scroll up the playlist.

The moment the beat drops, my body reacts like a switch flipped.

I roll my hips slowly to the rhythm, each movement deliberate, controlled. The tension in my shoulders begins to melt as I let the music seep into my skin.

As the tempo quickens, I surrender to it. My legs move with a fluidity born of muscle memory. Arms slicing the air. My hair whipping. Feet stomping. My breath grows heavy, but it feels freeing, intoxicating.

I twirl, grind, then drop low, twerking wildly, my hands on my knees, my body catching every beat like it was made for it. Every thrust, every ripple, every snap of movement is a rebellion against the world pressing down on me.

I lose myself completely—no thoughts, no fear, just raw movement.

And then, the song comes to an end

I turn, freely.

And freeze.

He’s there.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, suit immaculate. Broad shoulders. Towering height. Dark brown hair swept back in a way that looked almost careless, and icy blue eyes so intense they pinned me in place.

His presence alone shifts the air in the room.

Cold and powerful. Regal and dangerous.

He doesn’t speak.

Just watches.

No judgment neither approval.

Just... eyes that see too much.

And suddenly I feel exposed. Raw.

Not from the dancing, or the sweat clinging to my skin.

But because of how deeply he’s looking.

Like he could peel away every layer of me and still want to go deeper.

Heat rushes up my throat. My body still buzzes with adrenaline and arousal, but now there’s something else—humiliation... no, fascination.

His aura matching that of the Manor.

Okay, now someone tell me how I'm suppose to cope in this sinful manor, with a husband who doesn't want me.

My core clenches involuntarily, making me press my thighs together.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He smirks—slow and wicked—and turns away, vanishing down the hall like a ghost in a tailored suit.

And that’s when I realize I’ve been holding my breath.

I rush over and slam the door shut, pressing my back against it. My heart’s racing.

His scent lingers. Musky. Rich. Masculine. It clings to my skin like silk.

I pull the clothes off and storm into the bathroom, plunging into the cold tub. The icy water shocks my core and grounds me instantly.

But the heat inside me?

Still smoldering.

If my husband is that hot... I might need to increase my dosage.