Title: Twice Taken. Chaoter1:The Brother I Should Have Chosen

Elena's POV

The front door clicked, and my stomach twisted—not with fear, but with something far more dangerous.

Julian was back.

I hadn’t seen him in five years. Not since my wedding. My wedding—to his younger brother, Max. The same wedding where Julian, already half-drunk and devastatingly handsome in a black tailored suit, had pulled me into a shadowed hallway and whispered, “You sure about this, sweetheart? You still have time to run".

I hadn’t run. I married Max. Safe, steady Max. For five years, I’d been the perfect wife—smiling at charity galas, hosting dinners, trying hard to forget the kiss he gave me that day. The kiss that ruined me. The kiss that made me doubt my decision. Nobidy had ever kissed me that way but he was danger that should be avoided and Max was the safer option. So, I married Max, pretending the magnetic tension between me and Julian was nothing more than a memory.

I had married Max because it felt safe to do so. Getting entangled with the dangerous and unpredictable Julian might get my heart broken, or at least that was what I thought. He was the black sheep of the family. A playboy from all appearances but irresistibly hot and charming. I had felt safe but secretly lonely for these five long years, praying that I overcome my attraction to Julian.

But now he was here. Living in our guesthouse for the next month while his Manhattan penthouse underwent renovations. I didn't know if I would be able to keep pretending and worst still if I wanted to. I prayed I survive this one month he would be living with us but will I?

I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress and caught my reflection in the hallway mirror. Max was at work. It was just me—and Julian. And the silence between us crackled like lightning. No, I decided, I couldn't pretend any longer and I just might not survive his presence here.

“Still staring at yourself, huh?” came the low, velvet voice behind me.

I turned. Slowly.

Julian Hart.

Taller than I remembered. The same rakish smirk that had once made my knees weak. Broad shoulders in a fitted charcoal coat, sleeves pushed to his forearms as if he owned the room—because he always had. His dark hair fell perfectly messy, and the scent of leather, smoke, and something undeniably masculine hit me like a drug.

"Do you approve?" he asked abd I could not pretend I didcnt know what he was talking about. Not when he had caught me starring blatantly at him, his abs and oh, his tiny waist.

“You’re early,” I said instead, attempting composure. My voice betrayed me—too tight, too needy.

“Missed you,” he said casually. “Missed this place. And my favorite sister-in-law, of course.”

“I’m your only sister-in-law,” I corrected, narrowing my eyes.

“Exactly,” he said, stepping closer. Heat radiated from him, threatening to consume me.

I swallowed and stepped back—but Julian followed. He always followed. My retreat was an invitation.

We stopped only when we were toe-to-toe. His eyes dropped to my lips, lingered, then lifted to mine.

“You look even better than I remembered,” he murmured, his voice smoky and low.

“You should stop,” I whispered, breath hitching. “Max—”

“Isn’t here,” he said. “And you didn’t tell me to stop at the wedding either.”

My cheeks burned. That hallway. That kiss we never spoke of. That damn kiss. It always came back to it.

“I was scared,” I said, barely audible.

“So was I. Scared of how badly I wanted what wasn’t mine,” he confessed, leaning in so his breath brushed my ear.

A small sound escaped me—not quite a gasp, not quite a plea. My knees trembled.

His fingers grazed my waist. I froze—not from resistance, but anticipation.

“I thought five years would kill this thing,” he said. “But the second I saw you, I knew it hadn’t died. Just gone dormant.”

“You can’t,” I whispered. “Julian, we can’t.” My heart thudded in my chest.

He smiled, slow and wicked. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

I should’ve pushed him away. I should’ve reminded him I was his brother’s wife. But when his mouth finally brushed mine, my hands didn’t resist—they clutched his shirt and pulled him closer.

The kiss was fire.

Not soft, not sweet—it was five years of unspoken desire, of lying in bed beside Max imagining Julian’s hands, lips, tongue…

His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head deeper. The other gripped my hip, pressing me flush against him. I moaned. I was already trembling with want.

“Say it,” he growled against my mouth. “Tell me you missed me.”

“I missed you. Every damn day,” I whispered.

He kissed me again, rougher this time, his thigh pressing against mine. My dress hiked up as I pressed into him, chasing friction like an addict.

Then he pulled away. And all at once I felt bereft.

“You’re not ready to be fucked by me, Elena. Not yet. But soon,” he said darkly.

“Julian—” I breathed, disappointment gnawing at me.

“Tonight,” he said. “Dinner. Just us. Wear something you’ve never worn for Max.”

And then he left, leaving me flushed, trembling, and wanting.

I hated him. I was sure I did. I hated the way he made me feel. He made me feel like a whore. A woman who had no control over her emotions and desires. But I also loved him. LOVE? I didn't know what the feeling was that I had for Julian but it was definitely a very strong one. It made me lose control. My body seem to dance to His every tune.

I don't want to feel this way. I was married for goodness sake. I didn't want to feel that I made a mistake in my choice of a husband but it continues to feel that way right from the very start.

Am I a bad girl? Why do I crave the wrong brother?