When My Fiancé’s Twin Claimed Me as His Bride

Two days. Forty-eight hours of dead air.

Kane never went silent. He was the man who texted me when he boarded a flight. He called when he landed. He was the CEO of Harrison Corp, busy with meetings and boardrooms, but he never made me feel like an afterthought.

Now, my texts sat on delivered. My calls went straight to voicemail.

I called his assistant. I called his favorite coffee shop. I even called the local hospitals, my hands shaking as I gave his name. Nothing. The silence was total. It felt heavy, wrong in a way I couldn’t name. A cold dread settled in my chest.

On the third morning, I drove to his downtown apartment. I used the silver key he gave me a year ago. “Use it whenever you miss me,” he had said.

The apartment was perfectly still. His shoes weren't by the door. I walked down the hall, my heart hammering against my ribs. No signs of a struggle. The bed was made. I stepped into his home office. The desk was neat, but a yellow notepad sat by the brass lamp. An address was scrawled on the top page in blue ink.

It was his handwriting. Sharp and slanted.

It was an estate on the outskirts of Seattle. I had never heard him mention it. I took a photo of the pad with my phone. I went back to my car and sat behind the wheel for twenty minutes. Rain started to fall, hitting the windshield in heavy drops. I pressed my thumbnail into my palm, a steadying habit I picked up after my parents died. Then, I put the car in drive.

The drive took an hour. The roads grew narrow and lined with thick pine trees. Finally, I reached a set of massive iron gates. As I pulled up, they swung open slowly, groaning in the rain. Like they were expecting me.

The estate was a sprawling gray stone mansion. It looked cold. I parked and ran to the front doors, ignoring the rain soaking through my coat. The heavy oak door was unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped into a cavernous foyer.

"Kane?" I called out. My voice echoed off the marble floor.

No answer.

I walked further in. "Kane, are you—"

I froze.

He sat at the far end of the dim hallway. He was in a wheelchair.

I stopped breathing. My eyes dragged down his body. He wore loose gray sweatpants, but his left leg ended abruptly below the knee. The fabric was pinned up. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones sharp and hollow. He looked exhausted. Broken.

"Kane," I choked out.

He looked away, his jaw tight. "I didn't want you to see me like this." His voice was raspy, lacking its usual deep warmth. "There was an accident. I hid. I thought... I thought you would leave me, Azalea."

My heart shattered. This was the man who held me together when my parents died. The man