His Twin’s Lips Tasted Like Deja Vu

“And anyway,” Renzo said with a smug grin, “I’ve already had a taste of Susie. Honestly? Nothing special. Just average.”

“You, though—” His finger slid down Ciara’s collarbone. “You’re spicy. You give me the thrill.”

Laughter erupted between them, low and dirty. The two practically melted into each other, tangled up in kisses.

I stood frozen just outside the room, my fists clenched tight at my sides.

But I held it down. Going off on him now would be like throwing myself at a brick wall—it would only hurt me.

The Powells were one of the most powerful in Manchester. And me… I was just a broke college student in my third year. Just a nobody.

If Renzo wanted to get rid of me, he could do it as easily as stepping on a bug.

I knew that because he’d already done it once.

In my last life, I tried everything—ran away, begged for help, even called the cops. But nothing worked. I was always dragged right back to him.

So this time, I kept my head down, pressed my back to the wall, and crept down the hallway, back to the bedroom. My feet barely made a sound against the floor.

When I slipped into the room, I could still hear the faint sound of their moaning behind me. My chest tightened.

Renzo had known I was in the shower. And still, he brought Ciara into the study and did that with her.

That alone showed he didn’t see me as his girlfriend. Not even close.

Lying on the bed, I could almost feel the heat of that fire from my past life crawling up my skin again. The agony, the helplessness, the hatred—it came rushing back.

I swallowed hard, shoved the memories down, and grabbed the blow dryer.

After drying my hair, I climbed into bed and turned on my side. My fingers curled into the blanket, my eyes wide open in the dark.

My jaw tightened. I wasn’t going to let this life go the same way. I’d find a way out—whatever it took.

Minutes passed. Then I heard footsteps stumbling in the hallway, slow and heavy.

“Hey, hey. Hey—wrong room, bro. It’s this one,” Renzo’s voice said with a laugh.

Soon, the door creaked open. I kept my back to the door, pretending to sleep, even as I heard Renzo guide a clearly drunk Rocco into the room.

The door creaked open. Footsteps stopped just inside.

There was a pause—long enough to make my skin crawl—then the sound of Renzo’s low, satisfied exhale.

I didn’t need to see his face to know he was pleased. Maybe it was the empty glass on the nightstand, or the sight of me curled tightly under the blanket, playing my part.

Then came his voice, smug and casual. “This is your room, bro. Now, get some sleep.”

I felt the mattress shift as Rocco dropped down beside me. A clean, bitter-orange scent filled the air—his cologne, faint and unfamiliar.

The door clicked shut behind Renzo as he left, careful not to make a sound.

But the next second, something was off.

The man beside me suddenly sat upright. His back was straight, his eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was wide awake.

My eyes narrowed. ‘Didn’t he drink the whole cup of coffee? Shouldn’t he be knocked out by now?’

That thought startled me, so I sat up like he’d woken me.

“Renzo?” I mumbled sleepily, rubbing my eyes. “Why’d you come in so late?”

Rocco turned his head slowly to look at me. Moonlight filtered through the window, lighting up his face.

His eyes were cold, sharp—and something else I couldn’t quite place.

I scooted closer and wrapped my arms around him. “You weren’t here, and I got scared… I had this horrible nightmare,” I said softly, pressing my cheek to his shoulder.

He stiffened in my embrace but didn’t move away.

I watched his face carefully. ‘He doesn’t look dazed or drugged at all. So he’s faking it? He knows what’s going on. Then why go along with it?’

I contemplated, ‘Does he… Does he actually like me? Besides, back in my last life, he died with me. Voluntarily.’

I couldn’t be sure what he felt now, but I knew one thing—I had to hold onto whatever this was. It might be the only shot I had at surviving.

Leaning in, I brushed my lips against the corner of his mouth.

“Renzo… I want you,” I whispered.

I caught his eyes flickering.

Then he grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “What did you just call me?”

I blinked my round almond-shaped eyes, pretending not to understand. “What? I called you… Renzo?”

His brows drew together.

“Call me babe,” he said.

I froze. “What?”

I could feel my face flush instantly.

He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing my lower lip. “Be good,” he murmured, “Call me babe, and I’ll give you what you want.”

I bit my lip, then lowered my head. Like a good girl, I whispered, “B-Babe.”

In that instant, it was like a match had been struck.

He crushed his mouth against mine, kissing me hard, almost like he was angry. His hand slipped around my waist and yanked me down onto the mattress.

His lips moved fast and rough, trailing heat down my neck as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of my pajamas, popping them open one by one.

His hand slid up along my side, warm and demanding.

He’d just gotten back from Norway, barely around during the day.

We’d only seen each other maybe three times.