The Billionaire's Gemini Bride

GWEN

"Get your hands off me, you wanker!" I snap at the man dragging me down the bleach-scented hallway.

Still half-asleep, with exhaustion weighing on my shoulders, it dawns on me that I'm being arrested for jewelry theft.

But when did I even have the time or nerve to steal from the high-security jewelry store where I work?

"Oh yeah, who do you think you are?" He growls back, tightening his hold on my upper arm, no worse than the metal handcuffs on my wrists. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."

A high-pitched baby cry erupts. I look at the second male officer holding Mikey in his arms. He returns a stern look, as if daring me to speak.

In a matter of minutes, I'm sitting inside a cold interrogation room. My skin turns pale, while my chest pounds.

Was Mikey safe? Or were those idiot cops scrolling through their smartphones instead of watching him?

Finally, a tall man walks in, and I quickly stand.

"You have the wrong person!" I say desperately. "Can you at least let me call a lawyer or anyone?"

He points a finger back at the chair. "Please sit down."

I suck in a deep breath and sink back into the chair.

I stare at him as he flips through an official blue folder. Detectives weren't supposed to be this attractive. My eyes drop to his Rolex. I can't believe a New York detective could afford one like his.

"Now, let's get down to business, Miss Moscowitz?" He asks, raising a brow.

I narrow my eyes at him. "That's not my last name."

He smirks a bit. "Incredible. O'Brien then. We can settle this nice and easy if you tell me who you sold the Ciccotelli's Medallion to."

My mouth drops open. "I haven't stolen anything."

"That medallion is worth tens of millions in the black market," he informs. "So tell me how you could afford that penthouse in Manhattan?"

I quickly blink as I try to process the question. "I don't understand. Are you talking about my sister's penthouse?"

"Don't lie to me, Genevieve." He sneers as he leans forward. "You're not fooling me with your cheap acting skills. You have the choice to confess or spend the rest of your life in jail."

I search his face with confusion; a sudden chill runs through my skin.

Did he just call me Genevieve?

Now that I think about it, he looks sort of familiar; perhaps I'd seen him on a billboard ad in Times Square.

"What did you say your name was again, Detective?" I ask.

Suddenly, the angry police officer from earlier casually strolls into the room and sighs at the other man.

"Mr. Ciccotelli, I thought I told you to let me handle the interrogation," the police officer says. "You've just tampered with the entire investigation."

I widen my eyes at Ciccotelli. "Wait a second, you're