Claimed by his twin

Soft piano notes floated through the cathedral, delicate as a fading dream. Guests turned, phones raised, their gasps filling the hall. At the aisle's end stood Nora Davis, radiant in white, rose petals cascading down her gown. Her smile trembled, her heart hammering like a warm drum. This was her day. Her escape. Her second chance. Yet a knot of unease twisted in her gut, sharp and relentless. She gripped Lia's hand, her twelve-year-old sister firmly. "You’ve got this," Lia whispered, eyes glowing with pride. Nora blinked back tears. She wasn't supposed to be here, not after the stage, the stares, the nights as Cherry. Not even after killing him. But Derrick waited at the altar, his smile warm and steady. Her clean slate. Her new beginning. Today marked the beginning of a new chapter. Each step down the aisle felt like a vow. I'm not that girl anymore, she said inwardly. Aria, her best friend, called out from the pews, "You’re stunning, girl!" Nora’s cheeks warmed, a soft laugh escaping her. Even after moving to another city, Aria had been her anchor. If no other person would take a bullet for her, she believed Aria would. Derrick’s eyes locked on hers, bright with love. No poles, no dead-eyed men, no bloody scenarios just peace. Lia winked, handed over the bouquet, and slid into the front pew, legs swinging like pendulums. The priest’s voice was gentle. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” Nora barely heard him. The lights blurred, her breath shallow. Her fingers trembled in Derrick’s laced grip. Happiness hovered just out of reach, a mirage she couldn’t quite grasp. Derrick glanced her way, concern flickering across his face. She forced a smile—fragile, but real. This was it. Her new life. The priest turned to him. “Do you, Derrick Martins, take Nora Davis to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” “I do,” Derrick said, voice steady as stone. Sighs swept through the crowd. Cameras clicked. Lia’s grin lit up the pew like fireworks. Then the priest faced Nora. “And do you, Nora Davis, take Derrick Martins to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?” Her lips parted, the word rising like a tide. “I—” BOOM! The chapel doors slammed open, the sound a gunshot shattering the silence. Gasps erupted. Guests lurched to their feet, phones shaking in white-knuckled hands. Framed in the doorway was Lorenzo Alexander, known as EL DIABLO (the Devil) in the underground world. A black suit clung to him like sin, cigar smoke curling with the scent of danger. He didn’t walk the aisle he claimed it. Slow. Deliberate and Deadly. Nora’s breath snagged in her throat. Her heart thundered. He was gone. Confusion was written all over her face, he lips parted slowly without no word coming out. she was so damn sure that he died in her presence. She personally killed him that night. How come he was still alive? “This can’t be possible,” she muttered, taking a step back fearfully. Derrick tensed beside her, voice a low rasp. “Who the hell is that?” Lorenzo’s eyes walked up to Nora, unblinking, carving through her soul. “You look good, Nora.” His voice was velvet over steel, a faint Spanish lilt curling the edges. “Sorry I’m late.” Her insides twisted into knots. A memory flashed -his hands on her leg, blood gushing out of his mouth and chest, his eyes wide with disbelief. Before he died, he told her, if there was a next life, he would come personally to kill her. And now he was really here. Nora’s eyes filled with fear. Was this how she was going to die? she asked herself. Lorenzo stepped closer, owning every inch. “You’re mine, Nora.” “I was never yours,” she said, her voice shivering with fear, cracking as tears burned her eyes. He smirked, lips curving cold and cruel. “In other words, you’re telling me you don’t miss the nights you screamed my name in bed?” he asked calmly, as if it were just the two of them there. Whispers exploded through the pews. “Did he just—?” “My God, is that her ex?” “This is insane, someone call security!” Derrick’s face hardened, betrayal etching his jaw like a blade. He turned to Nora, searching for denial. She couldn’t meet his gaze. All he could see was guilt. She couldn’t deny what this man was saying. Lia bolted upright, bouquet trembling in her fists, eyes wide with fury and fear. Lorenzo’s gaze shifted to Derrick, like a predator sizing up fresh meat. He reached into his jacket, drawing a sleek black pistol with casual grace. The congregation screamed. Pews scraped as guests scrambled, half bolting for the side doors, the rest frozen, filming the nightmare unfold. “You may kiss the bride,” Lorenzo drawled, gun leveled lazily at Derrick’s chest. “Or step aside… before I paint this altar red.” Nora’s knees buckled, the world tilting into vertigo. Derrick’s hand clamped her arm, his grip iron laced with terror. Lorenzo’s smile widened, dark and possessive, like he’d already won. “Choose between him or me,” he said, pointing the gun at Lia and over at Derrick, “or you make the little girl and him pay for your silly mistake.”