The wrong brother

Three nights. That was all it was supposed to be. A reckless vacation and a stranger who knew my body too well. I gave him a fake name and a fake life all to match my story– and I promised myself never to see him again. But how cruel was my fate. Because the man who ruined me with his mouth and hands, his crazy, sinful promises, is now standing in my living room. My husband's brother Now he is under my roof, sharing family dinners, and brushing past me with every possible opportunity he gets with a look that betrays our secrets. I should feel guilty, but instead, I want more. My husband loves me but not enough to see me. And his brother? Well, he is the one thing I cannot have again–yet he's the only one who makes me feel alive. What happens when secrets between the sheets turn to lies that could tear me and my family apart?

Chapters

Chapter 3

Lauren Pov,

I nodded, definitely wowed–I guess he had seen me choke earlier, he was out of the dim light and before me stood a magnificent handsome man, his jawline was precise, his blue eyes tempting. I couldn't resist staring into them–I guess I regretted why I was already married.

He took my hand into his. His grip was firm, steady and confident in a way that made my body react before my mind could catch up. I felt the heat beneath my skin increase as my breath slowed.

Using the corner of my eye, I saw Vivian with her crazy smirk.

"I get it, I get it.... I'll get out of your hair," she teased, making an obscene gesture in the air, a little "crazy fuck" motion that send my cheeks burning red.

"You got this.." she whispered, winking before spinning around and disappearing into the crowd, leaving me all alone with this stranger.

I couldn't help it, but laughter bubbled out of my lips, spilling free as I could only recall Vivian's crazy expression before leaving. I clamped my lips shut, immediately I realized I was laughing so freely in front of a stranger.

"Don't stop–please" his voice cut through me like a soft flustered silk.

"Don't ever stop smiling," he said , his eyes locked on mine. "You are way more beautiful when you do."

I felt my heart thumping against my ribs. He wasn't just handsome –but his aura was something out of the ordinary, the kind of authority that filled the room without him trying.

"Is this your first time here?" He asked, I nodded as words weren't cropping up in my lips.

"I knew it... you don't belong here," he continued smoothly, tilting his head towards the crowded room.

"Shall we ditch this circus for somewhere more...fitting for a queen like yourself?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but it wasn't forthcoming. All my mind could think about were warnings.

Married women, don't go off with strange men, we don't feel sparks just from a stranger's voice, we don't lean closer just to breathe in his scent.–every word my mind had countered, I did it all–His scents were heavenly.

And here I was trying to say no–but my voice betrayed me.

"Where do you think is more fitting?" I blurtted.

He smiled faintly, as if he had already won. "You'll see."

The air shifted, the moment we both stepped into a private dining hall. Everything was brighter, more quiet and refined. The crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, as soft jazz hummed in the background.

The door man bowed the moment we stepped in, hurrying us past other waiting guests with a whispered apology.

His hands clutched against mine as we walked side by side, I couldn't help it but a faint smile plastered over my cheeks. My eyes widened from the way the staff worshipped him. This wasn't just any man. This was someone of status, power. He was respected differently–making it obvious he lived in a world far higher from mine.

He guided me into a gold chair, his hands lingered long enough on my back-making me shiver.

"Relax," He whispered close to my ears–this wasn't helping, but it was a command and comfort at the same time.

The dinner arrived in courses I could barely remember – there were delicate plates of seafood, fine wines, poured endlessly into my glass.

He asked some questions, not the shallow kind , but piercing ones that stripped me off of my defenses:"What do you desire?" Do you feel free? What were my fantasies?"

I answered all expressing myself like I had never before, my laughter came easy with every sip of wine. The heat in my belly had nothing to do with the alcohol–I was horny just from staring at him in his deep blue eyes.

At some point, I realized I was leaning across the table, closer to him than I should have been. His gaze lingered on my lips as the spark burned in between us until I could no longer resist it.

I leaned in, dizzy with wine and urge, I pressed my lips over his.

His hands brought me to a pause, as his firm fingers caught up my chin–my mind was racing, was I wrong to start first?

He held me in place just at a shy distance and his eyes locked unto mine– filled with dark intent.

I thought I was getting pushed away, but instead his lips curved into a faint smile, like he had just confirmed something he had been expecting.

Without another word, he rose to his feet and lifted me effortlessly out of my chair. The waiters pretended not to notice as he carried me through the quiet hall, out into the night.

He didn't call a taxi, he had a driver waiting outside for him, I was too drunk to access the car. The car door shut with a soft thud, as the driver took to the road.

Silence hung in the air for a single charged second. Just then I felt his hands trace up on my laps, I wanted to stop him–but I didn't. I tried imagining my husband in the process trying to help ease my guilt, but it didn't.

His lips claimed mine with an hunger that made me gasp for air. He traced my body like he owned it, like it had always belonged to him.

My last thoughts were coherent–I wanted to stop his hands from tracing up on my laps‐to say it was wrong.. that I was married.

But the moment his hands parted my laps and his fingers touched up on my already pulsating clitoris–I realised I didn't care, his fingers slipped underneath my wet panties–sliding across my already wet cheeks. I felt the shiver down my spine as he penetrated me with his fingers.

I let out a soft moan underneath his lips– and for the first time in years, I felt alive.

I should have been ashamed. Instead I was begging the universe to let this stranger ruin me.

Continue to next part

I was organizing quarterly reports on the shared drive when I saw it—a folder labeled simply "O.C. Daily." My cursor hovered over it, something about the initials making my stomach tighten. I shouldn't have clicked. Some part of me knew what I'd find, but I couldn't stop myself. The document opened, and my blood turned to ice water in my veins. "Old Crow Daily Chronicles: Observations on Our Feathered Friend" The first entry was dated six months ago. *Today Old Crow spent thirty minutes picking through the recycling bin for 'project materials.' What a shame she couldn't find anything useful—maybe because she's too busy cawing at everyone instead of actually contributing?* I scrolled down, each entry more vicious than the last. Detailed accounts of my daily activities, my clothing choices, even my lunch habits. *Old Crow brought the same sandwich three days in a row. Wonder if she's saving money for a new nest?* *She actually asked Mr.

Modern Mystery Romance

7.0

Bought as a bride by a man I hated

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She was desperate. He was merciless. Liana Moore's sister's life is on the line, and the only person who can save her is Dominic Vale-the man who destroyed her family years ago. One year. One marriage. One chance to survive. Dominic is cold, controlling, and unforgiving. Liana is fierce, stubborn, and trapped in a union built on hatred and power. But when secrets are revealed and the line between punishment and protection blurs, the fire between them becomes impossible to ignore. In a marriage never meant to exist, love is the most dangerous risk of all.

Modern Mystery Romance

7.9

He Risked My Life to Make His Mistress Famous

7.9

The chemical stench clung to my skin like a second layer of sweat. Three days and nights inside the New Jersey plant had left me hollow-eyed and raw-throated, but I'd done it. I'd penetrated their security, documented their crimes, and survived. My hands trembled slightly as I clutched the small recorder in my pocket. The evidence was damning—audio recordings of managers discussing how to bypass environmental regulations, footage of toxic waste being dumped into waterways that fed local communities. I'd risked my life for this story, but it would be worth it. This exposé would finally put our network on the map. The elevator doors slid open to reveal the bustling New York newsroom. Conversations halted as I walked through, my appearance earning raised eyebrows. My hair hung limp with grease, my clothes reeked of industrial solvents, and exhaustion etched every line of my face.

Action Modern Mystery

9.8

His Illness Was A Weapon

9.8

For six years, my marriage was a clinical trial. I was the doctor for my husband Jackson' s severe contamination OCD, enduring endless cleaning rituals just for a touch. Then I found a used condom wrapper in his car. I soon learned he was breaking every single one of his pathological rules for his mistress-kissing her feet, sharing greasy pizza. His "illness" was a lie, a weapon used only against me. When I confronted him, he chose her. To protect his reputation, he threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving cancer treatment. The price for her life? I had to publicly announce I was barren and welcome his mistress and their child into our home. My six years of sacrifice, my entire life, had been a lie designed to control and humiliate me. I was nothing more than a disposable tool. The next day, in front of a room full of reporters, he handed me the script for my public humiliation. I tore it to pieces. Then I stepped up to the microphone and said, "I am here today to announce that my marriage to Jackson York is over."

Action Modern Romance

9.2

Memories have dried up my true feelings

9.2

When Albert—Betty’s assistant—used some absurd wager as an excuse for the seventh time to make her cancel our wedding, I told myself it was just her peculiar way of holding on to top talent. Three years. Seven times. Then came the eighth. The emcee was launching his third enthusiastic warm-up from the stage, and the guests’ murmurs had already swelled into open chatter. My phone glowed. A message from Albert. A photo. Below it, a voice note—also from him, his tone soaked in undisguised amusement and spite: “Roger, sorry. Betty and I made another bet. She says if you can find us within the hour, she’ll marry you. Pity… you won’t.” I didn’t reply. I didn’t go looking. Instead, I slowly scrolled through my contacts, found the number I’d kept pinned at the top for three years but never called. “Kimberly. What you said to me three years ago… does it still stand?” ...... A pause on the other end, then a soft laugh, edged with something like pity. “Roger, when I give my word, it’s for life. Where are you? I’ll come get you.” “Starlight Hotel. The wedding venue.” I hung up. I looked out at the sea of guests, their eyes a mix of sympathy and mockery. For the first time, I didn’t cover for Betty. “Roger! Have you lost your mind? Do you want to make our family the city’s laughingstock?” Rebecca, my future mother-in-law, stood backstage jabbing a finger at me, her face flushed with fury. There wasn’t a trace of concern for her missing daughter—only panic over a crumbling alliance of fortunes. “Mom,” I said, meeting her gaze calmly. “Do I need to remind you? Right now, standing here alone, facing all this—the one being humiliated is me.” “You!” My uncharacteristic coldness choked her. Her voice sharpened. “Betty’s just being childish! Can’t you be more mature? She’s doing this for the company! To keep a genius like Albert! You’re a grown man—can’t you understand? It’s only the eighth time! What’s one more after seven?” *What’s one more after seven?* The words twisted like a poisoned blade. Right. Seven times already. The first time, she said Albert threatened to quit—betting she wouldn’t dare sign a contract in another city on our wedding day. She went. The wedding was postponed. I told myself it was for the company’s future. The third time, she said Albert was in a foul mood—betting she wouldn’t cut off her long hair because his dog was “depressed” and needed cheering up. She cut it. She came back with uneven short hair and cried in my arms. I held her, heart aching, and told myself she cared about her people. The sixth time, she said Albert’s first love was getting married and he was heartbroken—betting she wouldn’t dare go with him as his pretend girlfriend. She went. Wearing the dress I gave her, on another man’s arm, smiling brightly in a photo on someone else’s social media. I told myself she was just too kind to say no. ... Every time, there was a “bet” and the “company.” Every time, I chose to believe. To yield. Because I loved Betty. After my mother died—after my father and the whole family cast me out, left me scrabbling in the dirt in some dark corner—she was the light that pierced my gray world. She said, “Roger, don’t be afraid. From now on, I’ll protect you.” For that light, I would have given anything. Even when she had that “accident” three years ago, urgently needing a kidney, I didn’t hesitate to give her one of mine. And what did I get? The slow, draining weakness that follows, and wedding after wedding turned into someone else’s wager. “Understanding?” I repeated the word softly, then laughed—a bleak, hollow sound. “The understanding I bought with half my life… is it really worth so little to you?” “You—” Rebecca’s face paled. Her eyes darted away, as if remembering. “Why bring that up now? It was just a kidney! We’ll compensate you later! Right now, we have to fix this mess! Go out there and tell everyone the wedding is postponed—say you’re not feeling well!” She’d even prepared my excuse. Right. Me, the “sickly one.” Not feeling well. How perfectly convenient. Just then, the lounge door opened. Betty was back. On Albert’s arm. The hem of her white wedding gown was smudged with dirt and grass stains. Her hair was disheveled, cheeks flushed an unnatural pink, as if she’d just been running. Seeing her mother and me, she paused, slipped from Albert’s hold, and hurried over. That familiar, apologetic look settled onto her face. “Roger, I’m sorry. I lost again. We… let’s postpone the wedding again, okay?” Behind her, Albert stood with a faint, lingering smile, watching me. His eyes held a victor’s smugness. He even reached up and tucked a loose strand behind Betty’s ear—a gesture so intimate, so natural, it was as if we weren’t even there. Rebecca jumped in to smooth things over. “She’s back, she’s back! See, Roger? Betty came back! She cares about you!” I looked at the three of them as if watching some clumsily staged farce. Betty, seeing my silence, reached

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.0

Playboy Tycoon's Purchased BRIDE

9.0

To obey his grandfather’s order, the playboy tycoon Seth Cohen had to marry the socialite and sole heiress Evonne Largent. They tied the knot and lived together under a loveless matrimony. She was obliged to marry the hottest CEO Seth Cohen to save their fallen business empire after her father fell into compulsive gambling, driving them to the verge of bankruptcy. Seth had no plan of getting entangled with his stunning and sexy wife, but every time he glanced at her, his body throbs, and he was drawn away. Evonne will do everything to stay away from him and pretend she’s not affected by the oozing sex appeal of her hot billionaire husband; however, her heart beats faster every time he is around. **** She saw the muscles move in his jaw, and she knew he was pissed. “Care to explain? Make sure it’s believable.” Seth’s voice carried a hot temper. There was a picture of her dancing on the tabletop, and Toby beside her was shirtless while Sally poured beer bottoms up straight to their mouths. “What’s there to explain?” “You’re married now,” He growled at her, throwing sharp glances. “Miss me with that bullshit.” She stood up and barely contained her anger. “There is a certain public image that needs to be maintained. You need to understand that.” He muttered sternly. “Oh, please, I’m not going to stand here drinking the dirty water you give me as you indulge yourself in the purest of wines.”

Billionaire Modern Romance

The wrong brother

Chapter 3

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