When My Fiancé’s Twin Claimed Me as His Bride

Two days. Forty-eight hours of dead air.

Kane never went silent. He was the man who texted me when he boarded a flight. He called when he landed. He was the CEO of Harrison Corp, busy with meetings and boardrooms, but he never made me feel like an afterthought.

Now, my texts sat on delivered. My calls went straight to voicemail.

I called his assistant. I called his favorite coffee shop. I even called the local hospitals, my hands shaking as I gave his name. Nothing. The silence was total. It felt heavy, wrong in a way I couldn’t name. A cold dread settled in my chest.

On the third morning, I drove to his downtown apartment. I used the silver key he gave me a year ago. “Use it whenever you miss me,” he had said.

The apartment was perfectly still. His shoes weren't by the door. I walked down the hall, my heart hammering against my ribs. No signs of a struggle. The bed was made. I stepped into his home office. The desk was neat, but a yellow notepad sat by the brass lamp. An address was scrawled on the top page in blue ink.

It was his handwriting. Sharp and slanted.

It was an estate on the outskirts of Seattle. I had never heard him mention it. I took a photo of the pad with my phone. I went back to my car and sat behind the wheel for twenty minutes. Rain started to fall, hitting the windshield in heavy drops. I pressed my thumbnail into my palm, a steadying habit I picked up after my parents died. Then, I put the car in drive.

The drive took an hour. The roads grew narrow and lined with thick pine trees. Finally, I reached a set of massive iron gates. As I pulled up, they swung open slowly, groaning in the rain. Like they were expecting me.

The estate was a sprawling gray stone mansion. It looked cold. I parked and ran to the front doors, ignoring the rain soaking through my coat. The heavy oak door was unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped into a cavernous foyer.

"Kane?" I called out. My voice echoed off the marble floor.

No answer.

I walked further in. "Kane, are you—"

I froze.

He sat at the far end of the dim hallway. He was in a wheelchair.

I stopped breathing. My eyes dragged down his body. He wore loose gray sweatpants, but his left leg ended abruptly below the knee. The fabric was pinned up. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones sharp and hollow. He looked exhausted. Broken.

"Kane," I choked out.

He looked away, his jaw tight. "I didn't want you to see me like this." His voice was raspy, lacking its usual deep warmth. "There was an accident. I hid. I thought... I thought you would leave me, Azalea."

My heart shattered. This was the man who held me together when my parents died. The man who handled their funeral arrangements when I couldn't get out of bed. I ran to him. I dropped to my knees on the cold hardwood floor.

I grabbed his hands. They were trembling. "I would never leave you," I whispered fiercely, looking up into his dark eyes. "Never. Do you hear me?"

He swallowed hard. He reached into his pocket with shaking fingers. He pulled out a black velvet box and flipped it open. A diamond ring caught the dim light of the hallway.

"Stay with me," he pleaded. His voice cracked. "Marry me. Please, Azalea."

"Yes," I said, tears spilling over my cheeks. "Yes, of course."

I moved in three days later. I only brought two suitcases. The estate was massive, but it felt suffocating.

The first few days were fragile. I cooked for him. I read to him in the evenings while the rain beat against the windows. I wanted to be his peace. But slowly, small wrongnesses began to surface.

One night, I made garlic pasta. "Just like that little place in North Beach," I smiled, setting the plate on his lap. "Remember our anniversary?"

He stared at the pasta. He didn't smile. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Right," he muttered. He pushed the plate away.

Another time, I made a joke about his terrible karaoke singing. A joke we shared a dozen times. He just stared at me blankly, his eyes cold.

Then came the touch. I reached for my phone on the coffee table. He grabbed my wrist. His fingers dug into my skin, hard and tight. "Who are you texting?" he demanded.

His grip wasn't Kane's grip. Kane's touch was always a warm anchor. This felt like a trap. I pulled my hand back, rubbing my wrist. "Just Diana," I said softly.

He looked away, his jaw clenching. "Tell her you're busy."

The next afternoon, I went out to the garden. The air was damp and smelled of wet earth. I dialed Diana’s number. She picked up on the second ring.

"Azalea! Where have you been?" Diana's voice was tight with worry.

"I'm at Kane's new place," I kept my voice low, glancing back at the dark windows of the house. "He had an accident, Di. He lost his leg. We're engaged."

Silence stretched over the line. Heavy and thick.

"Azalea..." Diana finally said. "That's... a lot. Are you okay? Send me the address. I'm coming to see you."

"I'll arrange it," I promised. "Just give us a few days to settle."

"Azalea, I don't like this. You sound—"

Static cut through her words. Then, dead silence. I pulled the phone away from my ear. Call Failed. I frowned and hit redial. It didn't even ring. Just a flat beep.

Over the next few days, it got worse. My outgoing calls dropped after three seconds. When I tried Diana's number again, it wouldn't connect at all. The signal bars on my screen vanished entirely whenever I stepped inside the house.

I stood by the living room window, looking out at the driveway. The iron gates at the end were firmly shut. I looked down at the diamond ring on my finger. It felt heavy. I pressed my thumbnail hard into my palm, feeling the sharp sting of reality.

I wasn't just living here. I was locked in.