Julian came to my room the next morning with coffee and a box of pastries from the bakery I liked.
He did not knock.
He never did.
Elias entered rooms like an owner. Julian entered like a man who already knew what waited inside.
“You didn’t eat dinner,” he said, placing the tray on my desk.
I wrote, Elias told you?
“No.” Julian looked at the untouched water glass beside my bed. “You always drink half a glass before sleeping. Last night, it was full.”
My fingers paused.
It was such a small detail. Too small for Elias to notice.
But Julian noticed.
Julian noticed the way I slept, the way I moved, the way I curled my fingers when thunder came. He knew which side of the bed I preferred and how I liked my tea when my throat hurt.
I used to think it was because the twins shared everything.
Now, suspicion crawled coldly up my spine.
Julian sat across from me, his gaze fixed on my face. “You’ve been strange since yesterday.”
I wrote, I’m getting married in six days. Brides are allowed to be strange.
His mouth curved, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Are you?”
I looked at him.
He leaned forward. “Are you getting married, Lydia?”
The question hit too close.
Before I could answer, sunlight caught the ring on his right hand — a black onyx signet set in silver.
My chest tightened.
I remembered that ring.
Not from boardrooms. Not from family dinners.
From the lake house.
Three years ago, after a Falcone banquet, I had been feverish and half-drugged from the medication the doctor gave me. I remembered a man holding me through the night, his hand covering mine, that ring cold against my skin.
I had believed it was Elias.
But Elias wore gold.
Julian wore black onyx.
Julian followed my gaze to the ring and closed his hand.
Too late.
The door opened again.
Adriana swept in wearing pale pink and a smile sharp enough to cut. “Am I interrupting?”
Julian stood. “Yes.”
She ignored him and looked at me. “Elias asked me to take you to the bridal fitting. We can’t have you looking plain at the ceremony, can we?”
I picked up my tablet.
Isn’t the bride supposed to choose her own dress?
Adriana laughed softly. “You can keep the title if it comforts you, Lydia. I already have what matters.”
Her gaze moved from me to Julian, then toward the hallway where Elias’s guards waited.
“Both brothers know where they belong.”
Julian’s face hardened. “Adriana.”
“What?” she said innocently. “I only mean the Falcone family is close.”
She grabbed my wrist before I could move away. “Come on. Elias is waiting.”
The bridal boutique had been emptied for us. Falcone soldiers stood at the entrance while attendants brought out gowns worth more than most people’s homes.
Adriana tried on the first dress.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Each time, she stepped out and asked Elias, “Do I look like a bride?”
Each time, Elias looked at her before glancing at me.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
I sat on the sofa in my black dress, hands folded in my lap, and watched another woman rehearse being me.
An attendant finally approached me. “Miss Moretti, would you like to try one?”
Before I could refuse, Adriana turned with bright eyes.
“Of course she should. She’s still important.”
Still.
The word slid between us like a needle.
She came close under the excuse of helping me stand. Her nails dug into my wrist.
“After the wedding,” she whispered, “you’ll go back to writing quietly like a good little ghost. That’s what you’re best at.”
I pulled my hand free.
Adriana stumbled backward on purpose.
Her shoulder hit the mirror. It cracked.
She cried out.
Elias was across the room in seconds. “Adriana!”
Julian came after him, but his eyes went first to my wrist, where red nail marks had risen on my skin.
Adriana clutched Elias’s sleeve, tears spilling instantly. “I’m fine. Lydia didn’t mean to push me. She’s just upset.”
Elias turned to me.
His face was cold.
“Apologize.”
I stared at him.
My hands moved.
She hurt herself.
Adriana sobbed harder. “Please don’t blame her. I shouldn’t have tried on the dresses. I forgot how much this wedding means to her.”
Elias stepped closer. “I said apologize.”
The attendants lowered their heads. The guards looked away. Everyone in the room understood what was happening, and no one dared say a word.
Julian suddenly caught Elias’s arm. “Enough. Look at Lydia’s wrist.”
Elias did not look.
Adriana leaned against him, fragile and victorious.
That was when Julian said sharply, “Little nightingale, stop staring at him like that.”
The room went still.
My blood turned cold.
Little nightingale.
The man at the lake house had called me that.
Not Elias.
Julian.
His face changed the moment he realized what he had said.
I looked at his black onyx ring, then at his face.
The last piece clicked into place.
The man who had slept beside me for three years was not Elias.
It was Julian.
My stomach twisted violently.
A phone call saved me from collapsing.
It was Dr. Marlowe.
I answered and held the phone to my ear.
“Miss Moretti,” he said carefully, “your blood test from yesterday came back. I need you to come in for confirmation, but the preliminary result is clear.”
I gripped the phone.
“You’re pregnant.”
The boutique blurred.
Elias could not be the father.
The man in my bed had been Julian all along.
And now I was carrying a child born from a lie.
