Betrayed Twice: Between My Fiancé and His Brother

For one second, Adrian's fingers tightened in my hair.

Then he eased me back. It was gentle. His palm stayed flat against my collarbone, keeping a few inches of space between us.

His brows pulled together. "You're marrying my brother this Saturday."

"I know."

"Do you?" His thumb rested on the pulse in my throat. "Because you just kissed me like you forgot."

"I didn't forget anything." My voice shook, but I didn't look away. "I remember all of it. The elevator. The redhead. My father's hand."

"Elise—"

"I know exactly who I'm supposed to marry."

I hooked my arms around his neck and kissed him again.

This time he didn't stop me. He made a low sound in his chest, half warning and half surrender. His hand slid down my spine and pulled me across the seat into his lap.

The driver never turned around.

"Change of plans," Adrian said against my jaw. "The apartment on Clement."

---

His penthouse was dark and quiet. He didn't turn on a single light.

He peeled off my soaked dress slowly, like he was giving me time to change my mind. I didn't. He said my name over and over in the dark, rough and careful. I held on to him like he was the railing on that bridge.

By the time the sky went gray, every line I had ever drawn was gone.

---

Sunlight woke me.

It came through floor-to-ceiling glass and landed right on my face. I squinted, rolled over, and found the other side of the bed empty.

Adrian was sitting on the edge of the mattress with his back half turned to me. He had pulled on sweatpants. His shoulders were bare. There were four thin red marks near his shoulder blade.

I had done that.

Heat crawled up my neck.

He must have heard the sheets move. He didn't turn around right away.

"You're awake."

"Barely." I tugged the comforter up to my chin. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight."

"Oh."

Silence. A long one. I counted the seconds by the ticking of a clock somewhere in the hall.

Then he twisted to face me. His eyes went straight to my cheek, still sore from my father's slap, and stayed there a moment before they found mine.

"Why me?"

My stomach dropped.

"What?"

"Last night." His voice was quiet. Too quiet. "You could have called a friend. Gone to a hotel. Screamed at me in the car. Instead you kissed me. Twice." He leaned his forearms on his knees. "So I'm asking. Why me?"

I knew what the true answer was. Because you pulled me off the bridge. Because you asked who hurt me. Because nobody else had looked at me like I mattered in years.

But saying that out loud felt like jumping again.

So I shrugged. I even smiled.

"Nolan is sleeping with someone else." I made it sound light, like a joke at brunch. "I'm just returning the favor."

His face changed.

It wasn't a big change. His jaw locked. His mouth flattened. The warmth that had been in his eyes all night just switched off, like someone had flipped a breaker.

"Returning the favor," he repeated.

"Adrian, I—"

"So I'm what? Payback?" He stood. He was taller than I remembered, or maybe I was just smaller, curled up in his bed. "A way to hit Nolan where it hurts?"

"That's not—"

"Then what is it?" He didn't raise his voice. That was worse. "When you were touching me last night, Elise, who were you thinking about?"

My mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

"Was it him?" He took one step closer. "Every time you said my name, were you picturing his face? We look enough alike in the dark. Was that the point?"

"No."

"You don't sound sure."

"I'm—" My throat closed up. I swallowed hard. "You're twisting it."

"I'm repeating it." He laughed once, short and cold. It didn't sound like him at all. "You said it. Not me."

I stared at him. He stared back. I waited for him to soften, to say he didn't mean it.

He didn't.

My eyes burned. I would rather have died than cry in front of him right now.

"Fine," I said. "I'll go."

I shoved the comforter off and swung my legs out of bed. Then I remembered I had nothing on. My dress was a wet heap somewhere near the door, ruined.

Adrian turned his head toward the window. Giving me privacy, or just refusing to look at me. I couldn't tell which one hurt more.

A long navy robe hung on the closet door. His. I grabbed it and yanked it on. The sleeves fell past my fingers. The hem brushed my ankles. It smelled like cedar, like the coat he had thrown over my shoulders on the bridge.

I tied the belt so tight it pinched.

"I'll have it cleaned and sent back," I muttered.

"Keep it."

"I don't want anything from you."

"You wanted plenty last night."

I spun around. "Wow."

For half a second, something cracked in his expression. Regret, maybe. He opened his mouth.

I didn't wait to hear it. I scooped up my shoes and my phone from the floor and marched toward the bedroom door. My hand landed on the knob.

"Elise." His voice dropped. "Wait."

"For what? More questions?"

"You can't walk out of this building in my robe at eight in the morning. Half my staff lives on—"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three hard raps on the front door of the penthouse.

We both froze.

Adrian's head snapped toward the hallway. I stopped breathing.

Then a voice came through the wood. Lazy. Familiar. The same voice that had told me Marlows do what they're told.

"Hey, Adrian. Open up." Another knock. "It's me. I need to talk to you."

Nolan.

My fingers went numb on the doorknob. The shoes slipped from my other hand and hit the floor with a soft thud.

Adrian's eyes met mine across the room.

"Come on," Nolan called. "I know you're home. Your car's downstairs."

The knob under my palm started to turn.

Not from my side.

He had a key.