Signed to Him: Owned by His Twin

CHAPTER TWO

The room was too quiet.

Savannah woke, the weight of sleep still on her chest. Pale golden slants of light filtered through the gauzy curtains, but everything inside the room felt... wrong. Too still. Too pristine. The appearance of a showroom before someone invests in the apparition.

Thud, thud, thud, her heart pounding slow and heavy in her chest. A noise too heavy, too demanding for such a silent dawn.

She sat up slowly.

The sheets were tucked. Fresh. Sharp in a way that could only tell her someone had been there. Someone meticulous. Someone quiet.

Her robe was neatly folded and draped over the foot of the bed, and her slippers were arranged carefully at the edge. That wasn't how she'd found anything the night before.

And then came the scent.

Not her husband's cologne smell. No vetiver. No leather. Just something off. Sweet and acidic.

Marmalade.

It hung in the air lightly, sticky, and sour like old citrus.

A tray stood ready on the side table. Toast. Coffee. A grapefruit cut to geometric perfection. The silverware gleamed.

Her hands didn't move. Her eyes did.

The doorknob clicked.

She froze.

No knock.

Lorelei strode in like she owned the oxygen in the room.

Her smile had all velvet edges. "You're up. Good. I started to worry that you would sleep through your orientation."

Savannah said nothing. Her fingers tightened beneath the sheets.

Lorelei walked to the tray and rearranged the butter knife as if the placement of that tool mattered. She plunked down in the armchair, crossing her legs with showy grace.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, voice light.

Savannah hesitated. "I don't know."

"That's totally natural," Lorelei said. "Nobody wants to be overwhelmed by weddings. All that attention. Adrenaline.

Emotional catharsis. There's strange ways the body responds."

Savannah's jaw tightened. "I wasn't hallucinating."

Lorelei didn't blink. "No one said you were. But at times our minds read shadows. Dreams. Stress becomes the story."

"There was a person in my bed."

"Yes," said Lorelei, her smile widening. "Your husband."

The sheets fell away from Savannah's standing. "Don't play with me."

Lorelei sighed softly. "Rest. That's what you need. We'll talk later. Maybe you will see clearer after breakfast."

Savannah walked toward her. "Why do I have locks on my doors?"

"This house is very old," Lorelei said. "Sometimes, the doors close on their own. It's for your safety."

"From what?"

Lorelei rose, dusting imaginary lint off her blouse. "From misunderstanding."

She walked away without another word. The door clicked shut.

Savannah looked until her stomach churned at the untouched toast.

The drawing room was greased with ambition to reflect it.

Boone hovered around the hearth, riffling through documents as if with every page, something long-ago authenticated.

"Sit," he said without even looking at her.

She didn't.

"Medical forms," he said. "Consent documents. Nothing complicated."

"I have not consented to any medical care."

Boone met her gaze, dark eyes steady. "Of course you have."

He slid a page toward her.

Savannah looked down.

Her name. Her signature. Not her hand.

"You forged this."

"No," Boone said smoothly. "You simply forgot. The wedding was emotional. We take care of details."

Her throat tightened. "You don't have your own way.

"You're family now," he said. "And family trusts family to care for what matters."

"What did I agree to do, exactly?"

Boone smiled. "Legacy, my dear. You agreed to legacy."

The garden was too quiet.

Bird sounds chirped in the background, but they felt recorded, played through hidden speakers. Savannah trudged barefoot through the hedge maze, gravel chewing at her soles, breath hitching.

And then he was there.

Cash.

Leaning back on the fountain, sunglasses off, sleeves rolled, jaw chiseled out of revolution.

"You're not supposed to be out here," he said.

"I felt you in my bed," she said, her voice trembling.

He tilted his head. "Was I?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

She took a step forward. "Lie like this is a game."

"I'm not the person who volunteered to marry a corporation," he said.

Her hands clenched. "Why me?"

His eyes sharpened. "Because you are the sort not to ask questions. Not at first. And that makes you valuable."

"I recognize your voice," she said.

He stepped closer. "I recall how you did not cease me."

She slapped him.

Cash didn't react. Just smiled. "Now you're waking up."

He turned and disappeared into the hedge, his smell still clinging to the air.

The conservatory shone like a chapel.

Slade filled a cut glass goblet with water. Orchids flowered in perfect quietness.

"I found the file," she said.

He turned, calm. "Then you know that process is already in place."

"I didn't sign anything."

He crossed the floor. "But your body did. The contract is complete."

"That's rape."

Slade didn't flinch. "That's family."

Her voice cracked. "You used me."

He leaned in. "We chose you."

She knocked over a vase. It shattered. Petals spilled.

Slade looked down.

"Emotion," he said quietly, "is not power. Control is."

Savannah was in the bathroom. The mirror grew foggy around her face. Her robe slipped. A bruise bloomed on her side.

She didn't cry.

She stepped into the shower.

Fully clothed.

The water was ice.

She welcomed it.