Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
EMILIA
I pushed open the dorm door, tired, cold, and already irritated.
But what I saw made me stop completely .
My bed was gone .
No — not just gone. Vanished. Like it had never existed. Like the space it occupied hadn’t once been mine . In its place stood one massive bed — centered between their sides of the room, dressed in fresh sheets, crisp corners, and black pillows.
I blinked.
Once. Twice.
No.
I stepped forward slowly, scanning the room like maybe it was a mistake. Like maybe they’d just moved it temporarily. But it wasn’t leaning against the wall. It wasn’t in the hallway. It wasn’t anywhere .
“You moved my bed?” I asked sharply, not bothering to hide the disbelief in my voice.
They didn’t answer.
Bastion lounged against the couch arm, flipping a lighter open and shut, his eyes on me now. Luca sat beside him, still, relaxed — annoyingly so .
“You moved it?” I asked again, louder this time.
Luca didn’t blink. “We didn’t move it.”
I turned to him. “Then what?”
“We got rid of it.”
My stomach dropped .
“You what ?”
Bastion finally stood, stretching with the kind of lazy grace that made my spine tighten. He took a step toward me, then another, until the heat of him hovered too close.
“I don’t get it,” I said, voice sharp with disbelief. “You got rid of my bed. So where do I sleep now? On the couch?”
He didn’t even flinch.
His hand lifted, large and warm, and he cupped my cheek with a gentleness I wasn’t prepared for.
“No, baby ,” he said, voice like silk. “You sleep between us .”
I froze .
Then I laughed — short, cold, bitter.
“Cruel joke, Bastion.”
But he didn’t smile.
Neither did Luca.
And that scared me more than if they had.
Because this wasn’t a joke.
This wasn’t them toying with me or trying to get a reaction.
It was a statement . A shift .
I took a step back. “You’re trying to punish me.”
Still silence.
Still watching.
Like I was the one out of line for being shocked.
“I said I didn’t want to pick,” I whispered. “I said this couldn’t happen. You don’t get to make it worse .”
When neither of them moved to explain, I turned — pulse hammering — and grabbed my things, heading straight for the shower. I needed space . I needed water . I needed something to snap me out of the mess that was building in my chest.
As I slammed the bathroom door shut, I caught one last glimpse of them.
Still silent.
Still watching.
And worse — amused .
Like they already knew something I didn’t.
I had the longest shower in history.
Took my time with everything — washed my hair twice, shaved like I was going somewhere important, and dragged out my skincare routine like it might save me.
They were both in bed.
Bastion and Luca.
Reclined like they belonged there. Like they were waiting for me — looking comfortable, shirtless, and sinfully smug.
I ignored it.
Walked across the room and put my things away slowly, like that might make them disappear. Then I turned, stepping down toward the lounge without saying a word.
“Emilia,” Luca said, voice velvet-soft, “don’t make us get rid of the couch too.”
“We like it,” Bastion added with a shrug from the bed. “But not enough to let you keep using it to avoid us.”
I stopped cold .
Then I turned and really looked at them.
They weren’t moving. Just watching me.
“Can we talk now?” Luca asked gently.
I hesitated. Then I nodded.
“We don’t want you to choose,” he said .
“And we’d really prefer if you didn’t ,” Bastion followed.
I stared at them like they’d spoken another language.
“Okay…” I exhaled, then narrowed my eyes. “Are you two done making fun of me?”
“We’re not making fun of you,” Luca said, his brow pulling slightly.
I didn’t believe them. Not really.
I hovered at the foot of the bed like a girl who didn’t belong to herself anymore.
Not really.
Not since the moment I walked in and saw the room — my bed gone, their beds gone. And now. One bed.
No excuses left.
I wrapped my arms around myself, nerves tightening in my chest.
“I’ll sleep here,” I said, nodding toward the middle, “but nothing happens. Okay?”
They didn’t say anything at first.
Just looked at me.
Like I’d handed them something sacred. Or broken.
“Promise,” I added quickly, my voice stronger this time. “You both have to promise.”
Luca’s mouth twitched first. Then Bastion’s.
“Oh, baby…” Bastion drawled, dragging a hand through his hair. “You think we’d let it happen that easy?”
Luca leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs, eyes sharp like a blade dressed in velvet.
“ You’ll beg first. ”
The blood drained from my face.
“What?” I said, blinking.
“You heard him.” Luca’s tongue swept across his lower lip, slow and deliberate. “We’ll make you really beg, sweetheart. Before we ever touch. ”
Bastion smirked, his voice low and warm like silk over something darker. “On your knees. On your back. Doesn’t matter. You’ll be the one asking.”
My stomach twisted.
It wasn’t what they said — not really.
It was how they said it.
Like they’d already pictured it.
Lived it.
Like they were waiting for it.
I backed up half a step, shaking my head.
“Jesus,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest. “You two are insane.”
“Only about you,” Bastion said, reaching for the blanket and folding it down.
Luca scooted back, opening the middle space like it had always been mine.
“Come to bed with your twins, baby,” he murmured.
“We’ve waited all night.”
I swallowed hard.
My pulse was everywhere.
I climbed in slowly, pulling the blanket up to my shoulders, refusing to meet either of their eyes. My body was rigid, heart hammering.
They didn’t touch me. Didn’t even try.
Just laid beside me like two wolves dressed in patience.
But their heat pressed against my skin from both sides.
And I knew — no matter how long it took — they’d win.
Because a part of me… already wanted to beg.
And that terrified me more than anything.
I turned onto my side. Again .
Then my back.
Then back to my side.
Ugh.
The sheets were soft, the pillow perfect, the room dark and still — but I couldn’t get comfortable. Not with them on either side of me. Not with the way their bodies radiated heat, making the space feel smaller, tighter, heavier.
I was too aware.
Of the way Bastion’s thigh brushed mine when he shifted.
Of how Luca’s breath ghosted across my neck whenever he exhaled.
Of the fact that neither of them had touched me once since I crawled between them three nights ago.
And that I kind of hated it.
I wiggled again, adjusting the hem of my shorts, pulling the tank top down across my stomach. The cotton clung to my skin. I was burning up.
“You okay?” Bastion murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just can’t get comfortable.”
I felt him turn toward me.
Luca stirred behind me a second later.
Of course.
God forbid one twin move and the other not feel it.
Bastion’s voice dipped lower. “You’re squirming, baby.”
“I’m just hot.”
His breath hitched. Just slightly.
Luca’s hand brushed against the curve of my hip, featherlight.
“You weren’t hot last night,” he said, tone drowsy but thick with meaning. “What’s different?”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“You both,” I muttered. “You’re what’s different. ”
Silence.
Then a soft, dark chuckle from Bastion. “That a complaint or a confession?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I think it’s a problem.”
Luca shifted closer, so close I could feel the outline of his body against my back. “Want us to move?”
No. God, no.
“I just want to sleep.”
“Then stop wiggling,” Bastion said, voice low. “You’re driving us fucking crazy.”
My heart skittered.
I groaned, loud and dramatic, throwing an arm over my eyes. “I hate sleeping in cotton.”
Silence.
“Miss your satin, baby,” Luca murmured at my back, voice husky with memory.
“ Fuck, we do,” Bastion added, and I could hear the grin in it.
I buried my face into the pillow. “It rides up,” I mumbled. “When I sleep.”
“Oh, we remember,” Luca said, a little too quickly.
My cheeks burned.
“It’s not fair on you,” I whispered.
That pulled the silence tighter.
“You stopped wearing it… for us? ” Bastion asked, quieter now. Careful.
I nodded once, slowly.
“It moves too easily,” I added. “And I— I didn’t want to?—”
“To tempt us?” Luca asked, breath brushing the back of my neck.
“To drive us insane?” Bastion finished from in front of me.
“I didn’t want to be cruel,” I admitted.
There was a pause .
Then Bastion’s hand found my waist under the blanket. Gentle. Steady. Possessive.
“You’re not cruel, baby,” he said. “You’re just ours.”
Luca’s hand joined his, sliding around my hip, bracketing me between them.
“Wear whatever you want,” Luca whispered. “We’ll behave.”
“No,” Bastion corrected, his voice lower now. “We’ll try. ”
My body flushed from the inside out.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “Good night.”
And this time, I meant it.
Even as their hands stayed exactly where they were.
Even as sleep came slower—warmer—than it should have.
I was in the bathroom, smoothing moisturiser along my cheeks, when I leaned closer to the mirror, squinting.
A line. Maybe. Just above my jaw.
I frowned and leaned in further.
That’s when I saw him.
Luca.
He’d slipped in behind me without a sound, his reflection taking up the space behind mine—bare chest, storm-dark eyes, that ever-present undercurrent of want in his expression.
I turned slowly, still touching my face. “Do you see it?” I asked, tipping my chin up toward him. “Right here—like a crease?”
His hand came up, warm and steady, cupping my face.
His thumb brushed the spot gently, like I might bruise.
“All I see,” he said, “is perfection. And ours. ”
My breath caught .
He kissed my cheek, slow and deliberate, before dragging his gaze down my body.
That’s when I remembered what I was wearing—my soft cotton sleep set, all innocent lines and loose fit.
His jaw flexed.
“You know what’s harder than trying not to touch you?” he murmured, voice rough. “Not seeing you in satin.”
My stomach fluttered.
“It’s like watching the sun set through glass instead of standing outside under it. Still beautiful, but fuck—it’s not the same.”
I stared up at him, heartbeat a wild staccato.
“I didn’t think you noticed,” I whispered.
“Oh, I noticed, baby.” His voice dipped lower. “I always notice.”
His hand trailed from my cheek to my jaw, down my neck—but stopped there.
Paused.
Respectful. Barely.
“I’ll see you in bed,” he said, voice tighter now. “Unless you want help finding something… softer to wear.”
Then he left, door clicking softly behind him, leaving breathless.
Perfection.
Ours.
I turned toward the box on the bench. My fingers found the crimson wax seal, pressed with my family’s crest. I peeled it open slowly.
The scent hit instantly.
Me.
It was my signature perfume—created for me when I turned sixteen by a perfumer in France. Light floral undertones wrapped in musk and clean warmth. Feminine without being too soft. Elegant without trying.
Everything with my name on it—my clothes, sheets, even stationery—was misted with it. The scent had become part of me. Of how I was known.
Every week, the routine stayed the same. I’d send out my worn laundry in a monogrammed velvet bag, and in its place, fresh pieces would arrive—folded in tissue, sealed with wax, lightly perfumed like a kiss against the neck. A dynasty daughter didn’t do laundry. We wore legacy. We wore luxury.
I reached into the box and pulled out what I hadn’t dared wear in weeks.
Deep red satin with faint blush-pink lace. The slip dress was soft and fluid, shaped to my waist and hips, the front low enough to make my breath catch. It had no back—just thin straps that tied at the base of my neck, the silk dipping all the way down to the curve of my spine.
I stepped into it slowly. Checked my reflection before opening the door and walking out.
Bastion let out a low, guttural, “ Fuck. ”
I looked up.
He was already watching me—jaw tight, eyes darker than the rest of the room. Like he was two seconds from saying screw the rules and pulling me under him.
“That’s our girl,” Luca muttered beside him.
But it wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said it. Like he meant ours . Like his whole body ached with it.
And maybe it was wrong, but God, I loved that.
“Comfortable?” Luca asked, voice dipped low and unreadable.
I nodded, walking toward them. When I reached the edge of the bed, it was Bastion who moved first.
He reached out and took my hand, tugging me gently, guiding me up and in—right between them like I belonged there.
Because I did.
The sheets were warm from their bodies. The space between them perfect for mine. Like they’d measured it.
I settled onto the mattress, exhaling softly.
Then I turned my head and whispered, “Can I have your hands?”
They both stilled.
“I sleep better when you’re touching me,” I added, lifting my chin, trying to play it cool while my heart pounded.
Neither of them said anything.
They just grinned— wickedly, knowingly —like I’d handed them some secret key to something I didn’t even fully understand yet.
But they didn’t hesitate.
Two hands—one from each side—found me under the sheets.
Fingers brushing my waist.
My hip.
My thigh.
My heart.
And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel split in two.
I felt held .