The Dead Bride's Revenge

"There it is." Dr Whitfield turned the monitor toward me. "Right there. See it?"

I leaned in, searching for the single flicker she'd shown me at my last visit. There were two.

"Wait." My voice cracked. "Are those... two separate?"

"Two sacs." She tapped the screen with her pen, calm, like this happened every Tuesday. "Congratulations, Mira. You are having twins."

Twins.

The word just sat there. Too big. I stopped hearing anything about due dates or vitamins. My palm found my stomach and pressed flat, like I could feel both of them right through skin and a cotton gown.

"Best gift you could give Mr Wrexley," the doctor said, smiling now.

A laugh tore out of me, half sob. Damon's babies. Two of them. I could already see his face crumbling open the second I told him that rare unguarded look he only ever gave me, never anyone else.

I thanked her, cleaned up, and walked out of that exam room like my feet had stopped touching the ground.

The corridor buzzed with hospital noise, carts rattling, and a kid crying somewhere past the curtains. I had the ultrasound photo clutched to my chest and didn't see the man stepping out of a side hallway until I slammed straight into him.

The photo hit the floor.

"Sorry." He crouched fast and scooped it up. "You okay?"

"Fine." I barely looked at him. Some stranger in a grey suit didn't matter. I had two heartbeats to celebrate.

I didn't see him watch me all the way to the elevator. Didn't hear the phone go back to his ear the second the doors shut.

"That's her." Quiet. Flat. "Mira Castellan, and she is pregnant."

A pause.

"Dig into her. Background, connections, every secret she's got buried. "Another pause, longer. "She's worth more than we thought; she may be the key to bringing down the Wrexley brothers."

I floated through the rest of that day. Picked up Damon's favourite wine, the dry red he pretended to hate. Stopped at the bakery on Holloway for the lemon tart I'd been craving since week six. By the time the car turned up the gravel drive to Wrexley Estate, my hands shook. Not from nerves of having to break the news to Damon but from just too much joy crammed into one body.

Twins. Tonight I'd tell him.

The house sat quiet when I slipped in through the side entrance, the one I used when I didn't want staff hovering. I set the wine and tart on the counter, opened my mouth to call out for him, and heard voices instead. Low. Tense. Coming from the study.

Ingrid's voice first. Sharp, clipped, always sounding like it was holding something back.

"She still doesn't know."

A man answered. For half a second I thought it was Damon. Something was off, though. The rhythm of it.

"We took turns."

I froze mid-step. My hand found the doorframe before I told it to.

"She never had a clue."

Then Damon's actual voice, unmistakable, cutting in. Something about her father. Something about secrets.

I should have turned around right then. Walked back to the kitchen. Pretended the floor hadn't just dropped out from under me. Instead, my feet kept moving, pulling me closer until I stood just outside that door, pulse roaring louder than anything being said inside it.

"Her father died protecting Thorncrest's secrets. " Damon, cold and even, used the same voice he used to close million-dollar deals. "So I kept her close."

The wine bottle slipped out of my hand. Glass exploded against the hardwood.

Silence on the other side of that door.

I shoved it open before anyone could stop me. The room tilted.

Two of him.

Damon stood by the fireplace in the charcoal suit he'd worn that morning. Three feet away, leaning against the bookshelf, stood another man. Same suit. Same face. Same eyes that had looked into mine a thousand times and said I love you.

My lungs forgot how to work.

"No." I shook my head, stumbling back toward the door. "No, that's not... that can't be true."

Damon didn't flinch. No guilt. No surprise that I'd just walked in on whatever this was. He looked at me the way he looked at contracts that needed a signature.

"Damon." My voice split clean in half. "What did you do to me?"

Ingrid let out a breath near the desk, almost relieved. "Oh. You heard us."

I looked between them. Two faces. One memory cracking down the middle in real time.

"There were two of you." Barely a whisper. "This whole time?"