I was married.
To a stranger.
Okay, not a total stranger. I knew of Adrian Thorne. The elusive twin. The "serious one." The one who lived behind boardroom doors while his brother partied in front of flashing lights. But I'd never met him. Never even spoken to him.
And yet, here we were—me in a wedding dress, him in his brother's tux, and a legally binding contract between us.
Because of a company.
Because of a grandma.
Because Aiden freaking bailed.
And now?
I was stuck in a luxury hotel suite with a man who looked like my fiancé, but wasn't.
⸻
I sat on the edge of the bed, hugging a pillow to my chest like it was a life raft. Adrian stood across the room, arms crossed, staring out the window like the LA skyline held the answers to this dumpster fire.
"So let me get this straight," I said, my voice somewhere between exhausted and homicidal. "Aiden got cold feet. Vanished. And instead of canceling the wedding like a normal person, your family decided to just… slide you in like a damn body double?"
Adrian didn't flinch.
"Correct."
I threw the pillow at him.
He caught it with one hand, expression unchanged.
"Do you hear how insane that sounds?" I shrieked. "People go to jail for stuff like this!"
"You signed the contract."
I stood up, face flushing. "I signed it thinking I was marrying Aiden! Not his broody, emotionally constipated copy-paste glitch!"
He blinked slowly. "…Ouch."
Good. He deserved it.
I spun toward the closet, yanking open the doors in search of anything that didn't scream runaway bride. "I'm leaving."
He turned slightly. "You can't."
"Watch me."
"No, I mean—legally. You can't."
I froze. "Excuse me?"
Adrian sighed and pulled something from the inner pocket of his tux—an envelope. Sealed, with my name on it in my own handwriting.
My pre-marriage letter.
Crap.
I forgot I wrote one.
Evelyn had insisted we each write a "just-in-case" letter—last words before the six-month clock started ticking. Like an emotional prenup. A backup file for our feelings.
"I was supposed to give this to you after the vows," he said, walking over and placing it on the bed. "But now feels… appropriate."
He stepped back like the letter might explode.
I opened it slowly.
And there it was. My handwriting. My snarky, sarcastic, absolutely doomed optimism.
Dear future husband (aka Aiden),
If you're reading this, then congrats, you tricked me into wearing white. Hope you enjoyed the view.
This marriage is weird. And crazy. And probably illegal in three states. But I agreed because you made me laugh. Because you saw me. Because somewhere between fake kisses and scheduled brunches, you felt like something real.
So here's the deal.
Don't fall in love with me.
And don't expect me not to fall for you.
Let's just survive the six months. With our hearts intact.
Deal?
I stared at the letter, blinking hard.
It wasn't just ink and paper. It was hope. It was trust. And I'd given it to the wrong man.
"This was meant for him," I said quietly, folding the letter with trembling fingers. "Not you."
Adrian didn't speak.
And that made it worse.
⸻
The silence stretched until it throbbed in my chest.
Finally, I looked up. "Why'd you do it?"
He blinked. "I told you—"
"No. Not the business reasons. Not the grandma reasons. You. Why'd you walk down that aisle?"
He exhaled slowly. Ran a hand through his hair.
"He asked me to."
I tilted my head. "Aiden?"
Adrian nodded. "He left me a message. Said he was sorry. Said he couldn't do it. That he trusted me to… fix it."
"Fix it?" I repeated. "You mean lie to me, gaslight an entire wedding guest list, and sign marriage papers with a woman you've never even met?"
His jaw tensed.
"He's my brother."
"That's not an answer."
"I didn't want to be the reason this entire arrangement crumbled. Not when it meant so much to our grandmother. To the company."
I snorted. "So you sacrificed my sanity for your family's PR?"
"I didn't know you."
"And yet here we are. Roommates. Soul-tied by bad decisions and designer vows."
We locked eyes.
For a second, I thought I saw something flicker across his face. Guilt? Regret? Something more?
But it was gone too fast.
I turned away, teeth clenched.
"I'm sleeping on the couch."
"No," he said. "I'll take the couch."
"Why? You already took my wedding from me. Might as well keep the bed too."
He paused, then exhaled. "It's fine. I won't fight you."
"Good," I muttered, grabbing my suitcase and stomping into the bedroom like a dramatic Disney villain with a torn ballgown and unresolved emotional trauma.
⸻
An hour later, I lay in bed in an oversized T-shirt, mascara smudged, staring at the ceiling.
Married to a stranger.
Lied to at the altar.
And worst of all?
My heart hadn't stopped racing the entire time.
Not from rage.
Not even from betrayal.
But from him.
Adrian.
Quiet. Calculated. Controlled.
He wasn't Aiden. Not even close.
But somehow, he was realer.
And that scared me most of all.
Tomorrow, we'd face Grandma.
And the press.
And six months of pretending this wasn't the worst—or weirdest—thing that had ever happened to me.
But tonight?
I'd lie here next to a wall, one door between me and the man I didn't choose.
And wonder…
What happens when you start falling for the wrong twin?