The Forbidden Inheritance

Mara's POV “You’re really going to ignore this?” Her voice came on the phone the moment I picked up. I’d been ignoring her calls for almost an hour, and I knew it must have been stressful for her, but today was not that day for me. “I’m not ignoring it,” I said. “I’m… choosing not to engage with it right now.” “It’s today, Mrs. Mara. He’s coming back, and the lawyer will be here soon. Your attention is required,” Miss Hayley, the HR assistant of the Lawson mansion, said firmly. I snorted. “Required? That’s a polite way to say I’m in trouble before I even step foot in the room. You do know my life isn’t exactly… functioning at the moment, don’t you?” There was a pause. I knew she realized I was right because she had witnessed every single thing I went through in that house. “I’m just doing my job. But you should understand the stakes,” she said, still trying to convince me to come back home. I hung up before I could argue further. Stakes? Lately, my life had been nothing but a series of wagers rigged against me, each one ending in disaster. It felt as if my life was now in their control, now that my husband was dead. They all said I brought him bad luck—Philip, my late husband. And I was left with nothing but whispers, pointed looks, and guilt I couldn’t shake. And now? One of the family members was returning from abroad for the Lawson's will. I didn’t think that should be my problem. I turned back to my drink. I took a sip, letting it burn my throat. Another sip, then another, enough to blur the edges of reality. “You should probably slow down,” the bartender said, watching me with a cautious eye. “I think I need to speed up,” I muttered, gripping the glass tighter. “At least until the world stops spinning.” By the time I stood to leave, my legs were unsteady, my head a little fuzzy. I thanked the bartender with a nod and made my way to the elevator, swaying slightly, my purse clutched in my trembling hand. I wasn’t going to sleep at the house today. The argument with the family earlier was enough to make the house suffocating for me. I headed to the hotel room I had already booked. The elevator dinged softly as it arrived on my floor. It took effort just to walk straight. All I could think about was finding my room, 609. At last, I reached it. I tried to steady myself as I opened my room, but the red declining light from the door greeted me. “Oh great…” I slurred, rolling my eyes. I tried again and again, but it declined. Like everyone else in that house, even this door seemed to reject me. The thought brought a sad memory, and suddenly my eyes got teary. “Even you too?” I whispered, speaking to the door as if it could hear me. “You hate me?” It wasn’t opening, and the frustration was unbearable. I kicked the door in anger, tears stinging my eyes, and immediately regretted it when pain shot up my foot. “Ouch!” I hissed. Boiling with frustration, I swiped one last time. Click. The door opened. And immediately, I looked up at the tall figure in front of me. My eyes fell on those icy blue eyes, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. He looked like something sculpted out of the night itself; broad-shouldered and sharp-edged, the kind of presence that filled a room without effort. Don’t stare. Stop staring, I scolded myself. But my gaze betrayed me, roaming shamelessly down the cut of his shoulders, the way he filled the doorway without even trying. My chest tightened. “You…” The word slipped out before I could stop it. “Your eyes…” Heat rushed across my cheeks. God, had I actually said that out loud? His brows drew together, and he scanned me like I was some intrusion rather than a woman. “What are you doing?” His voice snapped me back, and I realized how long I’d been staring at him. He must have thought I was insane. “This is my room. Why are you in it?” I demanded, thrusting my room card in front of him. His expression darkened. “This isn’t your room.” He plucked the card from my hand, as if confirming for himself. “Yes, it is,” I snapped, pushing past him into the room. I stopped halfway, turning back to his surprised face. “Just so you know, I’m very sad right now, and I need to rest. Leave when you’re done or… else, I’ll call the reception,” I said, my fingers fumbling at the buttons of my dress, desperate to free myself from its suffocating grip. “Christ…” He dragged a hand over his face. “I should be the one calling the reception. Why is a drunk woman in my room?” he muttered, moving toward the bedside phone. I lurched forward, grabbing his wrist before he could dial. My fingers were clumsy against the iron band of his arm. “Don’t,” I whispered, looking up at him. His eyes. God, those eyes dropped to where my hand held him. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. I didn’t know why, but he obeyed me. He stared back, as though he was trying to read me. And that was when I really saw him. Effortlessly handsome. Everything about him perfect, from his hair down to his lips, which twitched slightly. It was cruel. Cruel how much he looked like my dead husband. And suddenly, a memory I had tried to bury tore through me. Philip. His hands on another woman’s waist. His mouth pressed to hers in his office, just days before he died. I had walked away with tears burning in my eyes, the lunch I’d made for him left untouched in my hands. “Why wasn’t I enough for you?” The question broke from me, tears threatening again. This felt like a chance from the heavens to finally ask. Because I never got to. He never even knew I saw. I expected an answer, but the only reply I got was a stare, one that made me feel something I wasn’t supposed to feel. It was madness. This wasn’t Philip. This was a stranger. And yet, the silence between us was intense, broken only by the hammering rain outside. And in that silence, my body betrayed me, craving him. I leaned closer. The brush of his breath against my lips sent shivers through me. At that moment, I wanted to be touched. To be loved. He didn’t move. His hand was still trapped under mine, tensed. And then, as if some invisible cord snapped, our mouths collided. The kiss was wild, desperate, a clash of anger and need. His taste was fire and whiskey, scorching against my tongue. I pressed against him, my fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer as if he could fill the hollow that had been tearing me apart for weeks. He resisted for just a heartbeat. His body stiff, his breath uneven. But then his hand slid to my waist, dragging me against him. A gasp escaped me, swallowed by his mouth. His kisses were rough, as though once he’d given in, he couldn’t stop. He kissed like a man fighting himself, torn between pushing me away and devouring me whole. My back hit the wall with a thud, his mouth trailing from my jaw to my throat. Heat surged through me. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted more. I wanted him. My hands clawed clumsily at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, the words dissolving against my skin, his breath stealing me away as he inhaled me like I was his only air. “Then stop me,” I whispered. But he didn’t. His mouth claimed mine again, hungrier, harsher. I should have stopped it. But all I saw was him—the ghost of my husband in another man’s body. For one night, I forgot everything and lost myself to him. It was the tender kiss of morning light that stirred me awake. For a moment I lay still, blinking at the ceiling, my body aching in ways that felt strange. Why do I feel so much pain? My gaze drifted to the empty side of the bed. The sheets tangled, the space cold. Then the memories rushed back; the taste of his mouth, the weight of his body, the reckless way I had surrendered. “Oh God… what did I do?” I buried my face in my palm, shame twisting in my stomach. Throwing myself from the bed, I scrambled into my clothes, not daring to look at the mess scattered across the floor. My heart pounded all the way back to the mansion, every nerve screaming with guilt. When I rushed into the parlor, everyone was already seated. I knew I was late, and I hurriedly went to the empty space close to Andrea, my stepsister-in-law to sit. “You’re late.” My stepmother-in-law’s voice echoed through the room, sharp and cold. “Some things never change, do they?” I was about to apologize when Andrea leaned closer with a mocking smile. “And she reeks of alcohol. I wonder where the hell she has been.” I glared at her, but she smirked and went quiet. I said nothing, straightening my rumpled dress instead. “Since she has finally deigned to join us, we can continue,” my mother-in-law said smoothly, gesturing to the lawyer who stood. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Elias Lawson, Philip’s twin brother, who has just returned from abroad to join us,” the lawyer said, gesturing with his hand. My eyes followed the lawyer’s hand toward the man. And there he was. The man from last night. The man whose touch still lingered on my skin. I stopped breathing. Of all the ways to meet, why did fate choose this? And the worst part? He wasn’t just anyone. He was my late husband’s twin.