My twin sister stole my mate bond, my pack ranking, and my entire future.
All on the same Tuesday.
So I did what any reasonable woman would do. I walked into a hotel bar, argued with a stranger about Gothic literature until midnight, and made one perfect, irresponsible decision I had absolutely no intention of repeating.
Then I moved to Cascade Falls and discovered my new employer was his building, my new apartment was his property, and the stranger I was never supposed to see again was Killian Black — eldest son of the most powerful Alpha dynasty on the west coast, and the last man alive who needs a complication like me.
He offered me a clean exit. I told him I was staying.
What neither of us mentioned: I was already pregnant.
Killian Black doesn't do relationships. Not because he's wounded — because he was built for power and never learned anything else. He speaks fluent logistics, thinks in contingencies, and is constitutionally incapable of saying what he actually means. His version of feelings is reorganising your entire life and calling it practical.
I am twenty-six, starting over from scratch, and fresh out of patience for powerful men who think the world reorganises itself around their decisions.
We have nothing in common.
Except the baby. His territory. The fact that he learned my coffee order in week one and has never once gotten it wrong. And the inconvenient truth that neither of us has been able to stop since the night we started.
My sister took the life I was supposed to have.
What she didn't know — what I'm only beginning to understand — is that I was never the lesser twin.
I was just the one they were afraid of.
