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✧༺ BEAUTIFULLY TWISTED ༻
Book One
𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓡𝓾𝓲𝓷
Asher Voss & Vivienne Bennett
Vivienne
I had loved Asher Voss for exactly three years, seven months, and twelve days.
Not that I was keeping a meticulous running tally in a leather-bound journal or anything desperate like that. I wasn't sitting by my window in the dead of night, weeping into a cup of tea while scribbling his name in the margins of my notebooks like a lovesick teenager.
Okay, fine. That was a complete and utter lie. I was absolutely, pathetically counting down to the exact digit, tracking the time like a sentence I couldn't commute.
The initial, catastrophic realization had struck me when I was a naive nineteen-year-old college sophomore, still stupid enough to believe I possessed a natural immunity to beautiful, emotionally distant men. I’d spent my whole life watching women lose their minds over guys like him, and I’d arrogantly assumed I was smarter. I thought my internal radar was too calibrated to let a pretty face wreck my life.
Then Asher Voss had looked at me for the very first time.
He hadn’t flashed a devastatingly handsome smile. He hadn’t muttered a slick, rehearsed pickup line, nor had he attempted to engage me in witty banter. He hadn’t even spoken a single syllable to acknowledge that I breathed the same air. He had simply cut his fierce, smoky gray eyes across a crowded room and looked directly at me. It wasn't a casual glance; it was a heavy, deliberate weight that anchored me to the floorboards. In a fraction of a single heartbeat, my entire carefully constructed personality had collapsed like a poorly framed building in a category-five hurricane. One look, and the foundation of who I thought I was just eroded into dust.
Tonight was certainly not doing my pride any favors.
The annual Bennett Foundation Winter Gala occupied the entire grand ballroom of the historic Grand Regency Hotel, a sprawling landscape of obscene New York wealth, cutthroat politicians, manicured socialites, and elite families who thoroughly enjoyed hearing the sound of their own voices discussing tax-deductible charitable giving while aggressively consuming six-hundred-dollar bottles of vintage champagne. The room was a suffocating blur of gold leaf, heavy silk, and the suffocating scent of expensive perfumes masking cheap intentions.
I absolutely loathed these ostentatious events. Every single second felt like a hollow performance where everyone wore a mask and smiled through their teeth.
Unfortunately, my last name happened to be Bennett, which meant my presence was non-negotiable. Attendance was mandatory, a required performance for the family brand, a visual confirmation that the Bennett heirs were unified, flawless, and deeply invested in the public eye. And if I missed it, Ethan would know something was wrong. My brother possessed a terrifyingly acute radar when it came to my moods, and if I bypassed a premier family event, he would show up at my apartment within the hour, breaking down the door to find out why.
Which he absolutely could not know. Not tonight. Not after the week I'd had.
My phone sat like a live grenade inside my tiny pearl evening clutch. I could feel it. Not physically, obviously. Emotionally. Dramatically. Psychologically. Whatever. The point was, it had been vibrating with anonymous messages for nine days, and every new buzz made my stomach drop like the floor had vanished beneath my heels. It was a sickening, phantom weight that seemed to grow heavier with every hour that passed.
At first, I’d convinced myself it was spam. Some automated bot dialing random numbers in the tri-state area. Then a wrong number from someone who couldn't type a digital sequence correctly. Then a bored creep with too much free time and an unfortunate lack of hobbies. But by the fifth message, even I had run out of excuses to protect my own sanity.
*Unknown: Blue looks pretty on you, Vivienne.*
That one had arrived while I was wearing a blue sweater dress at brunch with Savannah, sitting outside at a crowded cafe on the Upper West Side, completely exposed to the street.
*Unknown: You shouldn’t walk alone after dark.*
That one had come through when I was crossing campus after my late seminar, the shadows stretching long under the dim streetlights, making me pull my coat tighter around my shoulders as I looked over my shoulder every ten steps.
And this morning, while I stood in my bedroom wearing nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and sleep shorts, my phone had lit up with the one that made me want to crawl out of my skin.
*Unknown: Pretty girls shouldn’t leave their bedroom curtains open.*
That was when I stopped pretending. That was the moment the fragile illusion of safety shattered into pieces. Someone was watching me. Someone knew where I lived. Someone knew what I wore. Someone knew my name. And somehow, terrifyingly, I was standing in a ballroom full of people pretending I wasn’t unraveling beneath a silk gown and lip gloss. I was playing the part of the pristine Bennett heiress while my insides twisted into a tight, frantic knot of pure dread.
“Vivienne.”
I blinked, the glittering lights of the ballroom snapping back into focus. Savannah Hart stood beside me near the secondary crystal bar, holding a champagne flute and studying my face with far too much intelligence for my comfort.
“What?” I managed, forcing my voice into a smooth, even register.
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you stare into the middle distance like a haunted Victorian widow.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“You absolutely are. You look like you’re waiting for news about a shipwreck.”
“I’m simply contemplating mortality,” I deflected, lifting my chin.
“Exactly. Haunted widow.”
A laugh slipped out of me despite the tight knot in my stomach. Savannah smiled like she’d won something. She usually did. My lifelong best friend had perfected the art of looking effortlessly gorgeous while emotionally interrogating people. Tonight, she wore a deep emerald gown that made her hazel eyes look sharper than usual, and her blonde hair fell in glamorous waves over one shoulder. She looked like she belonged in rooms like this—confident, unbothered, and entirely lethal. I looked like I was trying very hard not to glance at my phone every fourteen seconds. Savannah knew something was wrong. She just didn’t know what. Yet. And I intended to keep it that way. If she found out, she’d call security, she’d tell Ethan, and the entire night would devolve into chaos.
“The silver-haired man currently standing by the abstract sculpture definitely has a secret penthouse in Tribeca for his mistress,” she murmured, nodding toward a prominent donor across the room who was currently laughing too loudly at his own joke.
I followed her gaze, glad for the distraction, and laughed softly. “Which one?”
“The mistress?”
“The silver-haired man.”
Savannah gave me a look, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Vivienne, focus. The man looks like he orders wives in bulk.”
I snorted into my champagne, the bubbles stinging the back of my throat. For half a second, the tightness in my chest loosened. The familiar rhythm of our banter pushed the shadows back into the corners of my mind.
Then my phone vibrated inside my clutch. A short, sharp buzz against my palm.
My smile died instantly.
Savannah noticed the shift immediately. Her brows pulled together, her playful expression vanishing into something keen and observant. “Viv?”
I forced my fingers to stay wrapped around my glass instead of diving for my clutch like a fucking lunatic. I could feel the sweat priming my palms. “I’m fine.”
“That was a very unconvincing sentence.”
“I’m working on sounding more convincing.”
“You need more practice. Your face is transparent.”
Before I could respond, Savannah’s sharp gaze shifted past me toward the main ballroom entrance. Her lips curved into a knowing, wicked line. “Oh.”
My stomach did something stupid. A sudden, fluttering heat that had absolutely nothing to do with the anonymous texts and everything to do with the biological reaction I had spent three years failing to suppress. “What?”
“You’ve looked at that entrance fourteen times in the last twenty minutes.”
“I have absolutely not been checking the door, Savannah.”
“Vivienne.”
“I am simply analyzing the architectural layout of the room. It’s a beautiful hotel. The crown molding is historic.”
“You’re waiting for him to walk through those doors, and you are doing a terrible job of hiding it.”
Heat crawled up my neck, hot and sudden, painting my skin a telltale flush under the crystal chandeliers. “Please lower your voice before someone from the board hears you.”
Savannah looked entirely delighted by my reaction, her eyes sparkling. “You are completely, utterly hopeless when it comes to that man.”
“I know I am,” I muttered into the rim of my glass, taking a long sip to hide the tremor in my lips.
Unfortunately for my mental sanity, I knew it down to my absolute marrow. I knew how pathetic it was. I knew how dangerous it was to crave someone who treated the world like a chessboard and everyone in it like pieces. Because despite every logical defense mechanism I had spent years building against the illusion of him, my traitorous gaze drifted right back toward the grand ballroom entrance.
And then, the air left my lungs completely.
Asher Voss had finally arrived.
The entire crowded room seemed to notice his presence in a collective, silent shift of atmospheric pressure. It always happened that way whenever he occupied a space. He didn't just enter a room; he commanded it by merely existing within its boundaries. He was towering, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in a black-on-black tailored tuxedo that highlighted his dark hair and sharp, predatory features, making him look expensive enough to own the entire city skyline and dangerous enough to burn it down to the ground for amusement. The fabric of his suit caught the light with a matte finish, custom-fit to a frame that looked more suited for a brawl than a high-society fundraiser.
The superficial conversations continued around the perimeter of the ballroom, but the energy subtly pivoted. People watched him out of the corners of their eyes. Entire groups shifted their positions to clear a path for his stride, socialites suddenly straightening their spines and politicians pausing mid-sentence.
Asher never seemed to notice the attention. Or care. He moved with a slow, predatory grace that suggested he was entirely aware of his impact and utterly bored by it. His dark, unyielding gaze swept slowly across the expanse of the grand ballroom. Once. Twice. And then his eyes stopped dead.
Directly on me.
My breath caught sharply in my throat, the oxygen freezing in my lungs.
There it was. That exact, terrifying sensation I had been running from for over three years. It felt as if every single individual in the crowded room had suddenly vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but a vast, empty expanse between my body and his. The noise of the orchestra, the clinking of glasses, the hum of hundreds of voices—all of it faded into a dull, white static. The polished marble floor felt like it was tilting violently beneath my high heels, forcing me to anchor my weight before I did something entirely embarrassing like falling over.
His stormy gray eyes held mine for one heavy, suffocating second. Two seconds. He didn't blink. He didn't nod. He just stared, his gaze cutting right through the distance, stripping away every defense I had spent the night assembling.
And then he calmly looked away, breaking the connection as he stepped into the crowd to greet a senator who had been frantically trying to catch his eye.
Just like that. He moved on as though he hadn’t completely, ruthlessly ruined the entire trajectory of my evening with a single glance. My chest heaved as I finally took a breath, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“God,” Savannah muttered beside me, her voice cutting through the fog in my brain.
I swallowed hard, trying to clear the dry tightness in my throat. “What?”
“He definitely knows, Viv.”
A sharp, cold bolt of pure panic exploded in my stomach, overriding the lingering heat of his gaze. “What are you talking about? Knows what?”
“He definitely knows you have a massive, life-altering crush on him. It’s written all over your face. You look like you just got hit by lightning.”
“Oh my God, Savannah, shut up.”
“I’m being completely serious. The man looks at you like he’s solving a complex equation he already knows the answer to. It’s intense. It’s honestly a little terrifying.”
“No. Absolutely not,” I denied, my voice tight. “He does not know. He barely even registers my existence as Ethan’s little sister. I’m an obligation to be polite to, nothing more.”
Savannah gave me a look of profound pity. The exact kind of expression usually reserved for someone insisting the earth was flat or that gravity was optional. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe.”
Before she could argue the point any further, a familiar, deep voice appeared behind me, snapping me out of the line of fire.
“Are you harassing my little sister again, Hart?”
Ethan Bennett. My older brother. My absolute favorite person in our fractured family tree, the only one who had anchored me through the mess of our upbringing. And currently, the person I was lying to the most. He looked impeccable, his dark hair perfectly styled, his posture exuding the effortless confidence of a man who had taken over the family empire without breaking a sweat.
Savannah flashed him a bright, entirely unbothered smile, leaning back against the bar. “Always, Ethan. It’s my primary civic duty. Keeps her humble.”
Ethan let out a soft chuckle, stepping past her to press a warm kiss against the top of my head as he joined our small circle. The scent of his expensive cologne and familiar warmth brought a fleeting sense of safety.
I immediately wrinkled my nose, shoving at his chest playfully. “You’re being entirely too affectionate in public, Ethan. It’s bad for the family brand. People will think we actually like each other.”
“You’ll survive the trauma, Viv.”
“I highly doubt it. The psychological damage is deep.”
His sharp eyes moved over my face. Too sharp. Too familiar. That was the problem with having an older brother who loved you. Sometimes they knew your tells before you knew them yourself. He could read the slight tension in my jaw, the way my shoulders were held just a fraction too rigid.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice dropping into a quieter, protective register.
“Perfect.”
He frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Try again.”
“I’m mildly bored and dangerously underfed. If they don't bring out the heavy hors d'oeuvres soon, I might start eating the floral arrangements.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
It wasn’t. Not even close. But he smiled, the suspicion receding from his features, so I took the victory and let out a quiet breath.
His gaze moved across the crowded room and landed on Asher’s dark silhouette near the VIP lounge, where a small circle of executives had already gathered around him. A sudden, subtle tension entered the line of Ethan's shoulders. The easy, relaxed brother vanished, replaced by the guarded businessman.
Interesting. Very, very interesting.
Because Ethan and Asher had been best friends since their freshman year at Columbia, practically attached at the hip in business and in life. They had built portfolios together, navigated the treacherous waters of New York high society as a unit, and trusted each other implicitly. Yet, for the last year, Ethan always seemed strangely alert whenever Asher and I occupied the same physical room. It was almost suspicious. As if his protective older-brother instincts sensed a shift in the air that he couldn't quite put into words. Not the entire, messy truth of my obsession. Just enough data to make him annoying, like a guard dog catching a scent it didn't like.
“I see Asher actually made it tonight,” Ethan noted, his tone deliberately casual.
I nearly choked on a sip of air, my fingers tightening on the crystal stem of my glass. Casual. I needed to be entirely, perfectly casual. “You sound surprised by his attendance. He is on the board, isn't he?”
“I’m not surprised.”
Liar. He was checking my reaction. Ethan’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, his gaze dropping to the way my fingers held my glass.
I offered him a sweet, fabricated smile that I knew lacked any real warmth. His suspicion immediately increased tenfold, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Fantastic. I was doing a spectacular job of being subtle tonight.
A few minutes later, a group of international investors from Hong Kong politely pulled Ethan away for a private conversation regarding the foundation’s new infrastructure fund, leaving Savannah and me alone against the column again. I watched him slip back into his corporate persona, smoothly shaking hands as he walked away.
Then Savannah’s phone began to vibrate in her evening clutch. She glanced down at the screen, cursed softly under her breath, and gave me an apologetic look.
“I have to take this. It’s my mother’s assistant. If I don't answer, she’ll call the hotel front desk and have me paged over the loudspeakers. Don’t move.”
“I’ll do my best not to flee the premises.”
She pointed a manicured finger at me. “No haunted widow behavior while I’m gone. Stand straight.”
“No promises.”
She slipped away into the quieter corridor near the terrace, her emerald dress rustling against the floor, and suddenly, I was standing entirely by myself in a sea of silk and diamonds.
A terrible tactical development.
Because the exact second I was left alone without a conversational shield, I became acutely, violently aware of him. I wasn’t even looking in his direction, but my body had apparently developed some bizarre internal Asher Voss radar that tracked his location through sheer atmospheric pressure. The skin on the back of my neck prickled. The hairs on my arms stood up. I knew he was moving before I saw him.
Desperate for something to do with my hands, to look occupied so some wandering heir wouldn't try to strike up a conversation about real estate, I reached toward a passing silver tray, aiming for another flute of champagne.
But a different hand closed around the crystal stem first.
Large. Warm. Distinctly male. A shock of white-hot electricity shot straight up my arm the exact microsecond our fingers brushed against the glass. It was a physical jolt, so intense it made the breath hitch in my throat.
My heart completely stopped functioning.
Asher. Of course it was him.
I slowly raised my head to look up into his face. It was a terrible, reckless decision. Up close, without the safety of distance, his features were entirely devastating to my resolve. He possessed a sharply carved jawline that looked like it had been sculpted from granite, dark eyes that felt like a stormy sea under his heavy brow, and an expression of pure, unyielding control. There was a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, a stark contrast to the pristine, manicured look of every other man in the room. Everything about his presence screamed danger. He was too big, too dark, and too intense for a room filled with polite lies.
“That is officially your third glass of the evening, Vivienne.”
His deep, gravelly baritone slid straight through my defenses, vibrating low against my skin and sending a shiver cascading down my spine. It was a rough, textured sound that felt entirely too intimate for a public ballroom.
I blinked rapidly, my brain temporarily scrambling for a response as I drowned in the gray of his eyes. “What?”
“The champagne,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the glass between our hands, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s your third. You’re drinking faster than usual.”
I stared up at him, my mouth slightly open, my indignation finally flaring through the haze of my attraction. “You’ve been counting my drinks, Asher?”
His hard expression didn’t alter by a single millimeter. He looked at me with the steady, unblinking focus of a predator watching its prey. “No.”
Liar. A beautiful, terrifying, multi-billion-dollar liar.
“I am a fully grown adult, and I can manage my own champagne consumption perfectly fine, thank you,” I snapped, trying to find my footing, trying to ignore the way the heat of his body was wrapping around mine, cutting off the cold air of the ballroom.
“I’m fully aware of that.”
“Then why are you currently stealing my glass from the tray?”
“I wasn’t stealing it.”
“You literally have your hand wrapped around it, Asher. Your fingers are touching mine.”
His fiery gaze slowly dropped down to the exact point where our skin met on the crystal stem. My pale, manicured fingers were trapped beneath his larger, tanned hand, the contrast stark and heavy. Neither of us moved an inch. Neither of us pulled back. My pulse completely forgot its basic biological function, roaring loudly in my ears as the heat of his palm seared my knuckles. It felt like a physical brand, a silent claim that made my thighs ache with a sudden, illicit thrum of desire. I wanted him to pull me closer. I wanted him to drag me out of this crowded room and ruin me.
Then his eyes lifted. Agonizingly slowly. Deliberately. Tracking up the front of my gown, lingering on the exposed skin of my collarbone, until they locked back onto mine. The entire grand ballroom disappeared for a second time. There was an unspoken, heavy heat passing between us, something dark and thick with years of unspoken words.
Finally, with a slow release of tension, his fingers slid off the glass, letting his hand drop back to his side. The loss of his touch felt like a physical drop in temperature.
I should have walked away to find Savannah. I should have fled to the ladies' room to press a cold paper towel against my racing pulse. Instead, I stayed rooted to the marble, trapped beneath his focus, unable to break the spell.
“Asher.”
“Vivienne.”
There was a hyper-specific, heavy quality to the way he articulated my name. Always. Like the syllables carried more weight than they should. Like he was physically forcing his jaw shut to prevent himself from saying it a second time, grinding the letters between his teeth.
My heart hammered violently against my ribs. “Are you… are you actually enjoying the gala tonight?” I asked, desperate for normal conversation, desperate to steer us away from whatever precipice we were standing on.
“No. Not at all. I despise these things.”
A soft, breathless laugh slipped from my lips, the honesty catching me off guard.
His dark eyes immediately lingered on the curve of my smile, tracking the movement of my mouth long enough to make my nerves shatter into pieces. His gaze stayed on my lips, heavy and focused, long enough to make a reckless, hopeless part of my soul wonder if the years of silence actually meant something. Long enough to make me think about what his mouth would feel like pressed hard against mine, destroying every rule we had ever lived by.
Then, my phone vibrated inside my clutch.
*Buzz.*
The moment shattered. The spell broke with the violent force of a physical blow. My entire body went cold, the warm fog of attraction instantly evaporating into a slick, icy layer of fear.
Asher noticed. Of course he did. He missed nothing. His gaze dropped to my clutch, which I had gripped so hard my knuckles were white, then snapped back to my face.
“What is it?” his voice was sharp now, the casual weight gone, replaced by an executive command.
“Nothing,” I breathed, stepping back, trying to create space.
His eyes sharpened, his brow furrowing into a dangerous line. “That wasn’t nothing. You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“You always this charming at charity events?” I tried to bite back, trying to use sarcasm as a shield.
“Only when people lie to me.”
My stomach twisted. “I’m not lying.”
Another lie. A terrible, fragile one.
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He took half a step closer, crowding my space, his eyes boring into mine as if he could rip the truth straight out of my head. “Vivienne—”
Before he could push any further, Ethan’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unwelcome.
“Ah, there you two are. Found you.”
Both of us looked up as Ethan stopped abruptly beside the bar. His analytical eyes moved rapidly between my face and Asher’s rigid posture, tracking the fractions of an inch between us. Once. Twice. A muscle ticked violently in my brother’s jaw, his posture turning rigid.
“Asher,” Ethan said, his voice entirely devoid of the warmth he’d used with Savannah and me minutes ago.
“Ethan.”
The cold tension between the two best friends was immediate, thick enough to cut with a knife. It was a subtle, dangerous current, masked beneath years of corporate manners and high-society breeding, but undoubtedly there. They looked like two apex predators negotiating a border dispute.
“We need to step into the study and talk about the logistics for tomorrow morning,” Ethan stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was a summons, clear and simple.
Asher’s smoky gray gaze remained fixed on my face for one final, heavy second. He didn't look at Ethan. He just kept his eyes on me, searching for whatever I was hiding, before he finally took a step back, creating an artificial chasm of distance between us. The cold corporate wall went right back up, his expression smoothing into a mask of polite indifference.
“I’ll see you around, Vivienne.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked away toward the exit corridors, his long strides eating up the distance. Ethan gave me one last, lingering, suspicious look before matching his stride beside him.
I stood frozen by the bar, watching the broad line of his back disappear through the heavy gold doors. Like a complete idiot. Like always. Like I had for exactly three years, seven months, and twelve days. I let out a shaky breath, my hand trembling as I set the full champagne glass down on the marble counter.
My phone vibrated again. Another sharp, demanding buzz.
My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. Savannah was still gone. Ethan was gone. Asher was gone. I was entirely exposed. I looked around the crowded ballroom, scanning faces that blurred together into diamonds and tuxedos and red-painted mouths. Everyone was laughing, drinking, talking about nonsense. No one looked suspicious. No one looked like a monster. That was the worst part. The predator could be anyone in a tailored suit.
My fingers trembled as I opened the pearl clutch and pulled out my phone, the screen illuminating my face in the dim corner.
*Unknown Number.*
I stared at the message, the text burning into my retinas.
*Unknown: He watches you too.*
A second message appeared beneath it a second later, a horrific confirmation that they were in this room, watching me right now.
*Unknown: But I saw you first.*
The champagne glass slipped from my numb fingers.
It shattered against the marble floor, the remaining liquid splashing across the pristine stone and the hem of my dress. The sound exploded through the ballroom like a gunshot, sharp and violent, cutting through the music and the laughter.
And this time, when every head in the room turned to look at me, a suffocating wave of terror washed over me. Because as I looked back at the sea of faces staring in my direction, I knew one of them belonged to the person who had just sent it. I knew someone was smiling behind their mask.
