Twins, My Two Husbands
Chapter 7
Around three a.m., half-asleep, I heard the doorknob rattle.
I sat up ready to yell at whoever tried to break in.
But outside came a flat, emotionless whisper:
“Locked. Of course.”
Long silence.
“So no sleeping with her tonight.”
Another beat.
“Next time.”
Then, same dead tone:
“Baby, I love you.”
“Only me. You can only like me.”
Footsteps faded—then stopped.
Another voice, low and angry:
“Ethan, what the hell are you doing lurking outside her door at three a.m.?”
Was Ethan—real Ethan—talking to himself?
No. To Caleb.
“You'll wake her. She sleeps light. If you disturb her, I swear—”
Cold snort.
“None of your business. She's mine.”
“Psycho.”
I stood there, heart hammering.
Two obsessed lunatics fighting over territory outside my bedroom.
I crawled back under the covers, wide awake.
Maybe I should've seen the red flags earlier.
When we first started dating, Ethan was textbook: distant, occasional half-assed texts, sporadic hangouts. Perfect, because I hated clingy guys.
We saw each other maybe twice a week—usually after my shift, at my place. Not much talking, just chill. Him barely speaking made him hot.
Then things changed.
He started showing up more, staying longer, talking more, sending huge paragraphs—breakfast pics, gym selfies, random thoughts.
I figured he was just warming up.
Turns out every time Ethan dipped, Caleb hijacked.
It was Caleb who memorized my cycle, stocked the fridge, left breakfast burritos and avocado toast with little notes.
Exhausting… but thoughtful in ways Ethan never was.
Sex? Caleb had moves. Positions, toys, pacing—three rounds and I'd be useless for days.
Ethan was good—great even—but vanilla.
Caleb was addictive.
No wonder I got hooked.
But now? Two stalkers. Two psychos.
How the hell do I handle this without drama?
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