Falling In Love With The Billionaire Twins

In the quiet solitude of my room, I diligently tidied up the space, a task that felt oddly therapeutic in its simplicity. Ace and Alex were currently abroad for work commitments, leaving me with a sense of both loneliness and tranquility. Cher was occupied with her own job, creating an unusual stillness in the usually bustling household.

As I rearranged books and straightened picture frames, the absence of their usual banter and laughter was palpable. The silence was both comforting and slightly eerie, allowing me to reflect on the beauty of solitude while also missing the energy they brought into my life.

Just as I finished organizing, the chime of the doorbell resonated through the house. I made my way downstairs, curious to see who might be at the door. Upon opening it, I was greeted by the familiar face of the “breakfast boy.” It was a term I had affectionately coined for him a young man tasked with delivering breakfast to me each morning, following orders from Ace and Alex. Despite my ability to make breakfast myself, they insisted on pampering me with this gesture, half in jest and half to prevent any culinary mishaps that might arise.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile as he handed me the box containing my morning sustenance. He nodded in response, a hint of recognition in his eyes. Closing the door behind me, I walked into the kitchen and placed the breakfast box on the table. It was an odd combination of sentiment and practicality a daily reminder of my friends’ care.All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

Just as I was about to resume my cleaning routine, my phone rang, startling me slightly. Retrieving it from my pocket, I answered, only to be met with Cher’s voice, laden with distress. “He cheated on me!!” she cried out, her words a mixture of anger, sadness, and betrayal.

I was left speechless by the turn of events. Cher had arrived at my place shortly after our emotional phone call, her face tear-streaked and her eyes red from crying. I handed her box after box of tissues as she wailed, her pain palpable and heart-wrenching. She had just discovered that her husband had brought roses for a female co-worker, triggering a storm of emotions that I couldn’t fully comprehend.

“Are you sure he was cheating on you?” I asked, a touch of disbelief in my voice. I had to be certain, hoping that there might be some logical explanation for what seemed like an utterly hurtful betrayal. Cher’s vacant stare met mine, her eyes hollow. “Yes, he was. He didn’t bring the roses home,” she sobbed, her voice quivering with pain. It was a chilling realization the absence of those roses being a damning sign of infidelity.

As I took a deep breath, my thoughts raced. Ace and Alex, protective older brothers, would be furious when they learned that their baby sister had been cheated on. The intensity of their anger was almost palpable in my mind. I attempted to steady myself for what might come next.

In the midst of our heavy silence, the door suddenly burst open once again, revealing Cher’s husband standing at the threshold, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. “What’s happening?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine bewilderment.

“What’s happening?” I repeated, my voice unintentionally rising in both surprise and frustration. “You tell me what’s happening, Mr. Cheater.”

He blinked, seemingly taken aback by my accusatory tone. “Mr. Cheater?” he echoed, his voice colored with uncertainty.

I felt Cher’s gaze shift towards him, her eyes filled with a mix of anguish and anger. “I saw you buying roses for that ugly co-worker of yours!” she accused, her voice quivering with raw emotion.

His expression softened, and a hint of a smile seemed to dance on his lips. “Cher, baby, what are you talking about?”

The room seemed to tighten with tension as we all stood there, suspended in the moment. Cher’s voice was laced with desperation as she responded, “I’m talking about you cheating on me with that… that whore!”

For a brief second, silence hung heavy in the air, as if the room held its breath. And then, he reached for his phone, his fingers tapping on the screen. The tension only grew as he showed us a picture a wedding proposal. The photo depicted a woman down on one knee, a ring in her hand, and the face of surprise and elation on another woman’s face.

“This whore?” he asked, his tone shifting from defensiveness to something more sincere. The image that flickered on his phone screen was not what we had anticipated.

As my eyes focused on the photo, a mix of shock, relief, and embarrassment washed over me. It was indeed a proposal a joyous moment between two women who were clearly in love. Cher’s husband continued, “This lesbian whore who proposed to her girlfriend… I was helping her get flowers last minute.”

Embarrassment washed over us like a sudden wave as we gazed at the picture on Cher’s husband’s phone. The revelation was a stark reminder that hasty judgments can lead us down paths of misunderstanding. “Oh,” I murmured, my cheeks flushing in response to the awkward realization. This was precisely why I was wary of meddling in people’s relationships, especially in the context of marriages.

Cher’s expression mirrored my own, her initial anger and hurt now giving way to an embarrassed blush. The tension in the room seemed to deflate, replaced by an almost comical sense of discomfort. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of exasperation and embarrassment.

Her husband sighed, his eyes reflecting both remorse and amusement. “Things got chaotic at work, and I forgot to mention it at home,” he explained, his tone contrite. He reached out and patted Cher’s head gently, a gesture of reassurance.

“I was about to tell you at lunch today,” he continued, his voice carrying a hint of playful annoyance, “but since you didn’t show up, I had to track down your location only to find you here covered in snot and tears.”

Cher’s embarrassment seemed to intensify, her cheeks reddening even further. The truth was that she had jumped to conclusions without all the facts, and the realization was making her feel more vulnerable than ever. The warmth of her husband’s hand on her head was both a comfort and a reminder of his forgiveness.

“It’s all your fault,” she grumbled half-jokingly, half-seriously, casting a sideways glance at me. I offered a sheepish smile, acknowledging my role in the misunderstanding.

“I’m sorry, Cher baby,” her husband chuckled softly, his tone filled with genuine affection. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

The room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as the tension dissolved into an atmosphere of understanding and light-heartedness. I watched as Cher’s shoulders relaxed, the weight of her initial accusations now lifted. It was a humbling reminder that even the most well-intentioned actions could have unintended consequences, and communication was key in preventing misunderstandings.

Cher shot a mock glare at her husband, her embarrassment gradually turning into playful annoyance. “You better make it up to me,” she teased, her voice a mixture of affection and mock sternness.

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Consider it done. How about we have that dinner we’ve been postponing for ages?”

Cher’s lips curled into a smile, the tension that had gripped her heart earlier finally easing. “Sounds like a plan.”