"She Caught Her Billionaire Fiancé With Her Sister—Five Years Later, He Found Two Twin Boys With His Eyes... And Froze!"

Amelia was shelving a cart of children's picture books in Section 4, humming softly to herself as she slid a copy of Goodnight Moon into its proper slot. The library was unusually quiet this afternoon; most of the townspeople were down at the square for the annual summer festival, leaving the stacks peaceful and still.

Footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor near the entrance.

Amelia didn't look up immediately, assuming it was just Mrs. Higgins, the head librarian, returning from her break.

“Mrs. Higgins, I finished sorting the—,” Amelia began, turning around with a bright smile.

The words died in her throat.

The smile shattered, replaced by an absolute, paralyzed terror.

Standing at the end of the narrow aisle, blocking the only exit, was Adrian Blackwood.

He hadn't changed, and yet he was infinitely more terrifying than memory served. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing the dark, intricate ink crawling over his muscular skin. His broad shoulders filled the aisle, casting a long, heavy shadow that swallowed the afternoon light.

And his eyes—those dark, severe, hypnotic eyes—were locked onto her with a hunger so intense it felt like physical violence.

Amelia stumbled backward, her hand flying out to catch the edge of the oak bookshelf to keep from falling. Her breath caught behind her ribs, trapped in the exact same phantom pressure she had felt four years ago in the upper hallway of the Blackwood estate.

“Hello, Amelia,” Adrian said.

His voice was a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate straight through the floorboards. He didn't rush. He didn't shout. He walked toward her with the terrifying, unhurried grace of a apex predator closing in on cornered prey.

“Stay back,” Amelia whispered, her voice shaking violently as she pressed her back hard against the bookshelf. “Adrian… don't come near me.”

He stopped two feet away from her. The scent of cedarwood, cold rain, and expensive Italian leather washed over her senses, suffocating and intoxicating all at once.

“Four years, Amelia,” Adrian murmured, his dark gaze sweeping over her face, drinking in every detail—the long braids, the faded denim apron, the small silver ring on her left hand that wasn't a diamond. “Four years you spent hiding in a town so small it doesn't even have a traffic light. Did you really think you could disappear from me?”

“I didn't hide, Adrian. I left,” she shot back, finding a sudden surge of desperate courage as anger flared through her terror. “There’s a difference. When you invite your mistress into your bed while your fiancée is walking down your hallway, that isn't a marriage to save. That’s a prison to escape.”

A dark shadow crossed Adrian’s face, a flash of genuine agony mixed with cold fury.

“That night was a setup,” Adrian snapped, taking another step closer until he was invading her personal space entirely, towering over her. “Vanessa drugged my drink. I woke up hours later with no memory of how I got in that bed, and you were already gone. I threw her out of my house before the sun finished rising, and I haven't laid eyes on her since.”

Amelia stared at him, her chest heaving. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I don't need you to believe it, Amelia. I need you to look at me and tell me you don't feel this,” Adrian growled softly, reaching out his large, warm hand.

Before she could dodge away, his fingers gently brushed against her cheek, tracing her jawline with a tremor so uncharacteristic of him that it froze her in place. His skin burned against hers, sending a shockwave of forbidden electricity straight down her spine.

“You are mine,” Adrian whispered fiercely, his thumb grazing her lower lip. “You were mine the moment I put that ring on your finger in Chicago, and you are still mine now. You don't get to run from me.”

“Mommy! Mommy, look what Julian made me!”

A high-pitched, joyful voice echoed down the quiet aisle, followed by the rapid, pattering sound of small sneakers racing across the hardwood floor.

Amelia’s blood ran completely cold.

“No,” she gasped, panic flaring in her eyes as she tried to shove Adrian away. “Adrian, stop—don't look—”

It was too late.

Footsteps rounded the corner of Section 4.

Leo stopped dead in his tracks, holding a clumsy clay dinosaur in his hands, his dark espresso-brown eyes—Adrian’s eyes—staring up in confusion at the tall, intimidating stranger towering over his mother. A second later, Julian peeked out from behind Leo’s shoulder, tilting his head with the exact same severe, calculating frown that Adrian wore when analyzing a hostile corporate takeover.