I spun to face him, my stomach plummeting. "No... no, she—"
"Bryant found out she helped you escape," he said grimly. "He had her shot."
Tears blurred my vision. I clutched the windowsill, my chest tightening with grief. Angela... the only person who had truly cared for me... was gone.
But before I could fully process the loss, Armani turned on the television. My blood ran cold.
Bryant was on the screen.
Alive.
He was giving an interview, his expression solemn as he spoke to the reporters.
"My wife has been kidnapped," he announced. "And I am offering a large reward to anyone who finds her."
I staggered back, shaking my head. "That’s... impossible. I saw him die. You shot him."
Armani’s jaw clenched.
"Then tell me," he said darkly, his voice laced with something ominous. "Why does the man I shot have no scars? No bullet wound?"
My breath hitched.
And then—
The realization struck me like a lightning bolt.
It wasn’t Bryant who had died.
It was his twin.
