TWISTED OBSESSION: THE BILLIONAIRE'S VIRGIN BRIDE

ARIA

The key turns the lock with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet hallway.

I'm practically vibrating with excitement as I push open the door to Marcus's apartment, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. The promotion letter is still warm in my purse—Senior Director of Marketing at twenty-six. After years of caffeine-fueled nights, endless presentations, and fighting twice as hard to be taken seriously, I finally made it.

And I can't wait to celebrate with Marcus.

He’ll be proud. I know he will. He’ll kiss me, spin me around, and whisper that he always knew I could do it.

The apartment is dark when I step inside, the faint scent of cedar and cologne wrapping around me. A single sliver of light leaks from beneath the bedroom door. My smile deepens. He’s home.

I slip off my heels, tiptoeing across the hardwood floor. The diamond on my finger catches a ghost of light. two carats of carefully selected princess-cut diamonds. We chose it together three months ago. Our wedding is in eight weeks. Eight weeks until everything I’ve ever dreamed of becomes real.

I reach for the bedroom door, with my heart full, and my mind already painting the moment I tell him. The feeling of his arms around me. His deep, throaty chuckle that does wonders in my body. The champagne we’ll open...

A sound cuts through my thoughts.

Low, rhythmic, and sexy.

I stop breathing.

It takes a second for my mind to catch up to my body to process what my ears already know but refuse to accept.

No. No, it can’t be...

My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob. A voice inside me begs to turn around, to leave before everything changes. But my fingers keep moving, like they belong to someone else, pushing the door open.

The scene before me moves in slow motion and all at once.

Marcus... My Marcus is behind a woman bent over the edge of our bed. His hands grip her hips, hard and possessive, dragging her back against him with brutal rhythm. The air fills with the sound of skin meeting skin, obscene and unmistakable.

My vision blurs, and my mind refuses to believe what my eyes see.

The woman’s hair falls in long, dark waves, and it's a familiar wave, for a fact.

No. Please, God—no.

She turns her head.

And I see my own face. Or rather...my twin sister’s.

Vivienne.

Her green eyes lock on mine. And then she smiles. Slow, deliberate, cruel smiles, that vicious curve of lips I've seen a thousand times when she's won something, taken something, or destroyed something that belongs to me.

“Fuck me harder, baby,” she moans, voice dripping with mockery, not even bothering to look away from me or trying to act shocked. She's performing for me now. The sound pierces through me, and my lungs seize. I can’t move, think, or speak.

Marcus doesn't stop. Not immediately. It takes him several more