MARRIED TO MY BOSS'S TWIN

chapter 2 The morning After

Sunlight burned my eyes.

For a second, I forgot where I was. Silk sheets. A chest under my cheek. A heartbeat that wasn’t mine.

Then it all rushed back.

The contract. The ring. The man in my bed.

I shot up. The sheet slipped, and I clutched it to my chest.

He was still asleep. Same dark hair as Damian. Same scar through his eyebrow. Same face.

But the man I married didn’t touch me. The man I married called me "Miss Adams" like I was a line item on a spreadsheet.

This man had whispered my name like a prayer.

“Who are you?” My voice cracked.

His eyes opened. Gray, just like Damian’s. But warmer. Alive.

“Morning, wife.” He smirked and reached for me.

I slapped his hand away. “You’re not Damian.”

“No.” He sat up, completely unbothered by being naked. “I’m Caleb. The better-looking twin.”

My stomach dropped to the floor. “Where’s Damian?”

“Hong Kong. Emergency board meeting. He asked me to stand in for him.” Caleb shrugged like he was talking about borrowing a pen. “At the wedding.”

Stand in. At the wedding.

I married Caleb Knight.

And then I slept with him.

“Get out.” I grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head. “Get out right now!”

He caught it, laughing. “Relax, Emma. It’s not like we—”

The bedroom door slammed open.

Damian stood there in a three-piece suit, tie still perfect from a 14-hour flight. His eyes went from me, clutching the sheet, to Caleb, naked in *our* bed.

His face went blank. The kind of blank that meant someone was about to die.

“Explain.” One word. Colder than last night.

Caleb stretched and yawned. “Morning, brother. You missed the wedding night.”

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

Damian’s gaze snapped to mine. “Are you pregnant?”

“What? No! We just—”

“The contract is specific, Miss Adams.” He stepped into the room, and suddenly it felt ten degrees colder. “The Knight heir must be conceived within the first 90 days of marriage. Or the money disappears and your brother goes to prison.”

He looked at Caleb. Then back at me.

“So I’ll ask again.” He pulled something from his jacket pocket. A pregnancy test. He threw it on the bed between us.

“Are. You. Pregnant?”

The stick was pink. Two lines.

And I’d only been married 12 hours.