Chapter 4: Knock At The Door.

Izzy's Pov.

The dining room buzzed with chatter, glasses clinking, and laughter that felt distant to me. My pulse thudded in my ears as Adrian, leaning slightly on the back of his chair, smirked at Matt.

“Trust me, brother,” Adrian drawled, voice low, carrying that dangerous calm. “You don’t want to meet her… yet.”

Matt froze mid-bite, fork halfway to his mouth. “Wait—what? What are you talking about?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

I swallowed hard, gripping my napkin like a lifeline. The tension between the two brothers crackled, invisible but tangible.

“Focus on your wife,” Adrian said smoothly, eyes flicking to mine, the smolder in them scorching. “Stay out of my personal life, Matt. Ge… ez.” The last word was sharp, teasing, but underlined with warning.

Matt frowned, clearly unsettled, but before he could respond, Mrs. Sinclair’s gentle but firm voice cut in.

“Okay, Adrian, I think you’ve had enough for tonight, honey. Let me escort you to bed.” Her hands rested lightly on his arm, guiding him up from the chair.

Matt’s phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up, excusing himself politely.

Adrian’s dark gaze followed every move, even as Mrs. Sinclair nudged him along. “Come on, Adrian,” she urged softly, her patience smooth but commanding.

As he passed me, the room shrinking around the tension, Adrian leaned close. His breath tickled my ear, and the low rasp of his words made my stomach twist.

“If you think I’m going to let that fool raise my baby in silence… you’re in for a very big surprise.”

And just like that, the room felt smaller, hotter, more dangerous.

I froze, heart hammering. Every nerve ignited. Every instinct screamed—danger, desire, and the looming storm of secrets.

Relief washed over me as Matt finally stood, giving Adrian a wary glance before following the excuse of a phone call. The air seemed to loosen slightly, the buzz of the room returning to normal—or as normal as it could feel with secrets like ours simmering beneath the surface.

Dinner lightened after that. Matt was all smiles and soft touches, guiding my hand across the table, whispering about the baby and how excited he was. The in-laws beamed, clearly proud and relieved that the meal wasn’t descending into chaos. I smiled, laughed when prompted, and nodded along, all the while my stomach twisting at the thought of what awaited upstairs. Adrian. Drunk, loose-lipped, in the room just above me.

Matt’s phone buzzed again. He checked the screen, and I saw the tension flash in his eyes.

“Emergency at the hospital,” he murmured, his jaw tightening. “They need me in the E.R. now.”

I rose immediately, heart skipping. “Take the car, Matt. Go. Don’t worry about me—I’ll Uber home.” My voice was calm, but inside I was panicking. I could leave, I could get out, but my mind couldn’t stop picturing Adrian, his dark eyes, his smirk, the weight of him upstairs while I was alone downstairs.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Sinclair said firmly. Her tone left no room for argument. “You’ll spend the night here, Izzy. I’ll prepare the guest bedroom.”

Matt’s face softened. Relief, even. “I love that idea,” he said warmly, pressing a quick kiss to my temple. “My pregnant wife isn’t taking a stranger’s car home. Stay put. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I nodded mechanically, forcing a smile, my pulse hammering. Inside, my stomach was doing flips. Spending the night under the same roof as Adrian—drunk, unpredictable, and dangerously aware of everything—was the exact opposite of calm.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Mrs. Sinclair said, guiding me gently. “The guest room is right across from Adrian’s. Just… stay out of his way, and we’ll have a lovely night. Breakfast in the morning. Coffee, fruit—just relax.”

I mumbled thanks, my mind racing. Every step toward the guest bedroom felt heavy. The house was quiet now, the soft clink of glasses in the kitchen fading behind me. Upstairs, the muffled sound of Adrian’s laughter—or was it a snore?—reminded me of the danger I was threading through.

The guest room door closed softly behind me. I leaned against it, exhaling shakily. My hands trembled. One side of me wanted to run, to vanish, to take an Uber into the night and escape the intoxicating tension of this house. The other side, the forbidden part, knew Adrian was right there. Just a floor above. Just a door away.

I checked my reflection in the small mirror. My hair was still slightly damp from the shower, my skin warm from the bath earlier, and the lingering trace of his cologne from the other night seemed to cling to me like a secret. Every nerve in my body buzzed with the memory of his touch, his jealousy, the way he had whispered that dark promise earlier.

Footsteps echoed from upstairs, heavy and uneven. My stomach clenched. The smell of alcohol drifted faintly through the floorboards. Adrian was moving around, probably restless. I forced myself onto the bed, pulling the covers around me like armor, pretending to read a book, though the words blurred into nothing.

The night stretched long and tense. Outside, the streetlights cast thin stripes of light across the room. Every creak of the floor above, every muffled laugh or sigh, made my pulse spike. I tried to remind myself: Matt trusted me. My mother-in-law watched over the house. Adrian might be upstairs, but he couldn’t touch me. Not without someone noticing.

And yet… I knew better. I had no illusions.

The forbidden tension, the heat of what had been, the looming question of the baby—it all hung heavy in the room, until I finally fell asleep.

A warm, insistent touch traced down my belly, sliding lower, right between my legs. My breath hitched, eyes snapping open, heart hammering in wild, reckless rhythm.

“Matt?” I murmured, my voice trembling, soft and unsure. My fingers instinctively parted, meeting the heat pressing against me. I let out a quiet moan, the word slipping between my lips. “You’re back…”

Silence.

Then came the low, dark chuckle that made my spine shiver.

“It’s not him, sweetheart,” the voice murmured, velvet and sharp, dangerous in a way that made my knees weak. “You know he never touches you like only I can.”

My heart froze, a sudden, cold panic mingling with the heat blooming between my legs. Adrian. His presence, unbidden and impossible, pressed against every nerve. I could feel the teasing weight of his hands, the deliberate brush of fingers that weren’t Matt’s, the hunger in his tone wrapping around me like a vice.

I wanted to pull away. I wanted to push him back, and pretend this was some dream. But desire and fear tangled into a dizzying knot. My pulse thundered. My body responded, betraying every vow, every whisper of loyalty, every quiet hope that Matt could be enough.

“You… you can’t…” I gasped, shaking, breath uneven. Words failed me.

Adrian’s chuckle softened, teasing, intimate. “Oh, I can, Izzy. I always can. And you always will let me.”

The world contracted to him, to the touch that shouldn’t be there, to the thrill, the sin, the forbidden fire blazing between us.

I closed my eyes, body trembling, heart shattering, knowing one thing with terrifying clarity: he was wrong for me, in every way. But I wanted him more than I've ever wanted anyone before.

A soft knock rapped on the door.

I froze, every muscle tensing. My heart lurched. Someone knew, or was about to know, that my brother in law was in my bed at midnight.

Adrian’s chuckle lingered in my ear, still drunk and reckless.