Chapter 3
I kept my back pressed flat against the wall of the corridor. My mind drifted back to a choice I made ten years ago.
Corvin Voss, the patriarch of the Voss empire, had summoned me to his private study. Two twins. One choice. I had grown up with Kian and Kael. I knew they both watched me when the other wasn't looking. But I chose Kian.
I chose him just because of that Mafia rush.
Ten years ago, a rival crew ambushed my father’s convoy. I scrambled out, cornered in a dead-end alley with a shooter aiming a Glock straight at my chest.
Then, a body slammed into mine. Someone took the bullet meant for my heart.
As we hit the wet pavement, I was dragged down into the dark, losing consciousness fast. My senses olny locked onto one specific thing: the sharp, clean scent of cedar mixed with the harsh sting of burnt gunpowder.
When I woke up in a hospital room three days later, Kian was sitting by my bed. His left arm was heavily wrapped in thick white bandages.
"I got you, Ren. I’ll always get you," Kian had said, looking me dead in the eye.
I believed him. I agreed to the engagement the very day I was discharged. And on that exact same day, Corvin Voss marched into the boardroom and officially named Kian the heir to the empire.
I paid him back with my real life in my last life. But not this time. This time, Kian and I were entirely even.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Frankie, my father’s most trusted underboss.
"Renata. Everything smooth with the reception?" Frankie asked.
"Skip the small talk, Frankie," I said, keeping my voice low and clipped. "Set up a meeting. I need to see Corvin Voss. Alone."
Midnight.
The luxury penthouse Kian and I were supposed to share was dead quiet. I figured I'd be drinking alone. Kian had ordered Kael to London, assuming his twin brother was currently sitting in first-class on a red-eye over the Atlantic.
I kicked off my uncomfortable heels, and poured myself a generous glass of Macallan. I sank into the sofa in the living room, letting the slow burn of the whiskey settle my nerves.
Then, the electronic lock clicked.
Kael walked in.
He had ditched the formal tuxedo jacket. His bowtie was gone, and the top three buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, exposing the faint, jagged edge of an old scar on his collarbone. The cut on his cheek from Kian's thrown whiskey glass had stopped bleeding.
A quick flicker of surprise crossed my mind, but I buried it immediately.
Kael walked slowly toward me, his dark, intense eyes locked onto mine. He looked dangerous. Uncaged.
I picked up a spare crystal glass from the coffee table, poured whiskey, and held it out to him.
"Drink?"
Kael stopped right in front of the sofa. He reached out and took the glass from my hand. But he didn't drink. His gaze dropped down to my lips, lingering on the damp sheen of the whiskey.
His Adam's apple bobbed hard.
"It’s not the drink I want... Renata," he said.
He set the glass down on the table. It clinked sharply against the glass top.
Before I could even process the shift in the room's gravity, his hands were on me. The shadow of his tall frame swallowed me completely. He pulled me up and crashed his lips onto mine.
It wasn't a calculated, performative kiss like the one we shared at the altar. It was desperate. Starving.
My brain short-circuited for a second.
I didn't push him away. Whether it was the alcohol warming my blood, or the adrenaline of the day—I didn't care.
I grabbed the lapels of his shirt, went up on my toes, and kissed him back just as hard.
A low, guttural groan rumbled deep in Kael’s chest.
He swept me off my feet, carrying me down the dark hallway without breaking the kiss for a single second. We stumbled into the master bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us.
He dropped me onto the edge of the king-sized bed. My hands tangled in his thick hair, pulling him down with me.
Clothes hit the hardwood floor.
But right as things reached the final breaking point, Kael suddenly stop.
He braced his weight on his forearms, hovering just inches above me. His chest heaved rapidly.
"Renata," he whispered. "Do you know who I am?"
I looked up at him. I looked at the twin who stayed in the shadows. The one who took a bullet for me and let his arrogant brother wear the crown.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down until my lips brushed softly against his ear.
"Kael," I said clearly.
The last thread of his restraint snapped in half.
His hands were no longer gentle. He gripped my hips with a bruising force, pulling me flush against his hard body.
"Mine," he growled against my collarbone, his teeth lightly scraping my skin, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. "You were always meant to be mine."
"Then take me," I challenged, arching up to meet his touch.
His fingers dug into my thighs, parting them wide. The air left my lungs in a sharp, fractured gasp as he thrust inside, filling me completely. It was deep, sudden, and unapologetically rough.
I wrapped my legs tight around his waist, anchoring him to me. The wood of the headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall with every punishing drive of his hips.
"Look at me, Ren," Kael commanded. He caught my wrists, pinning them above my head into the mattress.
I met his dark, dilated eyes.
