Mated To My Ex's Ruthless Brother

The vibration of the phone against the hard wood of the desk sounded like a drill in the silence of the room. Zoe Vance stared at the screen. 3:12 AM. Outside the window of her dorm at Columbia, the wind was already howling, battering the glass with the first hard pellets of the predicted blizzard. But the cold that seized her chest had nothing to do with the weather. Liam Sterling. The name flashed on the screen, illuminating the dark room. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm. Liam never called personally at this hour. Usually, it was his assistant, Marcus, handling the logistics or relaying changes in plans. He was supposed to be in London for a business trip, or at least that's what he had told her three days ago when he blew off their dinner plans. She pushed down the rising bile of suspicion. He had to be in London. He wouldn't lie about that. Maybe something was wrong with the time difference. She swiped right, her fingers trembling slightly. "Liam?" "Is this Ms. Vance?" The voice was not Liam's. It was heavy, flat, and reeked of authority and exhaustion. "Yes," Zoe whispered, sitting up straighter, clutching her cardigan around her pajamas. "Who is this?" "Officer Miller, NYPD 19th Precinct. We have a Liam Sterling in custody. He's asking for you." The air left Zoe's lungs. Custody. The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. "Is he hurt?" Her voice cracked. "What happened?" "Altercation at a bar downtown. Look, Ms. Vance, he needs bail posted. He refused to call his family lawyer. He gave us your number." Of course he did. Zoe was already moving. She pinned the phone between her ear and shoulder, grabbing her purse, her ID, and the thick wool coat hanging by the door. "I'm coming. I'll be there in twenty minutes." She hung up and moved with the frantic efficiency of a soldier drilled for this exact scenario. Liam needed her. That was the only thought allowed to exist in her brain. Not the fact that he had lied about being in London. Not the fact that she had a final paper due at 8 AM. He needs me. Getting a ride was a nightmare. The Uber app showed surge prices that would make a banker weep, and wait times that stretched into infinity. Zoe ran out to Broadway, the wind biting at her exposed face, stinging her eyes. She practically threw herself in front of a yellow cab. The ride to the Upper East Side precinct was a blur of neon lights smearing against wet glass. Zoe sat in the back, her stomach twisting into tight, painful knots. She played out scenarios in her head. Maybe someone had insulted the Sterling name. Maybe he had been mugged. Liam was impulsive, yes, but he wasn't violent. Not without cause. The precinct smelled of stale coffee, floor wax, and misery. The fluorescent lights hummed with a headache-inducing buzz. Zoe walked to the desk, her boots squeaking on the linoleum. She felt small here, out of place in her frantic state among the tired officers and the drunk tank regulars. "I'm here for Liam Sterling," she told the desk sergeant. The man looked up, his eyes scanning her face, then her coat. He smirked, a small, unpleasant curling of his lip. "Ah. The girlfriend." Zoe didn't correct him. She never did. "What's the bail?" "Five grand. Cash or certified check. Or credit, with a fee." Zoe pulled out the black Amex her father had given her for 'emergencies.' A cold sweat broke out on her neck. She knew the Vance family accounts were currently overleveraged, teetering on the brink. If this card declined here, in front of these officers, the humiliation would be absolute. She held her breath as she swiped the chip. The machine whirred for an agonizing ten seconds before spitting out a receipt. Approved. Zoe let out a shaky exhale. "Here are his personal effects." The officer slid a clear plastic bag across the counter. Zoe took it. Inside, she saw Liam's platinum watch, his wallet, his phone. And a tube of lipstick. Zoe froze. It was wedged between his wallet and the watch face. A dark, vampy shade of red. Chanel. Not her shade. Never her shade. Why was this in his personal effects bag? Unless it had been in his pocket when they patted him down. She stared at the object, her mind racing to find a logical explanation. Maybe he picked it up by mistake. Maybe it belonged to a cousin. Maybe... The heavy metal door buzzes, interrupting her spiral. Liam walked out. He looked like a fallen angel who had landed face-first. His lip was split, a jagged line of red against his pale skin. His white dress shirt was torn at the collar, buttons missing. His hair, usually gelled to perfection, was a chaotic mess. "Liam!" Zoe stepped forward, her hands reaching out instinctively to steady him. He flinched. He didn't look at her. His eyes darted right past her shoulder, focused intensely on the door he had just exited. "Is she coming?" Liam barked at the officer, ignoring Zoe's outstretched hands. Zoe's hands dropped to her sides. "She?" Before the officer could answer, a girl stepped out from the holding area. She was everything Zoe was not. She had pink hair that looked like cotton candy dipped in acid. She wore a leather jacket that had seen better decades, ripped fishnets, and combat boots. Her eyeliner was smeared, and she was nursing her left wrist, cradling it against her chest. "Jade," Liam breathed. He rushed past Zoe. He didn't just walk past her; he moved as if she were a piece of furniture, an obstacle to be navigated. He went straight to the girl. "Let me see," Liam said, his voice dropping to a tender, frantic whisper that Zoe had never heard directed at herself. He took the girl's hand, inspecting the wrist with the care of a surgeon. "Does it hurt? Did those bastards hurt you?" Jade looked up. Her eyes were dark, rimmed with defiance and pain. She looked at Liam, then her gaze slid over his shoulder and locked onto Zoe. There was no gratitude in that look. Only a sharp, predatory amusement. "I'm fine, Lee," Jade said, her voice raspy, like she'd been screaming. "Who's the prep school princess?" Zoe felt the blood drain from her face. She stood there, clutching the bag of Liam's belongings, feeling the cold plastic bite into her palm. The desk sergeant chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Mr. Sterling here put two guys in the hospital because they spilled a drink on his lady friend. True romance, huh?" Zoe looked at Liam, waiting. Waiting for him to laugh it off. To say, No, Zoe is my girl. This is just a friend. Liam didn't even look up. He was too busy wrapping his own suit jacket around Jade's shoulders. "We need to get you ice," Liam muttered to Jade. Then, finally, he seemed to remember Zoe existed. He turned his head. His eyes were glazed, adrenaline and alcohol still swimming in them. He didn't look sorry. He looked annoyed. "Do you have a car?" he asked. Not Thank you. Not Are you okay? Just a demand for resources. Zoe felt a stinging sensation behind her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat, tasting bile. "I... I took a cab. It's waiting outside." "Good." Liam wrapped his arm around Jade's waist, supporting her weight. "Let's go." He guided Jade toward the exit, the two of them moving as a single unit. Zoe stood alone in the middle of the precinct, the fluorescent lights buzzing louder than ever. She forced her legs to move. She followed them out into the biting cold, the wind whipping her hair across her face. Liam opened the back door of the taxi. He ushered Jade inside, tucking the hem of her skirt in so it wouldn't get caught. He climbed in after her. Zoe stood on the curb, the snow beginning to fall harder now, dusting her shoulders in white. "Zoe!" Liam called out from the back seat, impatient. "Get in the front. It's freezing." Zoe opened the passenger door and slid onto the cracked vinyl seat. The heat in the car was blasted too high, suffocatingly hot. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Liam was pulling Jade into his lap. He brushed a strand of pink hair away from her forehead and pressed his lips there. It wasn't a quick peck. It was a lingering, desperate kiss, full of a hunger that made Zoe want to vomit. Zoe looked away, staring out at the blurred city streets. She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to manually force her heart to slow down. She was the one who answered the phone. She was the one who paid the money. But in the backseat of this cab, she was nothing more than a ghost.