The billionaire’s twins shared obsession

Episode3

Not Your Brother

I sat there like a statue. I couldn't move, and I definitely couldn't breathe. My brain felt like it had short-circuited, sending sparks flying through my head. Dimitri was standing right there, looking at me like I was a piece of dessert he hadn't finished yet. And then there was the other one—Ivan. He was his carbon copy, but he had this playful, creepy energy that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"Amelia?"

My mother’s voice was sharp. I felt her elbow dig into my ribs under the table. She was smiling at Arthur, but her eyes were screaming at me to say something.

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like I’d swallowed a handful of dry sand. I managed a tiny, pathetic nod.

"Hi," I croaked. It was barely a whisper.

Ivan’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at me, then at Dimitri, then back at me. There was something in his gaze—a weird, knowing look that made my stomach do a backflip. He sat down directly across from me, while Dimitri took the seat next to him.

"Just 'hi'?" Ivan asked, his voice smoother than Dimitri’s but just as deep. "We don't bite, Amelia. Well, Dimitri might, but I’m the nice one."

Dimitri didn't say a word. He just picked up the menu, his eyes never leaving mine over the top of the card. I felt a drop of sweat roll down the back of my neck. I messed up. I messed up so badly. Of all the men in New York, of all the billionaires in this city, I had to pick the one who was about to become my step-brother.

The waiter came by, and people started ordering. I didn't even look at the menu. I just pointed at something that looked like eggs. When the food arrived, it might as well have been cardboard. I chewed and chewed, but I couldn't swallow. Every time I looked up, one of them was watching me. It was like being hunted by two wolves at the same time.

"So, Amelia," Arthur said, leaning back in his chair. "Eleanor tells me you’re quite the artist. Tell my sons about your work."

I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice. "I... I have a small gallery space in Brooklyn. I do a lot of oil paintings. Mostly abstract stuff."

"Abstract," Ivan repeated, leaning forward. He rested his chin on his hand, staring at me with that intense smile. "I like things that are hard to figure out. It makes the discovery more fun, don't you think?"

I ignored the double meaning in his voice. "It’s just work."

"And what about your personal life?" Ivan pressed. "In all these stories your mom tells us, she hasn't mentioned a boyfriend. A girl like you must have someone waiting at home."

I felt Dimitri’s gaze sharpen. It felt like a physical weight on my skin.

"I broke up with someone recently," I said quickly. "I’m not looking for anything."

"Oh, please," my mother chimed in, waving her hand dismissively. "That boy was not her type at all. Amelia is a good girl. She doesn't need people like her ex. He was a distraction."

"A good girl," Dimitri finally spoke. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated right through my chair. "Is that right?"

The way he said it made my face burn. He knew I wasn't a "good girl." He knew exactly what I sounded like when I wasn't being a "good girl."

I couldn't take it anymore. The walls were closing in, and the smell of their expensive cologne was making me dizzy. I shoved my chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor.

"I need to use the restroom," I said, my voice shaking. "Excuse me."

I didn't wait for a response. I practically ran toward the back of the restaurant. I made it into the bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and just leaned my head against the cold door.

"s**t, s**t, s**t," I whispered. Lately, I have been cursing too much, just from meeting this men.

I went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. My reflection looked terrified. I had to leave. I had to get out of here and never see them again. Maybe I could move. Maybe I could go to another state.

I stayed in there for ten minutes until I felt like I wouldn't faint. I took a deep breath, straightened my dress, and opened the door to head back out.

I didn't even get five steps before I slammed into a solid chest. I knew that scent, I knew that heat.

I looked up, and my heart stopped. Dimitri was standing there, blocking the hallway.

"Running away again?" he asked.

"Move, Dimitri," I said, trying to push past him. "I need to get back to the table."

He didn't move an inch. Instead, he grabbed my wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was firm enough to know that he was in control. Before I could yell, he spun me around and pinned me against the wall. His body was a wall of muscle, pressing me into the wallpaper.

"Don't think you can just flee whenever you feel like it," he whispered, leaning down, so his lips were right against my ear. "This isn't over, Amelia."

"Let me go," I hissed, my hands landing on his chest to push him back. He felt like a mountain. "We are about to be siblings! My mom is marrying your dad. This is wrong. It’s sick! Don't touch me!"

Dimitri chuckled, a dark, dry sound that sent chills down my spine. He grabbed my neck, his thumb resting right under my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. He was not choking me, but his hand on my neck was enough to let me know I should talk wisely. It was his way of saying I own you.

"You don't tell me what to do," he rasped. "And let’s get one thing straight, piccolo. We aren't related. I’m not your brother, and you sure as hell aren't my sister. I know exactly how many kids my father has, and you aren't one of them."

He leaned closer, his nose brushing mine.

"So don't you ever f*****g call me your sibling again," he growled. "I know what you taste like. I know how you feel. A brother doesn't know those things."

I was shaking so hard I thought I might fall over. "Dimitri, please..."

"Know who is in control here," he said, giving my neck a firm, final squeeze before letting go.

He stepped back, adjusted his suit jacket like nothing had happened, and walked away without a second glance.

I stood there for a long minute, gasping for air. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I felt sick. I felt used. But mostly, I felt terrified because a part of me—the part I hated—wanted him to come back.

I walked back to the table, my legs feeling like jelly. I grabbed my bag before I even sat down.

"Mom, I’m so sorry, but I really have to go," I said, not looking at anyone. "I forgot I had a client meeting at the gallery. I have to go now."

"Amelia? Now?" my mom asked, looking confused. "Arthur was just about to tell us about the engagement party."

"I really have to go," I insisted. "I’ll call you later. It was nice meeting you, Arthur."

I turned to leave, and that’s when I saw Ivan. He was leaning back in his chair, watching the whole scene with a creepy, amused smile. He raised a hand and gave me a slow, mocking wave.

I didn't wave back. I just turned and fled the restaurant, praying that the New York City crowds would swallow me whole.