Chapter 3 Aaron or Axel?

Mila’s POV

The silence stretched between us for a hot minute. In that minute, everything else was heightened: his breathing, his stare, his scent…

"Who do you think?" he asked softly, his eyes flickering from my face to my lips.

Before I could even find my voice, he pulled back, the sudden loss of the warmth from his body leaving me cold. He turned on his heel, his sweatpants sweeping against the tile as he walked back to the kitchen island and sat down, pulling the thick textbook back toward him as if nothing had happened. He resumed reading with not a care in the world.

I didn't wait for another word. I gripped the glass of milk, turned, and practically bolted up the dark stairs. I didn’t bother to be quiet this time around.

Once inside my room, I locked the door with a sharp click and leaned my back against it, my chest heaving. My heart was drumming against my ribs. I crawled into bed and set the glass on the nightstand, but I didn't drink it. For hours, I lay there staring into the shadows of the ceiling, replaying the entire thing. The warmth of his thumb on my bottom lip. The low, deep baritone of his voice. The way those green eyes had looked so dark under the lamp. I tried to map the features, to force a name onto the face, but they were perfectly identical. By the time my eyes finally grew heavy, the image of him leaning so close to me was still burned into my mind.

The next morning, the bright sunlight cutting through the large window woke me up. I dragged myself out of bed, still exhausted, and pulled a massive, oversized black hoodie over black sweatpants. I twisted my hair up into a messy bun, securing it with a claw clip, not really caring what I looked like.

I took slow steps toward the dining room.

My father was already seated, drinking coffee. His face warmed up with a smile as soon as he looked up at me. “Good morning, Mila.”

"Morning," I answered, managing to smile at him.

Carol was already on her feet, laying out the large tray of pancakes. The long dining table was completely covered in a massive breakfast spread—platters of eggs, mountains of bacon, a large jug of orange juice. My brows creased with concern as I stared at the heap of food that looked like it was meant to feed ten people.

"Oh, Mila! Good morning, sweetie," Carol said, rushing over to pull out a chair for me. "Come, sit down. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I made a bit of everything. Do you like pancakes? Crispy or fluffy? And the bacon—do you prefer it extra crispy? What kind of syrup do you want? I have maple and a berry one I made fresh."

I sat down slowly, overwhelmed by the volume of words hitting me so early in the morning. I just nodded simply. "Fluffy is fine. Thanks."

"And the bacon? Crispy?"

"Yes."

"Oh, thank goodness. And the eggs—"

"Carol, honey," my father interrupted, his voice soft as he reached out and gently placed a hand over hers, caressing it to calm her down. "It's okay. I'm sure Mila loves the food. Why don't you sit down and eat?"

Carol let out a big exhale, but finally nodded, sinking into the chair next to him.

I watched his hand on hers, and my heart ached. Seeing them like that instantly made me think of breakfast back home when Dad and Mom were still married. Breakfast never looked anything like this. They were always bickering about something; I had learned to come to the table with my headphones.

I was still lost in my thoughts, watching Dad squeeze her hand while he was staring at her, when the sounds of heavy footsteps coming down the staircase interrupted my musing.

The twins walked into the dining room, practically shoving each other through the doorway. They were both wearing identical gray mesh athletic shorts and white t-shirts, their tall frames bumping into the doorframe.

"Are you serious right now, idiot?" one of them muttered, elbowing the other in the ribs. "You literally watched me put this shirt on."

"You stole it out of my drawer, dumbass," the other retorted, shoving him back.

"Carol pinched the bridge of her nose, her shoulders tensing up again. "Boys, please. Can you pipe down a little? It’s entirely too early in the morning for... whatever that is." She gestured vaguely at their matching outfits.

"They both ignored her, dropping into the two empty chairs across from me.

"Hi, Pops," they chimed in unison to my father, who gave them a tight nod.

Then, they turned to me.

One of the boys looked directly at me as he reached into a glass bowl in the center of the table, picked up a red apple, and took a crunchy bite. As soon as he flashed me a bright, effortless smile that made his eyes light up, I knew it was the brother whose name I still didn’t remember. “Good morning, sister.”

I met his gaze. Up close in the morning light, his smile was entirely too cute. I felt a sudden heat rise into my cheeks, making me look down at my plate. Since I didn't know which one he was, I kept it brief. "Good morning."

The other twin didn't say a word. He just leaned back, tipped his head at me slightly, and reached for a plate.

As breakfast got underway, my confusion only got worse. I kept looking at either of the boys, waiting for one of them to give me a clue that they were the boy from last night, but no one did.

To be honest, I didn’t know what clue I was looking out for. But anything other than what they were doing right now—chatting and talking loudly.

I stopped eating entirely, resting my chin on my hand as I stared intensely across the table. I looked at their faces, their eyes. They had slightly distinct eyes, but in the dark, I wouldn’t have known whose eyes were boring into mine. My eyes darted to their hands; maybe if I stared hard enough, I’d be able to figure out who had touched the corner of my mouth. Oh Mila, who are you kidding??

"Mila?"

A hand suddenly tapped my knuckles on the table.

I involuntarily shuddered, my whole body jumping at the physical contact. I pulled my hand back, looking up to see my father staring at me, a worried frown on his face. "Are you okay? You're completely zoned out."

"I'm fine," I said a bit too quickly. "I'm just tired."

Carol instantly leaned forward, a panicky look on her face. "Is it the food? You've barely touched your pancakes. Is it too cold? I can reheat it, or make something else—"

"No, no," I interrupted, needing to stop her from worrying herself to death. I forced a small, reassuring smile. "The food is nice… no, it’s great, Carol. Really. I'm just a slow eater in the morning."

Carol visibly relaxed, a relieved smile breaking across her face. My father caught her eye, sharing a quiet, knowing look with her that made me look away.

Across the table, the boys had stopped chewing. They were both looking at me, worry etched on their faces.

Then, the quiet one leaned back in his chair, a slow, wicked smirk creeping onto his lips. He locked his dark eyes onto mine.

"How did you sleep last night, Mila?" Axel asked.

The piece of pancake I had just swallowed went entirely down the wrong pipe. I began coughing violently, my hand flying to my chest as my throat seized up.

Before my dad or Carol could even move, the cheerful twin was out of his seat. He flew around the table, landing right beside my chair and gently patting my back to help me catch my breath.

"Axel!" Carol rebuked him sharply, glaring at the smirking twin. "What is wrong with you?"

Axel just shrugged carelessly, leaning his chin in his hand. "It's a harmless question, Ma."

My father shot Axel a deathly, warning glare, but Axel didn't even blink.

The brother beside me kept patting my back, his touch light and genuinely concerned, until the coughing fit finally passed and I could breathe normally again.

Carol let out a long sigh of relief, placing a hand over her heart. "Thank you, Aaron."

I froze, the name echoing in my head as I looked up at the boy standing beside my chair.

Aaron.

So the sweet, attentive twin rubbing my back right now was Aaron. Which meant the one sitting across from me, staring at me with a knowing smirk, was Axel. The demon spawn was the exact same person who had wiped the milk from my lip in the dark.