Falling For My Sister's Killer

Salsa I woke up on a king-sized bed with slow classical music playing in the background. My hands roamed over the sheets. It was soft and smooth like silk. Yet it was strange and unfamiliar. The sun rays peeked through blinds I've never seen before, flooding the room with a golden glow. I groaned, turning over to shield my eyes from the blinding rays. Attempting to sit up straight to get a good picture of where I was, a sharp pain hit my forehead, forcing my head back into the pillow, right after catching glimpses of the foreign environment. “How did I get here?” I muttered, panic rising in my chest. My face morphed into a visage of perplexity. Making another effort to get up, I flung off the duvet that was draped over my body, revealing an oversized white t-shirt I had on. This wasn't mine. Just then, I spotted the black designer corset dress I wore to Sam's funeral yesterday. It was lying crumpled on the floor. It's been two weeks since she died in that accident that was supposed to claim both our lives. Two weeks of sheer emptiness. Two weeks of seeing her in my dreams as she ran in our vineyard, her long black hair flowing freely in the wind. A tear slipped at the thought of her, my heart wrenching as memories of her swirled within me. I swiped it away before it could fall. I walked on wobbly legs to pick up my dress and get the hell out of here, since I seemingly can’t recall the events that led to this moment. The moment my hands met the fabric, the bathroom door swung open. My heart stopped, then began hammering in my chest as a tall man stepped out. He was broad-shouldered. He moved like a predator who had already decided whether to kill or keep his prey. A white towel wrapped around his hips, making the V-line along his torso more prominent. “Who in Zeus's name is this?” I whispered. His black hair was disheveled, and water dripped off it. His abs were perfectly crafted, having a lustrous bronze sheen as the sunrays hit them. His walking posture could make Sean O’Pry look like a joke on the runway. He didn’t acknowledge my presence. Just toweled his hair like he owned everything he touched, including me. When his ocean blue eyes finally met mine, air left my lungs, leaving me breathless. “Done staring?” His voice was a deep baritone, sending a tingle down my spine. That voice… It had a familiar edge to it, almost like that of the man my father stood in a quiet conversation with during my sister's funeral. My father? “Oh! shit.” I whispered. Memories from last night crashed down on me like a violent wave. I recalled storming out of the house after the heated argument with my dad. A family like mine operated on traditions passed down from generations. One of them includes the union between the first daughters of the Malcolms and the Alexanders. Samantha was the first daughter, though I was born just five minutes after her, but now she is dead. To maintain the alliance, my father asked that I assume her identity and become the substitute bride. Of course, I hated the idea. More than that? I hated my father and his line of work. The fact that he turned Sam’s funeral into a business parade set my nerves on fire, so I left. Drove to that bar. After three shots of tequila, I beckoned to the waitress to leave the bottle and…… The remaining details blanked out. “Where the f**k am I?” I spat, blood boiling in my veins as I rose to my full height. “My hotel room," he answered in a cold tone. Didn’t even spare me a glance as he said it. “I had my men follow you when you left the compound. I had an inkling you were about to do something stupid. Even more so? You confirmed what I already suspected.” My mouth dried up like a desert. “Suspected? What do you mean?” My throat constricted when he turned to me. What mess have I gotten myself into? Could a mere stranger tell? That I’m not Sam? No. I doubt it. My mind is just messing with me. No one knew us well enough to be able to differentiate us. If my father couldn’t most of the time, then no one can. The shirt I wore suddenly felt transparent under his gaze. I dragged it down, covering more of my thighs, and he smiled. Not with warmth. With the satisfaction of a chess player who had just moved his queen into position. The hairs on my neck rose at the intimidation this man’s aura carried. “My shirt has never looked this good on anyone before,” he pointed out, avoiding my question, while his eyes slowly tracked every inch of my body. His shirt? With the way this man looked at me, different thoughts swamped my head. What really happened in this hotel room last night? I hope I didn't make the same mistake I made five years ago that left me with a secret I have managed to hide from the whole world. What's worse is that I am supposed to be married in two months. If word gets out that I was caught having a one-night stand with a stranger in a hotel, the Alexanders will kill us before I even get a chance to marry into their family and execute my revenge plans. As annoyed as I was with the idea of being a substitute bride, a week ago, I agreed to my father’s request after his private investigator told us that the hit-and-run accident was planned. Staged. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one sick to the stomach at the idea of this union. Someone in the Alexanders had ideas. Ideas that ended up claiming my twin's life and almost claimed mine! Silence hung above our heads, and the air between us thickened with unspoken tension. I could catch him occasionally stealing glances at me from across the room, where he stood close to the dresser, dressing up. At one point, he just fixated his gaze and kept glaring at me with a smoldering look in his eyes. Uncomfortable, I crossed my two arms in front of my thighs. A chuckle formed at the corner of his lips. I mustered up courage and questioned him further. “Did we…uhm..” I couldn't complete my sentence. It was heavy on my tongue. “s*x?” The word rolled off his tongue like honey. "Is that what you're asking?" His velvety voice made something deep in my stomach tighten. “Yes.” I forced the word out. “Why? Does that matter?” his nose flared slightly. “Not like it would be your first time.” Is he always so arrogant? “Just answer the damn question.” I blurted out, rolling my eyes at him. “No.” He frowned. A sigh of relief escaped my lips at his response. I was about to make a run for the bathroom when his voice froze me in my tracks. “You are expected to conduct yourself properly when outside.” He spoke with a deadly calm, “Our families wouldn't want to have a scandal before the wedding.” Our? Families? My brows arched in confusion. “... as my wife-to-be. I expect better,” he added. Wife-to-be. Our families. The familiar voice. The pieces clicked into place with a sickening clarity. The air shifted. Fuck me. This was him. My ticket into the Alexanders' family. The heir to the Xander's Group of multi-million-dollar businesses. The shadow king of a mafia empire that made my father's money laundering business look like selling lemonade. Damien Alexander. My f*****g nemesis.