Chapter 1

The man inside me wasn't my husband.

I didn't know it then. Not on our wedding night, not the morning after, not for three months while he made me fall deeper in love with a lie.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It started the evening I married Rylan Ashford—tech billionaire, magazine-cover face, the man every woman in Manhattan wanted and I somehow won.

Our wedding was obscene. Four hundred guests, a castle in the Hudson Valley, a dress that cost more than my parents' house. My maid of honor, Jessie Park, whispered during the reception, "If you don't sleep with him tonight, I will."

I laughed. That was just Jessie—shameless, fearless, the kind of best friend who said the worst things at the best times.

But something was different when Rylan and I finally stumbled into the bridal suite.

He kissed me harder than he ever had before. His hands weren't tentative the way they'd been during our entire courtship. Rylan had always been gentle—almost too gentle, like he was afraid of breaking me. He'd hold my face like porcelain, ask permission before every button.

Tonight, he grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.

"Rylan—"

"Don't talk."

Two words. My whole body went electric.

He pushed me against the wall, and I felt every inch of him through his suit. His mouth found my neck, my collarbone, the hollow of my throat. His teeth grazed my skin, and I gasped—not from pain, but from shock.

This wasn't the man who'd spent six months courting me with handwritten letters and rooftop dinners.

This was someone hungrier.

I told myself it was the champagne. The adrenaline. The fact that we'd waited—Rylan had insisted on waiting until marriage, which I'd found old-fashioned but romantic.

Now I understood why he'd waited. He'd been holding back.

He carried me to the bed and climbed on top of me. When I reached for the lamp, he caught my wrist. "Leave it off."

"I want to see you," I whispered.

"You will. Later." His voice was lower than I remembered. Rougher. "Right now, I want you to feel me."

And God, I did.

He was nothing like I'd expected. Every movement was deliberate, dominant, almost punishing. He pinned my wrists above my head and watched me writhe beneath him in the dark. When I moaned, he didn't ask me to be quiet.

He said, "Louder."

By the time we finished, I was shaking. My thighs trembled. My mind was blank. I lay there, gasping, staring at the ceiling, thinking: I didn't know it could feel like that.

Rylan pulled me against his chest. His heartbeat was steady—almost too steady for what we'd just done.

"You're different tonight," I murmured.

His arm tightened around me. A pause. Then: "You have no idea."

I smiled, thinking it was sweet.

I fell asleep in his arms, believing I was the luckiest woman alive.

I wouldn't learn the truth for ninety-three days—and when I did, it would shatter every memory I had of this night.

Because the man holding me wasn't Rylan Ashford.

It was his identical twin brother, Kieran—the one the family never talked about.