Liam has always been the black sheep of the Moreau family. His birth marked the beginning of their financial ruin, and he's spent his life in the shadow of his beautiful, beloved sister, Clara. When Clara secures an engagement to Julian Davenport, the wealthy and enigmatic CEO of Davenport Enterprises, Liam sees an opportunity for revenge. He'll seduce Julian, expose Clara, and finally claim the spotlight for himself. But Julian has a secret: an identical twin brother named Jasper. What starts as a game of seduction and revenge quickly spirals into a complicated entanglement with both brothers. Jasper's playful flirtations and Julian's commanding presence awaken desires Liam never knew he possessed. As the twins shower him with lavish gifts and manipulative games, Liam finds himself caught between his carefully constructed facade and the genuine feelings that begin to surface. Now, Liam must decide: is his relationship with the Davenport twins just a tool for revenge, or could it be a path to something more profound? And can he escape the bitterness of his past to embrace a future he never dared to imagine, even if it means marrying into a family that is twice as complicated as he ever anticipated?
View More"Welcome," Julian had said, and welcome it was. The vacation home was a sprawling testament to wealth and impeccable taste, yet somehow, Julian made it feel like our space. We spent the afternoon exploring the island, swimming in the crystal-clear water, and lounging on the beach. It was almost too perfect, too idyllic. A nagging voice in the back of my head kept whispering that this couldn’t last, that I didn't deserve this. But for now, I pushed it down and enjoyed the moment.As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow across the sky, music started drifting from the main house. Julian led me towards it, and as we got closer, I realized a party was in full swing. People I didn't recognize – beautiful, tanned, and effortlessly chic – milled around the pool, drinks in hand. My stomach clenched. This was unexpected."Don't worry," Julian murmured, sensing my apprehension. "They're just a few friends. Relax, have fun."He pulled me into the throng, introducing me to
"Vacation home?" I repeated, the words feeling hollow in the face of such extravagant reality. "This… this is your vacation home?" My ideal apartment barely qualifies as a permanent residence, let alone a place to escape to.Julian chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "One of them. I find the city stifling sometimes. I need space... and quiet." He glanced at me, his eyes intense. "And sometimes company."I swallowed, trying to regain my composure. "Right. Well, thanks for… inviting me."He took my hand again, his touch sending a surge of electricity through me. "Come. Let me show you around."The mansion was a masterpiece of modern architecture, all clean lines, glass walls, and open spaces. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating art pieces that probably cost more than my entire family’s net worth. We walked through the living room, which opened onto a massive terrace overlooking the ocean. The view was stunning – an endless expanse of turquoise water s
The front door slammed shut with a satisfying thud. A week. An entire seven days I was confined to the Moreau residence. Grounded. At twenty years old. The irony wasn't lost on me, especially since I’d spent at least half those nights sneaking out to see Julian. But now, officially, freedom tasted sweeter than any stolen moment.My first act of liberation? A triple-scoop ice cream sundae from "Sweet Surrender," the only decent dessert place within a twenty-mile radius of our depressing suburban existence. I deserved a treat, a sugary reward for enduring the suffocating drama of my family. Clara, perpetually stressed about her impending nuptials, and my parents, oscillating between fawning over her and lamenting their financial woes, which, of course, were somehow always my fault.As I strolled down Main Street, the late afternoon sun warming my face, a familiar voice chirped, "Liam! Liam Moreau, is that really you?"I groaned inwardly. Please, not now. I turned to see Sarah Jenkins, a
The next morning, Jasper found himself standing before the imposing mahogany doors of Mr. Hemmings' office. He smoothed down his perfectly tailored suit, a subtle shade of grey that suggested understated power, and adjusted the perfectly knotted tie. He took a deep breath, channeling Julian's focused intensity, and stepped inside.The office was exactly as Julian had described: a shrine to Hemmings' golfing achievements. Trophies gleamed under the recessed lighting, each one a testament to a bygone victory on the green. Hemmings, a man whose age was etched into every wrinkle of his face, rose from behind a large oak desk, his eyes narrowed in what Jasper assumed was his default expression."Mr. Davenport," Hemmings greeted him, extending a hand. His grip was surprisingly firm, the kind that wanted to prove something. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought we'd covered everything in our last discussion."Jasper flashed a practiced smile, the kind that reached his eyes but didn't qui
The city bled into the horizon, a jagged tapestry of steel and glass viewed from the penthouse office of Julian Davenport. Julian himself stood silhouetted against the panoramic view, his posture radiating the kind of controlled power that made lesser men squirm. Inside, the air crackled with unspoken energy."The Henderson deal is finalized," Julian stated, his voice a low, resonant hum that barely registered above the city's drone. He turned from the window, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Signed, sealed, delivered."Jasper, lounging in an excessively comfortable leather chair, raised a glass of amber liquid. "To you, Julian. Another kingdom conquered." He took a slow, deliberate sip, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Although, from the look on your face, I suspect there's a dragon still guarding some treasure."Julian moved to his desk, the heavy oak groaning softly under his touch. He ran a hand through his impeccably styled hair, a rare display of agitation. "Old Man Hemmings,"
The first sliver of sunlight, a traitorous spy, pierced through the gap in my curtains, landing squarely on my eyelids. I groaned, batting it away with a lazy swat of my hand. Grounded. Seriously? I was practically an adult, yet here I was, confined to my childhood bedroom like some delinquent teenager. All thanks to my disastrous attempt at playing the dutiful date at that damn art auction.My eyes fluttered open, and the memories flooded back, hot and insistent. Julian’s office, all sleek lines and muted colours, suddenly seemed like a hazy dream. But the feel of his lips on mine, the sharp intake of his breath as I nipped at his lower lip… that was no dream. That was a full-blown, Technicolor reality I was replaying in excruciating detail, and it was doing very, very inconvenient things to my body.My stomach clenched, a mixture of nerves and something akin to… excitement? I hadn't expected Julian to be so…forward. Or that I would enjoy it so much. The way he had looked at me, not
The digital clock on my bedside table blinked 10:47 PM. Twelve hours. Twelve hours I’d spent staring at the captivating art piece Julian gifted me and the hideous wallpaper my parents had chosen – a floral monstrosity that screamed suburban mediocrity. Twelve hours of conjuring increasingly explicit fantasies about Julian, trying to drown out the echo of my mother's shrill voice calling me an ungrateful parasite.Then, my phone buzzed. Julian. My heart leaped, a traitorous thing.I swiped to answer, holding the phone to my ear as I sat up on the bed. "Hello?""Liam," Julian's voice, deep and resonant, filled the small space. It sent a shiver down my spine, a sensation I was quickly becoming addicted to. "I'm working late. The office is… unbearably dull. Thought you might want to keep me company."A thrill shot through me, quickly followed by a wave of frustration. "I can't," I said, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. "Mom grounded me."There was a pause, a beat of silenc
The Bentley purred to a stop outside our house, the ostentatious display of wealth a stark contrast to the peeling paint and overgrown lawn. Julian, ever observant, raised a sculpted eyebrow. "Charming," he murmured, the word dripping with sardonic amusement.I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "It's home." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. Home was a cage, gilded for Clara and rusted for me.The weight of the Moreau family's expectations, the suffocating pressure to be something I wasn't, lifted slightly as I stepped out of the car. I clutched the heavy, framed abstract piece Julian had bought for me at the auction, the vibrant colors a jolt of defiance against the drab landscape of my life. He'd also gifted me a ridiculously expensive watch, a cashmere sweater, and a pair of handcrafted leather boots – items I’d only ever glanced at longingly through store windows before.As I walked up the cracked driveway, I could practically feel the weight of their stares from behind the lace-cu
The harsh fluorescent lights of the hotel room snapped me awake. My head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic pulse that mirrored the shame pounding in my chest. I blinked, trying to focus, and found myself staring at Julian. He was kneeling beside the bed, a bowl of water on the nightstand, a soft, damp towel in his hand. He was gently wiping my face, his touch surprisingly tender."Easy, baby," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You gave yourself quite the night."I flinched at the endearment, the situation, the sheer absurdity of it all. The lingerie, the cuffs, the sheer, utter humiliation. "Get these things off me," I croaked, my throat raw. "Please."He tilted his head, his dark eyes assessing. "Of course, baby," he repeated, the word laced with a hint of amusement that sent a fresh wave of anger washing over me. He tossed the towel back into the bowl and leaned in, placing a light kiss on my forehead. It was a disturbingly intimate gesture, and I instinctively recoiled.He chuckled so
Here's the rewritten chapter in the first-person narration:The chandelier, a monstrosity of crystal and gaudy gold, dripped light like honey, coating everything in a syrupy sheen of wealth. I took a sip of my lukewarm champagne, the bubbles doing little to soothe the acid churning in my stomach. "Gilded cage," I muttered under my breath, the phrase feeling particularly apt. This whole scene, this extravagant charade, was a cage built of borrowed money and desperate hopes, and my family were willingly locking themselves inside.I surveyed the room, a grotesque tableau of forced smiles and strained conversations. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Moreau, were the ringleaders of this circus, their faces plastered with an almost manic joy. They flitted between guests, their bodies practically vibrating with the effort of appearing relaxed and affluent. My mother's dress, a shimmering emerald number, was undoubtedly purchased on credit, a fact that only I seemed to recognize. My father, usually sl...
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