The Reborn Tycoon: Taking Back My Life

Moana's Suspicion

"You're home awfully late tonight, Darling. Did your business affairs leave you so exhausted that you completely forgot to text me?"

That soft, seductive voice greeted Miller's very first step as the elevator doors chimed softly, opening directly into the grand living room of the Whitlock Penthouse in downtown Amsterdam. Miller, who had just left his twin brother's body bleeding out at the bottom of a ravine in the Zwartebos Forest, stood completely frozen at the threshold.

His eyes immediately locked onto the flawless figure walking toward him. Moana. Martin's wife. She was wearing a maroon nightgown that was impossibly sheer and nearly completely transparent, exposing her dangerously seductive curves beneath the dim glow of the living room's crystal chandelier.

"Just a few minor issues I had to wrap up. The roads were slippery from the rain," Miller replied, using the smooth baritone voice he had spent the entire drive perfecting, trying desperately to calm his furiously pounding heart at the sight of the breathtaking woman before him.

"What kind of issue could possibly leave my workaholic husband completely drenched like this?" Moana wrapped her smooth arms around Miller's neck. The intoxicating scent of her perfume, mixed with her natural pheromones, instantly assaulted Miller's senses, igniting a primal lust that he had only ever been able to suppress during his years of bitter poverty.

"Nothing important enough to discuss right now," Miller replied in a low murmur.

He stared deeply into Moana's bright brown eyes. A fleeting wave of nervousness washed over him. Would this woman realize that the man she was holding so tightly wasn't actually her husband?

Instead, Moana merely gave a coy, flirtatious smile. She got up on her tiptoes and crashed her lips onto his in a deeply aggressive kiss. The kiss was searing, demanding, and filled with a ravenous hunger. Miller was momentarily caught off guard, but his feral instincts from the streets instantly took over. He returned the kiss with equal ferocity, gently biting down on her lower lip until a muffled moan escaped into his mouth.

Miller's large hands slid down to Moana's waist, gripping her hips with a force far rougher than anything Martin had ever subjected her to.

"Ah... gentle now, Darling. Your grip is incredibly tight tonight," Moana whispered, breaking the kiss for a moment, her half-lidded eyes staring up at him with a mix of heavy desire and faint confusion.

"Why? Don't you like it?" Miller challenged, his voice husky, deliberately testing the boundaries of his disguise. He knew Martin was an elegant gentleman who had always treated Moana like fragile porcelain. But Miller wasn't Martin, and he had zero intention of acting anywhere near as gentle as his brother.

"I... I never said I didn't like it," Moana murmured, a deep blush creeping up her cheeks. She pressed her body flush against his once more, resting her head against his broad chest. "You're always so incredibly gentle with me. Sometimes I actually want you to be a little more dominant."

A sinister, triumphant smirk spread across Miller's lips. It was almost too easy. Martin's life, his exorbitant wealth, and now his breathtakingly beautiful wife—everything had changed hands without a single drop of real resistance.

As Moana's hands slid down to unbutton his drenched black suit jacket, her slender fingers suddenly paused near his shirt collar. Moana narrowed her eyes under the dim lighting. She brushed against a thick, slightly sticky crimson stain, then slowly raised her fingertips to her face.

"Wait a minute... what is this, Martin? Why is there blood on your collar?" Moana asked, her tone instantly turning tense. Her beautiful eyes scanned Miller's face with deep suspicion. "Are you hurt? Did you hit something on the way home?"

Miller's heart practically stopped beating for a full second. He had completely forgotten to wipe away the splatter of his brother's blood from his shirt.

However, his cunning mind worked at lightning speed. He grabbed Moana's hand and casually kissed the bloodstained fingertips, feigning complete indifference.

"That isn't blood, Darling. It's just a red wine stain," Miller lied, his tone frighteningly calm as he maintained unblinking eye contact. "I stopped by the bar for a quick drink after meeting my client. Some idiot waiter accidentally spilled it on my collar."

"Red wine? But it smells a little metallic, and the color is so dark," Moana murmured, clearly still suspicious as she reached up to rub the stain on his collar once more.

"You're overthinking things, Darling," Miller interrupted immediately, his tone ringing with absolute finality.

Without giving Moana another second to dwell on it, Miller suddenly swept her off her feet, scooping her up into his arms. Moana let out a quiet shriek of surprise as her feet left the ground. Taking long, purposeful strides across the living room, Miller carried her straight toward the half-open door of the master bedroom.

"What are you doing?! Put me down, your clothes are still soaking wet!" Moana protested, though her arms actually wrapped tighter around his neck, refusing to let go.

"You said you wanted me to be a little more dominant tonight, didn't you?"