Fated to My Alpha Twin Uncles: A Rebirth and Second Chance Romance

Grumpy

Ronan Blackwood POV

"Ahhhhh!!!"

A shrill scream echoed through the washroom.

She clung to my thighs like her life depended on it, her shaky hands ripping the front of my pants as she tried—and failed—to steady herself.

I wrinkled my nose. ‘How much has this woman had to drink?’

Despite the absurdity of the situation, I felt no anger. A rare occurrence. Normally, anyone who dared to behave this way with me would have been met with icy silence or worse. But here I was, standing in a washroom, facing this mess of a woman—drunk out of her mind, rude as hell—and not the least bit furious.

“How is your pant ripped? Pervert!”

Her accusation made the situation go from bad to worse. She had the audacity to glare at me, her nails digging into my skin right where the fabric had torn.

At least it didn’t rip in the middle.

“Woman,” I said, voice dangerously low, “if you don’t move your hands—and yourself—away from me this instant…”

“Ugh—” she cut me off with a gagging sound before she vomited all over my shoes and pants.

My jaw tightened as I shut my eyes, forcing myself to breathe through the overwhelming stench. ‘Control yourself, Ronan. Just breathe.’

This was not how I planned to spend my evening. Hell, I hadn’t even wanted to come to this party. And now here I was, stuck in a bathroom with a drunken woman and ruined shoes.

Christmas party, my foot.

“Who are you, woman? And why the f**k are you in the men’s washroom?” I demanded, keeping my hands firmly to myself. No way was I about to touch her.

She blinked up at me, swaying slightly. “It’s a women’s washroom,” she slurred, her voice thick with drunken defiance.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. Unbelievable.

“You’re too drunk to even figure out where you are.” My glare hardened as her head lolled back, her eyes locking onto mine.

For a moment, I froze.

Her gaze was soft, hazy with alcohol, and yet it carried an odd warmth that unsettled me. Something about the way she looked at me made everything inside me twist uncomfortably, like she’d peeled back a layer I didn’t want exposed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I snapped, more harshly than intended, hoping to regain some control over the situation.

She tilted her head, a lazy smile creeping onto her lips. “Because you’re… so serious. Like the world owes you an apology or something.”

I stiffened, the words landing sharper than they had any right to.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” I bit out, stepping back to put some distance between us. She didn’t seem to notice—or care. “I don’t know about the world,” I added coldly, “but you definitely owe *me* an apology—for vomiting on me.”

I stared at her, my jaw tightening. The audacity of this woman.

Instead, she tried to stand again, her hands grasping for the counter. “Well, I know you’re grumpy,” she muttered, wobbling as she straightened.

“Grumpy?” I echoed, incredulous. This woman has no idea who she’s talking to.

She laughed, the sound light and almost musical despite the mess she’d made. “Yeah. Grumpy. Like one of those dwarfs from the fairytales.”

A laugh—sharp and bitter—escaped me before I could stop it. “You’re comparing me to a dwarf now?”

“Well, you’re tall,” she mumbled, leaning heavily on the sink for support. “So… a very big, scary dwarf. You’ve got that brooding thing going on.”

I should have been furious, but instead, I found myself watching her, trying to make sense of this disheveled woman who had completely disrupted my night.

“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, shaking my head. “What’s your name?”

She blinked, like the question had caught her off guard. “Andrea,” she said after a moment, her voice softer now.

Andrea.

It felt strange, her name. Familiar, somehow, though I couldn’t place why.

“Alright, Andrea,” I said, my tone flat but calmer now. “Let’s get you out of here before you cause any more damage.”

“Damage?” She pouted, as though the very idea offended her. “You’re the one standing in my bathroom.”

I resisted the urge to argue. There was no point reasoning with someone this far gone. Instead, I stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. “Ladies first.”

She glanced at the door, then back at me, her brow furrowing in confusion. “You really think I’m gonna walk out there like this?”

“Considering you just vomited on my pants, I don’t think you’re in a position to argue.”

Her cheeks flushed, a hint of embarrassment breaking through her drunken haze. “Fine,” she muttered, brushing past me.

As she stumbled toward the exit, I caught a faint whiff of her perfume—light and floral, completely at odds with the chaos she’d caused.

I followed her out, unsure why I didn’t just leave her to deal with her mess alone.

“Now why are you following me?”

As if I wanted to. But with the way she was swaying on her feet, I couldn’t bring myself to let her wander off. The uncertainty sitting heavy in my chest was hard to define—and harder to ignore.

“This washroom has only one exit. Why the hell would I follow you?” I replied coldly, keeping my expression blank.

Before she could respond, my assistant came running, his face a mix of panic and disbelief as he skidded to a stop in front of me.

“Sir—” His voice faltered as his eyes landed on me. He blinked, trying and failing to mask his shock.

And why wouldn’t he be shocked? I was half-covered in vomit, with my pants ripped wide open. At least my dignity was still intact—barely.

Andrea, who had been wobbling her way toward the door, froze as my assistant’s gaze shifted to her.

“Miss!” His voice shot up an octave as recognition dawned. His wide eyes darted between us, lingering on her disheveled state.

“You know this woman?” I asked sharply, narrowing my eyes.

“Yes, sir,” he stammered, clearly uneasy. “This is the same girl who saved your brother yesterday.”

The words hit me like a jolt. I turned to Andrea, who seemed oblivious to the weight of the revelation, her expression still clouded by alcohol.

This drunken, chaotic woman?

“Explain,” I demanded, my tone leaving no room for argument.

My assistant nodded quickly. “Yesterday, he was injured, and before we found him, this lady was there nursing his wound.”

I stared at Andrea, my shock deepening. My twin brother had been attacked yesterday, and we were still piecing together what happened. But what the hell was this woman doing in the middle of the forest?

And why hadn’t he mentioned anything about a woman saving him?

Before I could fully process the revelation, a loud retching sound yanked me out of my thoughts.

“Ugh—Mhmm,” Andrea groaned, bending over as she vomited on the floor again.

I grimaced, stepping back instinctively. This night just kept getting worse.

“I’m hot!” she suddenly announced, her voice loud and confident despite her disheveled state.

I raised an eyebrow, my patience fraying at the edges. “You’re drunk, covered in vomit, and currently making a bigger mess of this floor. Hot is not the word I’d use.”

Andrea blinked at me, her face flushed. Whether it was from embarrassment or the alcohol, I couldn’t tell. “You don’t get it,” she mumbled, tugging at her jacket. “I’m burning up.”

Without warning, she began fumbling with the zipper of her coat, struggling to shrug it off.

“Stop,” I said sharply, grabbing her wrists before she could strip down further in public. “You’re not taking your clothes off here.”

She pouted, her movements slowing as she leaned heavily against me, her head lolling onto my chest. “You’re bossy,” she murmured, her voice muffled.

How many nicknames is she going to come up with for me?

I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. My assistant reappeared then, his expression a mix of alarm and awkwardness as he took in the scene.

“The car’s ready, sir,” he said quickly, clearly eager to get us out of this mess.

“Good,” I answered, steering Andrea toward the exit. She stumbled along, mumbling incoherently, her weight pressing against me with every step.

Once we reached the car, I opened the door and guided her inside. She flopped onto the seat, leaning her head back with a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t need your help,” she muttered, though her actions betrayed her words.

“You’ve mentioned that,” I said dryly, shutting the door behind her.

As the car pulled away, Andrea turned her head to look at me, her expression softening. “Where are you taking me? I don’t go anywhere with strangers.”

Wow. She’s already sitting in my car and now saying she doesn’t go with strangers?

“But you can rip pants, vomit on a stranger, and try to strip in the middle of an open area too,” I shot back.