Crossing Lines With His Brother

Not long after, it was time for Brett and Jason's father's birthday celebration, and the family banquet was lively, filled with the buzz of laughter and conversation.

Brett, in his role as heir, orchestrated the entire event. He was basking in the attention, exuding pride with every movement.

Heather was at his side, smiling politely, playing the perfect companion.

Every familiar face they encountered would inevitably ask the same question, "You've been together for years now, haven't you? When's the wedding?"

Brett brushed it off each time with the same vague response. "Soon."

But he avoided the topic, and Heather couldn't help but notice how uninterested he seemed in the idea of marriage.

His evasiveness triggered a sudden thought—Marriage needs a certain spark of impulsiveness. The longer a couple stays together, the harder it is to take the leap.

That evening, Brett drank a lot, flushed with excitement after his father officially announced his plans to retire. It meant that soon, Brett would hold the reins of power.

After the party, Heather guided him back to their room.

As she started to help him undress, he stared at her neckline, his eyes dark and intense. Without warning, he grabbed the fabric and tore her gown open with a roughness she hadn't seen in him for a long time.

It had been a while since he'd been this passionate, and Heather responded, half-resisting, half-leaning into his desire.

Both of them were swept up in the moment, but just as they reached the brink, Brett faltered.

Breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his face, he muttered, "It's no use. I still can't do it."

Heather lay there, staring at the ceiling. "Didn't you say you'd see a therapist?"

There was a long silence, thick with the unspoken. Finally, slurring slightly from the alcohol, Brett admitted, "It's not me... it's us. We've been together too long. There's nothing exciting anymore."

He stood, pulling his trousers back on. "Let's think about the wedding later. I'm going to be really busy for the next year or two."

Without another word, he left the room, leaving Heather staring up at the ceiling, her mind spinning. There was a sting in her chest, a sharpness that made her throat tighten, but no tears came.

Lying there, she heard the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway.

She sat up, glancing toward the half-open door. It was Jason.

His eyes swept over her, noticing the disheveled state of her clothing. He averted his gaze, his voice detached. "Dad wants Brett to go see him."

Heather's gaze locked onto Jason, her mind racing.

Earlier, Brett and Jason's father had made a subtle but clear point, mentioning that once he retired, he'd have more free time. It was his not-so-veiled way of hinting that she and Brett should hurry up and give him a grandchild.

She knew that Brett's father approved of her, and with his influence still intact, if she got pregnant, the wedding would be a certainty. Now was the time to act.

She softened her voice, letting it tremble slightly as she spoke, "Your brother's gone out."

Jason took a step forward as if to leave, but she called out to him, "Jason, won't you come in?"

He paused, but didn't turn to face her. "We're in the Vanders' home," he reminded her.

Heather sniffed, a pitiful sound escaping her lips as she pleaded, "I'm so cold. Please, come in and hold me."

He stood still, his posture rigid, his silhouette sharp against the dim light, a picture of untouchable elegance.

Barefoot, Heather slipped off the bed, her thin gown barely clinging to her body as she approached him.

There was something both desperate and seductive about her movements, like a ghost haunting her target. Her voice dripped with temptation as she whispered, "Jason, you've liked me ever since we were kids, haven't you? Back when we were still in school, you always waited until the last minute to head home, just so we could walk together. Isn't that true?"

Jason's face was expressionless, showing no sign that her words affected him.

Heather wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him. "Jason, it was Brett who proposed to me first. If you had told me back then that you liked me, I wouldn't have chosen him. You know that, don't you?"

Her lips brushed against his pristine white shirt, leaving faint traces of lipstick. "Jason, Jason… I've missed you so much while you were away all those years…"

Rising on her toes, she kissed him, then pulled him toward the room.

Jason watched her as she tried, with all her might, to please him, but his gaze remained as cold as ever.

Heather was relentless, clinging to him, pulling him further into the room, convinced she was on the verge of success.

But in an instant, his hand grabbed her and pinned her against the doorframe. His voice was icy, sharp with disdain. "Miss me? Or just trying to use me?"

Her hand fumbled for his belt. "Jason, I truly love you…"

His grip tightened around her wrist, stopping her. "Love? Do you even know what that means?" His eyes darkened with contempt. Her hand was just serving his brother, and now she was using it to undress him, all while telling him she loved him.

He looked her over with pure disgust. "Heather, stay away from me. You're filthy."

The words hit her like a slap. And the look in his eyes mirrored the same disdain Brett had shown her just moments earlier.

Filthy.

They both looked at her with the same disdain. What gave them the right?!

A wave of humiliation and fury crashed over her, and she felt herself being consumed by a deep, overwhelming sense of bitterness and defeat.

Ripping her arm from his grasp, her passion evaporated, replaced by cold resolve. "You're right," she said, "I was trying to use you."

She stepped away, walking toward the door, and with a frigid calm, she shut it behind him. "But now, you're not even worth using."