My Boyfriend Made Me Kiss His Brother, So I Chose Him Instead

I stood at the entrance, my fingers curling tightly around my bag strap.

"Who is she?" I asked.

I tried my best to keep my voice steady, to stop my anger and jealousy from spilling out too obviously.

Luca turned around. The moment he saw me, panic flashed across his face. But it disappeared quickly. One hand moved to his lapel, smoothing it flat with a quick, unnecessary tug at his cuff.

"Elena?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

Then he glanced at the girl on the sofa and explained, "She's a friend from the old neighborhood. She just came back from overseas."

I let out a cold laugh.

"A friend?"

My voice sharpened despite myself. "So because she's your friend, you held her so closely and comforted her like that?" I took a step forward. "So because she's your friend, you stood me up at the boardwalk that day?"

Luca frowned, irritation gradually replacing the guilt in his eyes.

"What are you thinking?" His tone made it sound as if I were the one being unreasonable. "Her dog is sick and at the vet. She was upset, so I comforted her. That's all."

He paused, then added, "And the other day, her pipe burst. I only went over to help fix it."

Pipe burst. Help fix it.

For some reason, those words made me laugh. A bitter, mocking laugh.

In all the years we had been together, whenever something broke at home, I was always the one who handled it. A leaking faucet. A clogged drain. A broken light. Luca had never lifted a finger. He would either say he did not know how or tell me to call someone. But for this girl, he could suddenly fix pipes.

I looked at him and said sarcastically, "So you can fix pipes?"

Luca's face darkened.

I continued, every word carrying the resentment I had swallowed for years. "I've been with you for so long, and I've never seen you lift a finger for anything at home."

His expression turned colder. "What exactly are you trying to say?" he snapped. "Is there something wrong with helping a friend?"

The last thread of control inside me snapped. I felt dizzy, as if every doubt, every grievance, and every insecurity I had forced down was erupting at once.

"Yes," I said, my voice trembling. "There is something very wrong with it."

I raised my voice, unable to hold back anymore. "You hid so much from me. You stood me up again and again. You comforted another woman, helped her with things you never helped me with, and now you expect me to trust you like nothing happened?"

Luca's face went completely cold. His eyes no longer held panic or guilt. Only impatience.

"Believe it or not," he said, "I don't owe you any explanation."

The words struck me so hard that my eyes instantly burned.

For a few seconds, I could not say anything. The kitchen faucet dripped once into the silence. The girl on the sofa looked away, and I could feel her stillness like a held breath.

Then I turned and left.

I did not want him to see my tears. I did not want to look pathetic in front of him.

But the moment I stepped out past the soldier on the stoop, my vision blurred. Grievance and anger tangled together in my chest, pressing down so heavily that I could barely breathe.

When I got home, I curled up on the sofa alone. The room was silent. The deadbolt I had turned behind me felt like the only solid thing in the world.

But my mind kept replaying everything. The girl crying on the sofa. Luca standing in the kitchen. His gentle expression in the photo. His cold sentence.

I don't owe you any explanation.

The more I thought about it, the colder my heart became.

Just then, my phone vibrated. It was Dante.

Are you okay? Do you need someone to talk to?

I stared at the screen. His message was simple, but in that moment, it felt like a hand reaching toward me from the darkness.

Then, suddenly, a bold thought appeared in my mind. Maybe Luca needed to feel what I had felt. Maybe it was time he learned what it meant to be ignored, dismissed, and replaced.

My finger hovered over the screen for a long time. My thumb pressed against the pendant at my throat one more time, the thin chain biting into skin.

Then, trembling slightly, I typed a message.

Dante, I want to see you.

Almost instantly, he replied.

Sure. I'll be right there.

I stared at those words, my heart beating faster. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the chaos inside me.

Less than half an hour later, the doorbell rang. I walked over and opened the door.

Dante stood outside, his eyes full of concern. He filled the doorframe the way men like him filled any room, but the usual authority in his posture was held back, softened. The moment he saw my face, his expression changed.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

His voice was gentle. Too gentle.

The emotions I had been holding back all night finally broke apart. Without thinking, I threw myself into his arms. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably.

Dante froze for a moment, then wrapped his arms around me. He patted my back softly, again and again.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here."

Those three words made my heart tremble. Luca had never said that to me when I needed him most. But Dante did.

I lifted my head from his chest and looked into his eyes. They were warm, patient, and full of something I did not dare name.

A sudden impulse surged through me. Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was revenge. Maybe it was the loneliness I had endured for too long.

I leaned closer.

Just as I was about to kiss him, the door suddenly swung open.

Luca stood at the entrance. His face was pale. His eyes were filled with anger, shock, and disbelief.