Claimed by his twin

He felt different

Lorenzo didn’t move toward her.

Instead, he turned and walked to one of the velvet booths facing the stage. He lowered himself into the wide leather chair with deliberate slowness, crossing one leg over the other, like a king claiming his throne for a private show he’d already bought and paid for.

The stage lights brightened just enough to bathe the pole in a deep, crimson glow.

He rested an elbow on the armrest, fingers lifting lazily.

Then he pointed.

Directly at the stage.

At the pole.

At the place that tore open every old wound she had desperately tried to bury.

Nora’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped animal.

“No,” she whispered, the word barely audible.

But her refusal to move spoke louder than any shout.

He clapped once.

The music cut off instantly. A suffocating silence crashed over the empty club.

Lorenzo slipped a hand into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and dialed. When the call connected, he switched it to speaker without hesitation.

“Hello, boss,” a voice answered from the other end.

“Terminate the little girl,” Lorenzo said, his tone flat and cold as a blade. “On my command.”

The world spun.

Nora’s knees gave out. She collapsed hard, the impact jarring through her bones.

*Little girl.*

Lia.

The words exploded inside her skull.

She crawled toward him, palms scraping the polished floor, hot tears finally spilling down her cheeks.

“Please,” she choked, reaching out desperately. “Please, Lorenzo… don’t hurt her.”

Her voice broke completely.

“She’s innocent. She has nothing to do with this.”

Lorenzo watched her from his seat, his face carved from stone, no anger, nor satisfaction, only calm, detached observation.

He rose slowly and stepped closer, stopping just out of reach. He looked down at her as if she were something small, insignificant, and mildly inconvenient.

“Innocent?” he repeated softly, the word dripping with mockery.

Then he crouched, bringing his eyes level with hers for the first time since they’d entered the club. His gaze sliced straight through her, sharp and merciless.

“You weren’t innocent when you put a bullet in me,” he said quietly. “So she pays for your crime… unless you obey.”

Nora shook her head frantically, sobs ripping from her throat. “Please. Don’t let them hurt her.”

“That’s enough,” he cut in, voice like cracking ice.

He stood, turning away, lifting the phone once more.

“Stand up,” he ordered. “Now.”

She didn’t move. Her fists clenched against the cold floor.

“If you want to punish someone,” she cried, “punish me. Not her.”

Lorenzo exhaled—a slow, irritated sound.

He raised the phone to his ear.

“Five seconds,” he told the man on the line. “If she’s not on that stage—”

“Stop!” Nora screamed.

She scrambled to her feet, legs trembling so violently she nearly fell again. Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled toward the stage, humiliation burning through her veins like acid.

“Please,” she whispered, broken. “I’m going.”

The instant her foot touched the first step, Lorenzo spoke again.

“Hold.”

She froze, shaking uncontrollably.

He lowered the phone slightly, eyes locked on her.

“Center stage,” he commanded.

Nora climbed the steps and stopped exactly where he indicated, the red lights bathing her in a blood-colored glow.

He tilted his head, scanning her slowly, from her tear-streaked face down the revealing dress clinging to her body.

“Can you dance in that?” he asked, voice low and almost conversational.

A glint of dark amusement flickered in his eyes.

“I can,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Strip,” he said suddenly.

“You mean… take off my clothes?” Nora asked, blood turning to ice in her veins.

*He hasn’t changed at all,* she thought bitterly. *For a moment on the way back to Maford, I was foolish enough to think something in him had softened. But once a devil, always a devil.*

“Yes. Take off your clothes,” he said coldly. “You’re a stripper. You should know better.”

“I’m not a stripper anymore,” she shot back, voice trembling. “That was two years ago.”

“Okay. I understand,” Lorenzo replied in his usual flat tone, now edged with annoyance. He pulled out his phone again. “Then I suppose we’re finished here. Time to end her.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t strip,” Nora said quickly, embarrassment flooding her cheeks.

Fresh tears welled up, but she blinked them away. *Lia.* She had to remember Lia.

With shaking hands, she reached for the thin straps of her dress and slid them down her shoulders. The fabric whispered over her skin, exposing the black lace of her bra. Cool air kissed her arms, her smooth chest, her stomach, raising goosebumps everywhere.

She let the dress fall, pooling at her feet.

Now she stood in only her black lace bra and matching panties. The bra barely contained her breasts, leaving the soft upper curves exposed; the panties covered just her most intimate area, leaving little to the imagination.

Silence stretched between them.

Nora glanced at him. Lorenzo was staring intensely, almost transfixed, his eyes tracing every inch of her body as if it were the first time he’d ever seen a woman bare. There was something strangely innocent in that gaze, something completely unlike the man she remembered.

Unnerved, she cleared her throat softly, snapping him out of it.

“I’ve done as you commanded,” she said quietly.

“Oh,” he murmured, almost to himself.

He clapped twice. A slow, sensual beat filled the background.

Nora began to dance. She swayed her hips, grinding against the pole, moving with the seductive grace she’d once performed just for him.

His eyes tracked her every motion. She saw the unmistakable bulge growing in his trousers, arousal tightening his features.

Then she danced toward him.

He frowned slightly, curious and wary about what she planned.

She reached his chair, straddled his lap, and gave him a slow, intimate lap dance—hips rolling, body brushing against his in deliberate tease. After a moment, she stood again.

Lorenzo looked confused, yet the heat in his eyes said he wanted to tear into her.

Suddenly, she bent down, fingers moving toward his zipper.

He caught her wrists instantly. “What are you doing?” he asked, genuine confusion in his voice.

“This is what you always made me do,” Nora said, meeting his gaze. “After I danced for you… this was always next.”

“Okay,” he replied, his voice already rough. His body reacted instantly to her touch.

She unzipped his trousers and freed him from his boxers.

Lorenzo groaned softly, his dark blue eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Nora noticed that he felt slightly thicker, longer than she remembered, but she pushed the thought aside and took him into her mouth.

“Ah…” he moaned, low and raw. Nora’s mouth moved over him, slow and deliberate, drawing out every sensation with the skill her body still remembered, even as her mind screamed in protest.

Lorenzo couldn’t hold back the low, ragged moan that tore from his throat. His head tipped back against the leather chair, dark blue eyes half-lidded, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

He had come here to break her. To make her relive the humiliation, to punish her for what she’d done to his brother. But the moment her lips closed around him, hot and soft and devastating, something inside him fractured.

Her tongue traced the underside of his length, teasing the sensitive spot just below the head, and his hips jerked involuntarily. A hiss escaped him. His fingers threaded into her hair, not yanking or forcing, like the Lorenzo she knew would have done, but simply holding, trembling slightly as if he didn’t trust himself to do more.

Nora felt it again—the difference.

Lorenzo had always been brutal in his pleasure. He’d grip her hair hard enough to hurt, thrust deep into her throat without mercy, growl filthy commands until she choked on him.

But this man… his touch was almost careful. His groans were raw, unguarded, like he’d never felt anything like this before. His body tensed and shuddered under her, but he didn’t take control. He let her set the pace, even as his c**k pulsed thick and heavy against her tongue.

She pulled back slowly, lips dragging along his length, and risked another glance up.

His eyes were locked on hers, wide, dark and overwhelmed. Not cold, neither was it cruel.

Hungry. Lost and almost… reverent.

The sight sent a jolt through her confusion tangled with the heat pooling low in her belly despite herself.

She took him deeper again, relaxing her throat, swallowing around him until her lips met the base.

“Fuc*k—” The curse broke from him, hoarse and desperate. His free hand clawed at the armrest, knuckles white.

He was close. She could feel it in the way he swelled against her tongue, in the tremor running through his thighs.

But then ,suddenly his fingers tightened in her hair, not to push her down, but to gently, firmly pull her up and off him.

“Stop,” he rasped, his voice strained to the breaking point.

Nora pulled back, breathless, lips slick and swollen. A thin strand of saliva lingered between her mouth and the glistening tip of his. She stared up, confused, chest heaving.

He was shaking.

Actually shaking.

His co*k stood rigid and aching in the crimson light, a bead of pre-c*m glistening at the head. His face was flushed, His jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. His eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—were wild, conflicted, like a man fighting a war inside himself.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t command her to continue. Didn’t grab her and finish in her mouth like the old Lorenzo would have done without a second thought.

Instead, he released her hair completely.

His hands moved shaky, almost clumsy as he tucked himself back into his trousers and zipped up with a sharp, frustrated sound.

Then he stood abruptly, towering over her where she knelt, nearly naked and trembling on the stage.

For a long, charged moment, he just looked at her.

Really looked.

His gaze swept over her tear-stained face, her exposed skin, the goosebumps still rising on her arms. Something raw and unreadable flickered across his expression, anger, desire, guilt, all twisted together.

Without a single word, he turned sharply and strode toward the private exit at the back of the club.

His steps were fast, stiff—like he was fleeing something he couldn’t control.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Nora remained on her knees, her heart thundering, body still humming with unwanted heat and shock.

The music had stopped. The club was silent again.

He hadn’t finished.

H

e hadn’t hurt her.

He’d… run.

That wasn’t Lorenzo.

Not the devil she’d known.

And for the first time since he’d stormed back into her life and dragged her from her wedding, a cold, terrifying suspicion took root deep inside her.