My Husband Twins Brother Claimed Me

The Threat

Zayn’s G-Wagon tore through Port Harcourt traffic. My phone buzzed again in my lap.

“You have 1 hour. Come to the old jetty alone. Or your father bleeds. – K”_

I hid the screen from Zayn. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His jaw was locked. He hadn’t said one word since we left the mansion.

“Zayn,” I whispered.

He didn’t look at me. “You’re safe now.”

“Am I?” I touched my stomach. “Your brother just threatened to kill my father. Because of me. Because of these babies.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror. Dark. Dangerous. The same eyes from that night.

“What babies?” His voice was low.

I pulled the test stick from my pocket. Two pink lines. I held it up.

Zayn slammed the brakes. Horns blared behind us. He swerved into a side street and parked under a dead streetlight.

He snatched the test from my hand. Stared at it. For a long time.

“Twins,” he said. Not a question.

“My wedding night,” I said. My voice broke. “You were drunk. You called me Lila. I thought... I thought Kaine had a nickname for me.”

Zayn closed his eyes. His head fell back against the seat. “I went to that wedding to stop it. Dad said Kaine was marrying some girl from Diobu to spite me. I got drunk. I saw you in the bridal room. You had Lila’s eyes.”

“Who is Lila?”

His eyes opened. Pain flashed there. “The woman Kaine killed five years ago.”

My blood went cold. “What?”

“Lila was mine. Kaine wanted her. When she chose me, he...” Zayn stopped. He looked away. “He made sure she disappeared. Dad covered it up. Sent me to Lagos. Said if I came back to Port Harcourt, he’d finish what Kaine started.”

“So you stayed away.”

“Until I heard Kaine was marrying a girl who looked like her.” He turned to me. Really looked at me. “You don’t just look like her, Amaka. You _are_ her. Same smile. Same scar on your left eyebrow.”

I touched my eyebrow. Small scar from falling off a bike at age 10.

“I’m not her,” I said. “And these babies are mine. Not hers.”

“They’re mine too.” Zayn’s hand covered mine on my stomach. His palm was hot. “And no brother of mine is touching what’s mine again.”

My phone buzzed.

“30 minutes. Jetty. Alone. Or I send you his finger. – K”_

I gasped. Zayn grabbed my phone. Read the text.

The car went silent. Then Zayn laughed. It was not a happy sound.

“He wants war,” Zayn said. “Fine.”

He started the car. But he didn’t drive toward Lagos. He turned toward the waterfront.

“Zayn, no! He’ll kill my dad!”

“He won’t.” Zayn’s voice was ice. “Because I’m going to kill him first.”

The old jetty smelled of fish and diesel. It was midnight. No lights.

Zayn parked and killed the engine. He reached under his seat and pulled out a black gun.

I froze. “You can’t—”

“I can.” He checked the clip. “Stay in the car. Lock the doors. If I’m not back in 10 minutes, drive to Lagos. Address is in the glove box. My men will protect you.”

“Zayn!”

He was already out. He leaned back in. His eyes were hard. “You’re carrying my children, Amaka. That makes you mine. And I don’t lose what’s mine twice.”

He shut the door and disappeared into the dark.

I counted seconds. 1… 2… 3…

A gunshot cracked through the night.

Then another.

I screamed. My hands fumbled with the door lock.

The driver’s door ripped open.

Kaine stood there. Blood on his shirt. Not his. He held Zayn’s gun.

“Hello, wife,” Kaine smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Your boyfriend bleeds fast.