MY EX'S SECRET TWINS

HOUSE RULES

CHAPTER 3: THE RULES OF THE HOUSE

Elena Rossi stood in the marble foyer of the Moretti mansion clutching two diaper bags and staring at the man who had ruined her life three years ago.

Alessandro Moretti didn't look like a man who remembered her. He looked like a billionaire who had just bought a problem and was already regretting the paperwork.

The mansion was silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the tiny breathing of her twins in their carriers. Leo and Luca, three years old, both asleep after the long car ride from her tiny apartment in Queens to this palace in the Hamptons.

"This arrangement is simple," Alessandro said, his voice cold as the marble floor beneath her worn sneakers. "You will live in the East Wing. My housekeeper, Mrs. Conti, will help you with the children. You will have everything you need. Food, clothing, a car, education funds."

"They have names," Elena whispered, her throat dry. "Leo and Luca."

Alessandro's jaw tightened. He looked down at the twin babies. Identical, dark hair, olive skin. And when they opened their eyes, they had his eyes. Storm-grey, intense. The same eyes that had looked at her that night in the bar three years ago when she was just a broke waitress trying to pay her mother's hospital bill, and he was a drunk billionaire trying to forget his engagement that had just fallen apart.

For a second, something flickered in his dark eyes. Something like pain. Like recognition. Then it was gone, replaced by ice.

"Rule one," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "No one outside this house knows you are here as anything other than my employee's children. My family, my board, the press - no one. Do you understand what would happen if the media found out Alessandro Moretti has secret twin heirs with a waitress? They would destroy you."

Elena felt her stomach drop. "You want me to lie?"

"I want you to survive. My mother would kill to know I have heirs born from a one-night stand. My enemies would use you. My world is not kind, Elena. You think your life was hard before? It would become a nightmare."

She understood. She had been hiding them for three years for exactly that reason. She had seen what his world did to people on the gossip blogs.

"Rule two. You do not enter my bedroom, my office, or the West Wing without permission. I have meetings. I have a life. You will stay in your designated areas."

"Fine. I don't want to be near you anyway."

"Rule three." He stepped closer, and she could smell his cologne - the same expensive, woody scent from that night. Creed Aventus. She had never forgotten it because she had buried her face in his neck that night. Her knees almost gave way. "You do not develop feelings for me, Miss Rossi. This is a contract. I provide security, a home, education for your... for the children. You provide a stable environment and stay out of my personal life. We had one night. It was a mistake. It was alcohol and grief and loneliness. It will not happen again."

Elena's face burned with shame and anger. Who did he think he was? That she would just fall at his feet because he was rich and handsome and had a mansion?

"Don't worry, Mr. Moretti," she snapped, finding her voice after three years of silence. "I spent three years working double shifts at the diner, carrying trays with a swollen belly, then carrying two babies while my feet bled, to avoid ever seeing you again. I sold my mother's jewelry to pay for diapers. The last thing I want is to fall for a man who doesn't even remember the night he created his own children and then left me with a fake phone number."

That hit him. Hard. His eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I remember everything, Elena," he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. "I remember the red dress. I remember you told me you were working two jobs. I remember you said you never believed in fairy tales. I remember you left before morning. You left a note that said 'thank you' and a phone number that didn't exist. I called it for a week."

The air between them became heavy, electric. The same tension from that night was back, but now there were two babies between them.

"You left," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "I woke up and you were on a phone call, saying 'I can't do this engagement anymore.' I knew I was just a distraction. So I left."

"I was talking about my business engagement. Not you. I came out of the bathroom and you were gone. Like a ghost."

Leo started to fuss, his little face scrunching up. He was hungry. Before Elena could bend down, Alessandro spoke.

"He's hungry," he said.

Elena blinked, shocked. "How did you -"

"His bottom lip. He's chewing it. He's doing the same thing Luca did in the car when you gave him crackers."

He knew their names. He had noticed the difference between identical twins in less than ten minutes. Something her own mother sometimes got wrong.

Mrs. Conti, an older Italian woman with kind eyes, appeared and gently took the carriers. "Come, dear. Let me show you the nursery. Mr. Moretti had it prepared last night. He didn't sleep."

Elena followed, grateful to escape his gaze.

The East Wing was not a wing. It was a palace inside a palace. A huge bedroom with a king-sized bed, a walk-in closet already filled with clothes for her - not cheap clothes, designer dresses, jeans, shoes in her exact size - and clothes for the boys, toys, books, a bathroom bigger than her entire old apartment.

And the nursery. Two cribs made of solid white wood, both costing more than three months of her rent. Walls painted a soft, stormy blue-grey. A mural of the sea.

"He did all this in 24 hours?" she asked, touching the crib.

Mrs. Conti smiled sadly. "Mr. Moretti does not do things by half. When he decided to bring you here yesterday, he called five designers in New York City. He fired three of them. He was... very specific about the shade of blue. He kept saying, 'No, like the sea before a storm. Like her eyes.' He said it was your eye color, dear."

Elena's heart stopped. That night at the bar, under the dim lights, he had held her face and said her eyes were like the sea before a storm. She thought he had been drunk, saying lines.

She spent the day unpacking, feeding the twins, trying to breathe in a house where every corner smelled like him.

Later that night, after the twins were finally asleep after baths and stories, Elena crept to the kitchen for water. She wore an old oversized t-shirt that said "Queens Diner" - her old uniform - her hair in a messy bun, no makeup, her feet bare. The real Elena, not the woman trying to be brave in front of a billionaire.

Alessandro was there, in a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms, drinking water, looking out at the dark ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He looked tired. Human.

He froze when he saw her. His eyes traveled from her bare feet, up her long legs, to her face. He swallowed.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, but his voice was not cold anymore. It was rough.

"I live here now. Remember? Your rules? I was thirsty."

He walked towards her, slowly, like he was afraid she would run. Elena backed up until her back hit the cold stainless steel fridge. He was so close she could see the small scar on his chin, the one she had kissed that night.

"You think this is easy for me?" he whispered, his breath warm on her forehead. He placed his hands on the fridge on either side of her head, caging her in, but not touching her. "You come into my house after three years with two children who have my eyes, my blood, my temper - Leo throws his spoon just like I did as a child, my mother told me - and you expect me to feel nothing? You expect me to follow my own rules?"

"I expect you to feel nothing," she whispered back, her heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. "That was Rule Three, Mr. Moretti. Your rule."

"Alessandro," he said. "When we are alone, say my name. I hate Mr. Moretti from your mouth."

"Alessandro," she breathed.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

For a second, she thought he would kiss her. She thought she wanted him to. Three years of anger and longing and loneliness crashing together.

He laughed then, a low, pained sound, and dropped his hands. He stepped back as if burned.

"Go to bed, Elena."

She ran. She ran back to her wing, to her room, to her sleeping sons who were safe. She locked the door and slid down it, crying silently.

She had survived being broke. She had survived being a single mother of twins. She had survived hiding.

She was not sure she would survive living with him and not falling in love.

Back in the kitchen, Alessandro stood alone, his hands gripping the marble counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

He pulled out his phone and looked at the photo Mrs. Conti had secretly sent him that afternoon: Elena asleep on the nursery floor, Leo curled on her chest, Luca holding her hand.

His family. In his house.

He opened his contacts and typed a new name: Elena Rossi - East Wing. And he added two more contacts under it: Leo Moretti and Luca Moretti.

Then he typed a text: "The boys have a doctor appointment tomorrow at 9am. I will drive you. We will tell the doctor we are their parents. - A"

He pressed send before he could stop himself.

Upstairs, Elena's phone buzzed on the nightstand, lighting up her face in the dark.

Rule Three was going to be impossible to keep.