Married to My Twin’s Husband

Chapter 3: The First Morning Slip-Up

The morning sun pierced through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the master bedroom, waking me up from a restless, nightmare filled sleep. For a terrifying second, I forgot where I was. Then, my eyes caught the sprawling luxury of the charcoal toned room, and the heavy diamond band on my left ring finger caught the light.

Reality crashed over me.

I was in Julian Vance’s fortress, masquerading as my twin sister.

I hurriedly dressed in a simple cream colored silk blouse and a pleated skirt from Vivian's expansive walk in closet. Taking a deep breath to steady my racing pulse, I made my way downstairs to the dining room.

Julian was already there.

He sat at the head of the long mahogany table, looking impeccably handsome in a crisp gray suit. He was reading a physical newspaper while sipping from a cup of coffee. The sheer authority he radiated just by sitting there made the large room feel small.

"Good morning," I murmured softly, taking a seat two chairs away from him.

Julian didn't look up from his paper, but his jaw clenched slightly. "You're late again, Vivian. And since when do you greet the air so politely?"

Before I could answer, a young maid walked in, visibly trembling as she placed a cup of black espresso in front of me. I looked at the dark, bitter liquid, and my stomach churned. I couldn't drink black coffee; it gave me terrible migraines. Back home, I always started my day with sweet, milky chamomile tea.

Without thinking, I pushed the espresso back gently and smiled at the maid. "

Thank you, but could I actually have a cup of hot chamomile tea with a splash of milk instead? I'm sorry for the extra trouble."

The dining room went dead silent.

The maid’s eyes widened in sheer shock. She looked at me as if I had just spoken in an alien language. My father's warnings echoed in my head: Vivian is high maintenance. She never says thank you or sorry to the staff.

She treats them like ghosts.

"C-Chamomile tea, ma'am?" the maid stammered, casting a terrified glance toward Julian. "But you... you always throw a fit if your espresso isn't exactly two shots at 6:00 AM..."

My blood ran cold. I had slipped up.

Suddenly, the rustle of the newspaper stopped. Julian slowly lowered the pages, his dark, calculating eyes locking onto me. The air in the room instantly turned freezing. He signaled the maid with a slight tilt of his chin, and she practically scrambled out of the room, leaving us completely alone.

"Chamomile tea?"

Julian repeated, his voice low, smooth, and laced with deep suspicion. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he stared at me. "Since when do you care about causing 'extra trouble' for the staff? Last week, you demanded I fire a chef just because he used the wrong type of truffle oil."

I gripped the silk fabric of my skirt underneath the table, my nails digging into my palms to stop my hands from shaking. I had to fix this. Now.

I forced a haughty, defensive scoff, trying to channel my sister's arrogant demeanor. "People change their minds, Julian. My stomach has been upset since the wedding. Am I not allowed to want tea without being interrogated by my own husband?"

Julian didn't blink. He kept his piercing gaze fixed on my face, analyzing every micro-expression. He rose from his chair, his tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow over me as he walked toward my side of the table. He stopped right behind me, leaning down just enough so I could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

"You can drink whatever you want,"

Julian murmured near my ear, his deep voice sending a familiar, terrifying thrill down my spine. "But you're playing a strange game, Vivian. First, your hands are freezing and shaking at the altar. Then, you wash off your makeup and look at me with eyes full of fear. And now, you're apologizing to the maids."

He reached out, his long fingers gently lifting a strand of my hair, twirling it idly.

The proximity was suffocating. I could smell his expensive cologne woodsmoke and mint.

"It's almost as if..." Julian paused, his grip on my hair tightening just enough to make me tilt my head up to look at him. His pitch black eyes bore into mine, searching for the truth. "...as if the woman sitting in front of me isn't the vain, shallow socialite I signed a contract with."

My breath hitched. My heart hammered so loudly against my ribs I was certain he could hear it. He knows. Oh God, he's figuring it out.

"You're being paranoid," I managed to whisper, forcing my eyes to look angry instead of terrified.

Julian stared at my lips for a fraction of a second before letting go of my hair. He straightened up, pulling a black invitation card from his suit pocket and dropping it onto the table in front of me.

"We are attending the High-Society Charity Gala tonight," Julian said coldly, turning back into the ruthless businessman. "

The elite families, the media, and your old friends will all be there. Wear something expensive. And stop this bizarre act, Vivian. If you embarrass the Vance name tonight, our contract is void, and your family's funding ends tomorrow."

He turned and walked out of the dining room without another word.

I sank back into my chair, trembling violently, staring at the black invitation. A room full of Vivian’s closest high-society friends. People who knew her laugh, her secrets, and her walk. Tonight, my cover wouldn't just be tested it was going to be completely dismantled.