If you'd told me three weeks ago that I'd be waking up in a penthouse with not one, but two identical twins, one of whom was my accidental husband, I would've laughed, choked on my cereal, and blocked you.
But here we are.
No cereal. No escape. Just burnt toast and emotional whiplash.
I cracked one eye open and groaned as sunlight spilled across my face like karma's spotlight. My feet were tangled in the guest-room-turned-marital-bed covers, and I was very aware of the fact that Adrian was no longer in the room.
Either he was being considerate and left early…
Or he was being emotionally constipated and avoiding me.
Again.
I sat up, hair a mess, makeup smudged from forgetting to remove it last night (blame Aiden's pancakes and Adrian's brooding), and made my way to the kitchen.
And immediately regretted it.
Because there he was—Adrian Thorne, dressed in black slacks and an unbuttoned white shirt, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, and clearly fighting a toaster.
Literally.
He had the kind of aggressive frown usually reserved for murderers or people trying to reset the Wi-Fi router. And the poor toast was losing.
"Burnt again?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
He looked up, startled. "You're awake."
"Clearly," I yawned, peering at the charcoal slabs he pulled from the toaster. "You're a menace to carbs."
"It's broken," he muttered, tossing the blackened bread onto a plate like it had offended his family.
"I think it's just scared of you," I said, grabbing a coffee mug and nudging past him.
Bad idea.
Because the counter was slick from his spilled water bottle, and I felt my sock slide out from under me.
"Whoa—!"
Before I could go full slapstick, a strong arm caught my waist.
Adrian's.
Of course.
Because my life is a romcom and I'm contractually obligated to fall into his arms every time I sass him.
I looked up, caught between gratitude and irritation.
His hand lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I cleared my throat. "I mean, physically. Emotionally? Questionable."
He smirked—smirked—and turned back to the toaster.
"Want me to make you coffee?" I offered, already reaching for the pot.
"I already did." He nodded to the table, where a mug sat—white ceramic, a tiny lipstick mark already on the rim.
Wait.
My favorite mug.
The one that said "Not Today, Cupid."
I raised a brow. "You touched my mug?"
"You used my pillow last night," he said without missing a beat.
Touché.
I grabbed the cup, took a sip—and nearly dropped it.
"You remembered how I like it," I blurted before I could stop myself.
He didn't look at me. Just kept buttering a new slice of bread.
"I remember a lot more than you think."
Oh.
Well.
My brain fizzed like a soda shaken too hard.
I was still processing that when Aiden waltzed in, shirtless again, hair wet from a shower, whistling like he hadn't caused emotional mayhem less than twelve hours ago.
"Morning, newlyweds!" he chirped, grabbing an apple from the bowl and biting into it like he was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.
I rolled my eyes. Adrian glared.
"What's burning this time?" Aiden asked, sniffing the air.
"Your chances of surviving breakfast," Adrian muttered.
Aiden grinned, totally unfazed. "Touchy. Did you two cuddle last night or fight about cereal brands again?"
I shot him a death glare.
He raised his hands. "Kidding. Sort of. Anyway, just a reminder—I have a photoshoot downtown in an hour. Press wants some new shots for the magazine spread. Apparently, they're doing a feature on 'the most eligible twins in Seoul.'"
I nearly choked on my coffee. "You're still doing press?"
"Why not?" he winked at me. "Gotta keep up appearances. Can't let people think I lost my charm just because you got legally stolen."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
Oh no.
Not this again.
The testosterone storm was coming, and I had exactly three seconds to evacuate.
"Cool," I said quickly, stepping between them. "Glad everyone's still rich, hot, and emotionally immature. I'm going to get dressed before someone throws toast."
Neither of them laughed.
Typical.
I hurried back to the bedroom, locking the door behind me. Not because I was scared of them, but because I was scared of me.
Scared of how one made me feel safe…
And the other made me feel seen.
And the worst part?
I didn't know which twin was which anymore.
Aiden's face popped up on my phone later that morning.
"Emergency. Rooftop. Come alone. And bring the marriage contract."
Why did those words feel more dangerous than romantic?
Because when Aiden said "emergency," it usually meant two things.
Drama…
And a kiss I probably wouldn't forget.