15

Nathan didn’t say a word.

He just reached for the phone the masked man had set up the one pointed directly at me and picked it up with bloodstained fingers. His jaw clenched so tight, I thought it might snap as he slid it into his coat pocket like it was evidence. Or a personal vendetta.

Then, he turned to me.

And without asking, without hesitating, he scooped me into his arms.

Like I weighed nothing.

Like I wasn’t trembling. Shaken. Barely holding myself together.

He held me like glass careful, tight, warm and carried me out of that place like a man walking away from war, not victory.

His scent hit me first.

Cologne and smoke. Anger and safety.

My face pressed into his chest, and I hated how much comfort it brought me. My fingers curled slightly into his shirt not out of affection… but because I didn’t know what else to hold onto.

I peeked up at him.

His face was carved from stone, his eyes stormy and unreadable. But his arms… his arms didn’t shake. They didn’t loosen. They held me like they’d never let go.

The car door opened.

He placed me gently inside like I was something precious and broken.

Like he was scared I might shatter even more.

And I…

I just stared at him.

Trying to figure him out.

Because I didn’t know anymore.

Was this care?

Was this duty?

Was this Nathan being a husband? Or just a man following a contract?

Maybe the line had blurred so much… I couldn’t tell where it ended.

NATHAN’S POV

Friday morning, I didn’t leave the house.

Couldn’t.

I spent most of the night watching Ivy sleep—making sure her breathing stayed even, that her fingers didn’t twitch in fear, that she wasn’t silently reliving that nightmare.

I called in a private physician before sunrise. Made sure she was okay. Told Desmond no meetings, no emergencies, no interruptions.

She needed time.

And strangely… so did I.

Then,

Ding dong.

The doorbell rang.

I wasn’t expecting anyone.

Theresa opened the door just as I came around the corner and there he was.

Brian.

Fresh off his concert, still wearing his leather jacket and sunglasses like a walking magazine cover.

“Thought I’d check on you,” he said, stepping inside like he owned the place. “Saw the news. Heard about what happened to your wife.”

My jaw clenched slightly.

He took off his glasses and glanced around the penthouse. “Damn. You’ve upgraded.”

Then—

Footsteps.

Soft, familiar.

I turned.

Ivy was walking down the stairs, wearing a silk robe and nothing underneath but bare legs and confidence. She was glowing — unaware of who just walked in.

Brian froze.

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Ivy Carter,” he said, voice light.

Ivy stopped. “Brian Blake?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “What how?”

“I figured you’d be asleep after everything,” he said smoothly, his gaze sweeping over her like he wasn’t standing in his brother’s house. “Didn’t expect to meet you in a robe, though.”

Nathan cleared his throat sharply. “Brian.”

He turned, clearly amused. “Relax, big bro. I’m just saying hi to my sister-in-law.”

Ivy looked between us, clearly trying to hide her flustered expression.

Brian chuckled. “You’re even prettier in real life than those headline photos made you seem.”

“Brian,” I said again, firmer this time.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. Swear.”

Ivy mumbled something about breakfast and walked back up the stairs fast.

I watched her go, then looked at Brian.

He was still smiling.

“What?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just surprised. You really married her. You made it sound like a corporate move, but... she's actually kinda…”

“Don’t.”

Brian’s grin widened. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“I’ll be right back,” I told Brian, already halfway toward the stairs.

I wasn’t going to let her walk off like that. Not looking like that. Not after the way Brian looked at her like he wanted to unwrap her right there in my living room.

The nerve.

Ivy’s door was slightly open. I didn’t knock.

I pushed it slowly, stepped in and stopped.

Her scent hit me first. Warm vanilla. Something soft. Feminine.

Then I saw them.

The photos.

On her desk, her mirror, even a neatly pinned collage on the wall near her bed.

Brian.

Brian in concerts. Brian signing autographs. Brian smiling like a golden boy. Brian as her phone wallpaper.

My jaw clenched.

Hard.

She was a fan.

Of my brother.

A full-blown, delusional, glitter-heart fangirl.

I stepped further inside. Her phone was still on the bed, screen lit up and yes, Brian Blake’s grinning face stared back at me like he knew.

I was going to lose my mind.

“You don’t knock now?” came Ivy’s voice from behind me.

I turned.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, hair still a little messy from sleep, and wearing that ridiculous robe that showed too much of her legs and not enough self-preservation.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she asked with mock sweetness, nodding at the wall.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I moved toward her — slow, deliberate, quiet.

She stepped back once.

Then again.

I kept walking.

Until her back hit the wall.

“Why is my brother,” I said lowly, “plastered all over your room?”

Her eyes widened just slightly ,then narrowed.

“Because I admire him? He was my favorite singer long before I ever stumbled into your billionaire life, remember?”

I stared at her.

Her breath hitched.

I took one more step, closing the gap between us entirely. My hand braced the wall beside her head. Her lips parted just slightly, like she didn’t expect me to come this close.

“Take them down,” I said.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The photos. The obsession. My brother’s face staring at you while you sleep in my house. My bed. Under my roof.”

She gave a small laugh. “Under your contract, you mean.”

“Let’s not forget,” she added, voice firm now, “we agreed not to interfere in each other’s personal lives. You made the rules, Mr. Blake. I’m just following them.”

I clenched my jaw, but didn’t move.

She looked up at me with something like fire in her gaze. “What, Nathan? It’s okay for you to sleep with Amy and pretend like I don’t exist, but I can’t have a poster of a man I admired long before you even knew my name?”

“I said that rule doesn’t apply when my brother is involved,” I growled.

She wasn't even moved by all I said.

I walked out of her room, the image of my brother’s damn face still plastered all over her walls burned into my brain, and headed down the hallway. My fists clenched at my sides as I descended the stairs.

Brian was lounging on the living room couch like he owned the place, one leg draped over the other, scrolling through his phone.

“Comfortable?” I asked, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

He looked up with that signature grin of his. “Always am in your house, big bro.”

I didn’t smile or move.

I stood with my arms crossed, watching Brian like he was a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. He had this look too calm, too smug and I didn’t trust it for a second.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” I said, my voice low. “Why are you even in my house? You don’t show up for years, and now you suddenly care to visit?”

Brian leaned back against the arm of the couch, relaxed like he owned the damn place. “Is it that hard to believe I came to see my big brother?”

I didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

His grin curved. That infuriating grin he always wore when he was about to throw something reckless into the fire.

“Fine. I like ivy.”

“I came because I like Ivy.”

Time stopped.

My jaw locked. My fists clenched without permission.

I stared at him. “You what?”

“I like her,” he repeated, cool and collected. “The moment I saw her on the trending rumour post to your wedding picture… I felt it. She’s different. She’s not like the others. She’s real.”

My vision tunneled. I took a step forward, voice dropping to something dangerous. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

His gaze didn’t flicker. “Only on paper, right?”

“How do you know that?” I asked, voice sharp, eyes narrowed grabbing him by his shirt.