Hiding My Twin Heirs from the Ruthless Prince

CHAPTER 140

POV: Adrian

Mark knocks without knocking.

That’s how I know it’s him.

He pushes the door open with his shoulder, pauses like he expects me to tell him to leave, then doesn’t. He never has been good at waiting for permission.

“You busy?” he asks.

I close the book I’m not reading. “No.”

“That was a lie,” he says, walking in anyway.

“Yes,” I admit. “But not an important one.”

He snorts and leans against the desk, arms crossed, rocking back on his heels. He looks different tonight. Lighter. Quieter. Like something heavy finally stopped pressing on his chest.

“She told me,” he says.

I nod. “I know.”

He studies my face, searching for cracks. “You’re not… angry.”

“No,” I reply.

“Disappointed?”

“No.”

“About to give me a speech about consequences?” he presses.

I tilt my head. “Would that make you feel better?”

He laughs, short and startled. “Actually? Yes. At least then things would feel normal.”

I smile faintly. “Normal was breaking us.”

He exhales and drops onto the chair across from me. “I don’t want this to be weird.”

“It won’t be,” I say.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” I answer. “Because I decided it wouldn’t be.”

He frowns. “You decided?”

“Yes,” I say calmly. “Just like I decided not to stand between you and her.”

Silence settles—not sharp, not tense. Just full.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Mark says finally.

“I know.”

“Then why does it feel like you gave something up?” he asks.

I think about that. About the ache I expected and didn’t get. About the relief that surprised me.

“I didn’t give something up,” I say. “I let something go.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It isn’t,” I reply. “It’s lighter.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I keep waiting for you to resent me.”

“I won’t,” I say.

“That’s not how people work,” he argues.

“That’s not how we have to work,” I counter.

He looks down at his hands. “I don’t want to be the reason you disappear again.”

“I didn’t disappear,” I say gently. “I was quiet.”

“That’s worse,” he mutters.

“No,” I reply. “It’s just different.”

He looks up. “I don’t know how to do this without owing you.”

“You don’t owe me,” I say firmly. “If you turn this into a debt, we lose.”

He winces. “You’re very serious about this.”

“I’ve been serious my whole life,” I answer. “This time, I’m choosing joy anyway.”

He laughs softly. “You’re terrifying when you talk like that.”

I smile. “Good.”

We walk together later, no destination, just movement.

The palace feels less like a maze tonight and more like a house. Servants pass without bowing too deeply. Guards nod instead of staring.

“You remember when we were younger,” Mark says, “and we used to race down the west stairs?”

“You cheated,” I reply.

“You cried,” he says.

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I slipped,” I correct.

He grins. “You cried because Father saw.”

I stop walking.

He stops too. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I just… forgot that memory wasn’t only mine.”

He shifts. “I hated that day.”

“Why?”

“Because you looked so small,” he says quietly. “And I didn’t know how to help.”

I swallow. “You did help. You stood there.”

“That’s not helping,” he argues.

“It was,” I say. “I wasn’t alone.”

He nods slowly, absorbing that.

“I hate that I made you feel like you had to step back,” he says.

“I stepped forward,” I reply. “Toward myself.”

“That sounds very poetic,” he mutters.

“I’ve been practicing,” I say dryly.

We find Father in the small sitting room, talking quietly with Mother.

They look up when we enter.

“You’re together,” Mother says, smiling.

“Yes,” Mark replies. “We survived.”

Father studies us for a moment. “Good.”

That’s it. No lecture. No warning.

Just good.

It feels like a gift.

Later, when Mother leaves, Father lingers.

“I want to say something,” he says, then stops. “No—two things.”

Mark raises an eyebrow. “This should be interesting.”

Father ignores that. “First—I’m proud of you.”

Mark blinks. “For…?”

“For choosing without cruelty,” Father says. “And for not confusing winning with worth.”

Mark’s throat bobs. “Thanks.”

Father turns to me. “And you.”

I meet his gaze.

“You didn’t vanish,” he says. “You chose with integrity.”

“I learned it somewhere,” I reply.

He exhales, almost a laugh. “You’re better than I was at your age.”

“That’s the point,” Mother says from the doorway, having returned without us noticing.

She takes Father’s hand. He lets her.

Later, Mark and I sit on the steps outside the palace, feet dangling above the courtyard.

The night is warm. The air smells like flowers and stone and something new.

“She makes me nervous,” Mark says suddenly.

I glance at him. “Good.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It means you care,” I reply. “Just don’t make her responsible for fixing you.”

He nods. “I won’t.”

“And don’t disappear into her either,” I add.

He smirks. “You really are my older brother.”

“I always was,” I say.

He nudges my shoulder. “You’re staying, right?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.

“Even if someday I mess up?” he asks.

“Especially then,” I say.

He leans back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “You know… I think we’re going to be okay.”

I follow his gaze. “We already are.”

When we stand to go inside, he stops me.

“Hey,” he says. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me with something good,” he replies. “And not turning it into a test.”

I nod. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

He grins. “Never.”

As we walk back into the palace together, shoulder to shoulder, I feel something settle into place.

Not perfection. Not certainty. But something stronger than both. We are brothers again—not because nothing went wrong, but because we chose each other anyway.

And this time, we didn’t let love divide us. We let it teach us how to stay.