Helena's heart thundered in her chest as Matthew guided her down the hallway, his hand firmly gripping her arm. The tension was suffocating, and she couldn't shake the lingering sensation of Ethan's smirk. It was like a ghostly hand reaching out to pull her back to that night—a night she had tried so desperately to bury.
When they reached the suite door, Matthew fumbled with the keycard, muttering a low curse under his breath. His movements were sharper now, his calm façade cracking just slightly.
Helena's gaze darted down the hallway, half expecting to see Ethan still standing there, watching them. But the corridor was empty, save for the flickering golden light of the ornate sconces. Her stomach churned. Ethan's presence wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be.
The door clicked open, and Matthew stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. "After you," he said, his voice clipped.
Helena hesitated for a heartbeat before stepping into the room. It was breathtakingly luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city skyline. A massive bed draped in white linens dominated the center of the room, its headboard adorned with delicate gold accents. Rose petals were scattered across the bed and floor, their fragrance mingling with the faint scent of champagne from a chilled bottle on the table.
But the beauty of the suite only made Helena feel more trapped.
Matthew shut the door behind them, locking it with a soft click. The sound sent a ripple of unease down her spine.
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "You've been quiet," he said, his tone low.
Helena forced a small smile, her nerves fraying at the edges. "Just… taking it all in," she replied, her voice shaky.
Matthew studied her for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to her surprise, he stepped closer, cupping her cheek gently. His touch sent a jolt through her—not of warmth, but of suffocating pressure.
"You don't have to be nervous," he said softly, his thumb brushing against her skin. "It's just us now."
Her stomach twisted painfully. Just us? No, it wasn't just them. Ethan's presence loomed like a shadow, and the secret she carried burned inside her like a brand.
Helena took a step back, breaking his touch. "I… I need to freshen up," she said quickly, her voice almost trembling.
Matthew raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Sure," he said, his tone calm, though his eyes glinted with something unreadable.
Helena moved toward the bathroom, her heart racing fast. As soon as the door closed behind her, she leaned against it, gripping the edge of the sink to steady herself. Her reflection in the mirror stared back, pale and wide-eyed.
She tried to regulate her breathing, but her mind wouldn't stop replaying the scene in the hallway. Ethan's smirk, his words, the way he had looked at her—he knew. He definitely knew.
And now he was here.
But why?
Helena splashed cold water on her face, trying to snap herself out of her spiraling thoughts. She couldn't afford to break now, not with Matthew waiting outside.
After a few moments, she composed herself as best she could and stepped back into the room. Matthew was sitting on the edge of the bed, his tie loosened, his jacket draped over the back of a chair. He looked up as she entered, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made her skin crawl.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice soft but probing.
Helena nodded quickly. "Yes, just needed a moment."
Matthew stood, walking over to her with a calculated grace that made her feel like prey. He stopped just a breath away, his fingers brushing her arm.
"You don't have to be so tense," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Tonight is supposed to be special."
Her chest tightened, and she forced a smile, her mind scrambling for an escape. "Maybe we should have some champagne first," she blurted out, gesturing toward the bottle on the table.
Matthew's lips curved into a small smile, but his eyes remained sharp. "Sure," he said, stepping back.
As he moved to pour the champagne, Helena's mind raced. She needed to figure out what Ethan was doing here. Was this some twisted plan of his? Did he want something from her—or worse, did he want to expose her?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Matthew handing her a glass. She took it with trembling fingers, trying to mask her unease.
"To us," Matthew said, raising his glass.
Helena echoed his words softly, clinking her glass against his before taking a small sip. The bubbles tickled her throat, but the champagne did little to calm her nerves.
As Matthew drained his glass and set it aside, Helena felt the walls closing in. She could see the intention in his eyes—the way he was watching her, waiting for her to relax, to give in.
But all she could think about was Ethan.
Where was he now? Was he still in the hotel? Would he confront her again?
And worst of all, how long could she keep pretending everything was fine?
Matthew's gaze lingered on Helena as she stood by the window, the city lights casting a faint glow over her face. She clutched her champagne glass tightly, staring out at the skyline as if searching for an escape.
He set his glass down on the table and walked toward her, his steps slow and deliberate. The tension in the air was palpable, and Helena's shoulders stiffened as she felt him approach.
"Helena," he murmured, his voice smooth yet heavy with intent.
She turned to face him, forcing a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yes?"
Matthew's hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer. Her body tensed at his touch, but she didn't pull away immediately. His fingers moved slowly, brushing against the intricate fabric of her dress.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice dropping to a low whisper. His hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her jawline. "My wife."
Helena's stomach churned at the word, and she swallowed hard, fighting the panic rising within her. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice barely audible.
Matthew leaned in, his lips brushing against her temple. "Tonight is ours, Helena," he murmured. His hands slid down her waist, pulling her even closer.
She froze, her mind racing. She knew what he wanted. What he expected.
Matthew pressed his lips to hers, the kiss slow at first, then more insistent. Helena didn't respond. Her body felt stiff, her heart racing fast in her chest. She couldn't do this—not with him.
He pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing as he searched her face. "Helena," he said softly, his tone laced with frustration. "Why are you so tense?"
"I-I'm just… tired," she stammered, stepping back to create some distance between them. "It's been a long day."
Matthew's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. "Tired?" he repeated, his voice laced with irritation.
Helena nodded quickly, her hands trembling. "Yes. The wedding, the travel—it's all just… overwhelming."
He let out a low sigh, his hands dropping to his sides. "Helena, we're married now," he said, his tone sharp. "This is supposed to be our night. Our beginning."
She forced herself to meet his gaze, her throat tightening. "I know, Matthew. I just… I need some time. Please."
Matthew's expression hardened, a flicker of anger crossing his face. "Time? Time for what? You're my wife now. What's the point of all this hesitation?"
Helena bit her lip, her mind scrambling for a response. "I just need to adjust," she said softly, her voice shaking.
Matthew's frustration boiled over. He turned away, running a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.
He grabbed his phone from the table and reached for his car keys, the metallic jingle breaking the tense silence.
"Where are you going?" Helena asked, her voice tinged with fear.
Matthew turned to her, his eyes cold. "Out," he said curtly. "Since you're not interested in being a wife tonight, I'll find something else to do."
Helena's heart sank, her chest tightening as she watched him storm toward the door.
"Matthew—" she began, but he cut her off with a sharp glare.
"Don't wait up," he snapped before yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind him.
The sound of the door reverberated through the suite, leaving Helena standing alone in the deafening silence.
Her knees buckled, and she sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she covered her face. Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back, her chest heaving with the weight of everything crashing down on her.
She was trapped in a marriage she didn't want, with a man who had betrayed her trust in the worst way. And now, she was alone, left to pick up the pieces of a life she couldn't escape.
As soon as the sound of the slamming door echoed through the suite, Helena sat frozen for a moment, her breath uneven and her hands clutching the edges of her dress. And then, something inside her shifted. Slowly, a sly smile spread across her lips, and before she knew it, she was laughing.
It wasn't a soft chuckle or a giggle—it was a full, throaty laugh that filled the room, echoing off the walls. Her shoulders shook with the force of it as she threw her head back. It wasn't madness—it was triumph. She had done it. She had handled Matthew just the way she wanted, and the results were sweeter than she'd anticipated.
Rising to her feet, Helena smoothed the front of her gown and looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, but for the first time, she didn't see a defeated bride or a betrayed woman. She saw a woman in control.
"That's right," she whispered to herself, her grin widening. "Since he thinks he can betray me and get away with it, I'll make sure he regrets it. He thinks he's clever? He hasn't seen anything yet."
She twirled slowly in front of the mirror, admiring the way her body moved. A sense of exhilaration surged through her veins as she realized how far she was willing to go to take control of her life again. The best part? She didn't even have to force Matthew to leave—he had walked out on his own, just as she had planned.
Her thoughts shifted to Ethan. The moment his face came to mind, her smile softened, turning into something more mischievous. The memory of his smirk, his piercing gaze, and the way he had called Matthew "brother" sent a delicious thrill through her. He was trouble—dangerous, intoxicating trouble—and that's exactly what she wanted.
Her pulse quickened at the thought of seeing him again. The idea of sneaking away to his room, of being in his presence, was too tempting to resist. She didn't just want to see Ethan—she wanted to see how far things could go. A wicked thought crossed her mind: if Matthew could betray her with her twin sister, why shouldn't she enjoy herself with his brother?
With newfound determination, Helena moved to her suitcase, unzipping it and rummaging through its contents. She wasn't just going to see Ethan; she was going to make sure he noticed her.
She pulled out a sleek, form-fitting black dress that clung to her curves in all the right places. It was short, stopping just above her knees, and the neckline was daringly low, showing off enough to make any man take a second look. She slipped it on, smoothing it over her hips and turning to the mirror.
The dress was perfect. It wasn't overly flashy, but it was seductive enough to send a clear message.
Helena added a touch of red lipstick, her hands steady as she applied it with precision. Her hair, still styled from the wedding, fell in soft waves around her shoulders, giving her a look that was both elegant and alluring. She chose a pair of black heels to complete the outfit, the added height giving her an air of confidence.
As she gazed at her reflection, satisfaction bubbled inside her. She looked incredible, and she knew it.
"Matthew," she whispered to herself, her lips curling into a smirk, "you have no idea what you've unleashed."
With her mind made up, Helena grabbed her keycard and slipped it into the small clutch she had brought with her. Her heart was racing fast with excitement and nerves as she stepped out of the suite and into the hallway.
The hotel was quiet, the plush carpet muffling her footsteps as she made her way toward the elevators. She didn't know which room Ethan was staying in, but she was determined to find out. She had caught him glancing at the keycard earlier when Matthew wasn't looking, and she was willing to bet that the two brothers had been placed on the same floor.
Helena's thoughts raced as she rode the elevator down to the lobby. She didn't care if this was reckless—she wanted this. She wanted him.
When she reached the lobby, she glanced around, her sharp eyes scanning for any sign of Ethan. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him—he was standing near the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand, his posture relaxed but his gaze intense.
Her lips parted slightly as she took him in. He looked even more striking than she remembered, his dark hair tousled and his suit jacket discarded, leaving him in a crisp white shirt with the top few buttons undone.
Helena's breath caught in her throat, but she didn't falter. Instead, she squared her shoulders and started walking toward him, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She didn't know what she was going to say or do, but one thing was certain: this night was about to take a very unexpected turn.