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CHAPTER 4
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2025-12-01 22:56:07Serena POV
I push the apartment door shut behind me at 4:48 p.m. and the silence swallows me whole. No Liam is still in meetings. Anton has gone home. The cleaning ladies left an hour ago. For the next four or five hours the entire sixty-third floor belongs only to me. I kick off the nude Louboutins in the foyer and sigh when my feet touch the cold marble. The shoes stay where they fall, one on its side like it passed out. I peel off the camel skirt and cream silk blouse, leave them in a heap, and pull on soft gray cashmere joggers and Liam’s old Harvard T-shirt. The shirt smells faintly of his cologne and my own fear. I roll the sleeves four times so my hands are free. In the kitchen Anton left dinner under a silver dome: poached salmon, baby asparagus, a tiny potato carved into a heart. A yellow Post-it says: Miss Serena – Mr. Voss asked that you finish every bite tonight. Dark chocolate in the fridge for dessert. ♥ I scrape everything into the disposal, run the water until no trace is left, then eat half a tub of full-fat Greek yogurt standing over the sink like I’m stealing it. I carry a big glass of water to the living room and curl up on the long white sofa. The city is turning pink and gold outside the windows. I pull a blanket over my legs even though the apartment is always seventy-one degrees. My phone lights up. Emma: Girls night tomorrow?? Just us. My place. Pizza, tequila, face masks, finish that stupid advice jar Chloe is obsessed with. Say yes please I miss your face. My heart does a happy little jump. Me: YES. I miss you too. I have family dinner with Liam’s parents tomorrow night in the Hamptons, but I’ll come straight after dessert. Save me a slice with extra cheese. Emma: Done. I’ll have the tequila breathing and the glue gun hot. Love youuu. I smile so big my cheeks hurt and set the phone down feeling lighter than I have all day. I open the wedding laptop. The spreadsheet glares at me with twelve red cells. I type the final dress notes, attach the photos from Madame Laurent, close the lid again. I wander to the terrace doors, slide them open, step outside barefoot. The October wind is sharp and clean. I lean on the glass railing and look sixty-three floors straight down. The people look like toys, the cars like ants. Six weeks until the wedding. The bridal shower is in three weeks. Tomorrow is just the big family dinner. I can survive one evening of forced smiles. I go back inside, pour three fingers of hidden vodka into a coffee mug, add ice and a splash of cranberry so it looks innocent. I sit cross-legged on the floor of the wedding room in front of the giant mood board and sip. My phone buzzes on the table. Liam’s name lights the screen. I answer on the second ring. “Hi, baby,” he says, voice smooth, a little distracted. I hear helicopter blades in the background. “Still in the air. Home around eleven. Miss me?” “Always,” I say automatically. “Good girl. Wear the pale-blue satin slip tonight. Nothing underneath. I want to walk in and slide my hand straight up your thigh.” I swallow. “Yes, Liam.” “Perfect. Oh, and tomorrow after the family dinner we’ll come straight home. I have an early call with Tokyo Sunday morning. I want you in bed by midnight.” My stomach drops. “But… Emma and I planned a girls night tomorrow. Just us at her place. I was going to go right after dessert. I’ll be home by-” “No,” he cuts in, calm, final. “You’ll be tired. You’ll drink too much tequila and have a headache Sunday. I want you home with me. End of discussion.” The line is quiet except for the helicopter. I open my mouth, close it again. “Serena,” he says softly, the tone that means don’t push. “You’re going to be my wife in six weeks. Your time is my time. Say you understand.” “I understand,” I whisper. “That’s my good girl. See you soon. Love you.” “Love you too.” The call ends. I sit on the floor a long time, staring at the pale-blue slip I already laid out on the bed like an obedient doll. The vodka tastes sour in my mouth now. I pick up the phone again and open my chat with Emma. Me: Something came up. I can’t make it tomorrow after all. I’m so sorry. Rain check? The three dots appear instantly. Emma: Nooooo what happened?? Everything okay?? Me: Just tired. Liam wants me home early. Next week I promise. Emma: You sure? I have your favorite spicy marg mix ready :( Me: I’m sure. Love you. Have a slice for me. Emma: Love you more. Text if you change your mind. Door’s always open. I lock the phone and set it face-down. I finish the vodka in one swallow. I shower, shave, blow-dry my hair straight the way he likes, slip into the pale-blue satin slip. The fabric is cool and thin; every breath makes it slide across my skin. No bra, no panties, just like he asked. I look at myself in the mirror (too thin, collarbones sharp, eyes too big, lips trembling a little). I crawl into the huge bed and pull the covers to my chin. I set an alarm for 10:45 p.m. so I’m awake and waiting when he walks in. I stare at the ceiling in the dark. Tomorrow night: family dinner in the Hamptons, Roman’s cold stare, Chloe’s fake hugs, Liam’s hand on my thigh under the table reminding everyone I’m his. After that, straight home. No Emma. No laughter. No escape. Just this apartment, this slip, this bed, his hands, his rules. Six weeks. Forty-two nights. I curl into a ball and feel the satin stick to my skin like guilt. I whisper into the empty room, “I’m sorry, Emma.” The walls don’t answer. I close my eyes and wait for the elevator to ding, for his key in the door, for the countdown to tick one more day closer. Six weeks. And tomorrow I will smile and nod and let him drive me home like a good girl, while the tiny bird in my chest beats its wings against the bars and wonders how much longer it can keep trying to fly.
Bab terbaru
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Liam’s POV The city lights blurred past the windshield, smeared by the rain sliding down the glass. I sat in the driver’s seat of the Maybach, engine off, my hands gripping the wheel as if letting go would mean losing control of everything that mattered. My chest still burned from the tension of the last few hours. Chloe. The hotel. The bridal shower. Everything had escalated too quickly. But so what? She would understand. She always did. I inhaled, slow, deep, letting the air fill my lungs. The street outside was empty. Quiet. The perfect setting for thinking. For planning. For waiting. She would come back. She always came back. That thought alone was enough to steady me. I didn’t regret what happened. Not really. It was one mistake, and she would see it that way too. I let my hand rest on the gear shift, fingers tapping lightly. My mind replayed her face, shocked and wide-eyed, when she walked into the hotel room. That look would fade. It had to. It was temporary. Temporary emot
In the Arms of the Enemy’s Brother Chapter 10
Serena’s POV For a few seconds, my brain refused to understand what my eyes were seeing. The door was open. That much I knew. My hand still rested on the handle, fingers stiff, like they had locked in place. The metal felt cold against my skin, grounding and unreal at the same time. The room beyond it looked calm. Soft. Golden sunlight spilled through half-drawn curtains, dust floating gently in the air like nothing bad had ever happened there. It looked peaceful. That was the first thing that felt wrong. My eyes moved slowly, taking in details without meaning. The cream carpet. The chair by the window. A suit jacket tossed carelessly over it, dark fabric wrinkled like it had been grabbed in a hurry. A glass on the nightstand, water beading down the side, untouched for too long. Then the bed. The sheets were twisted. Pulled loose. One corner completely undone. A pillow lay on the floor, its case wrinkled like it had been clutched too tightly. My stomach dropped.
In the Arms of the Enemy’s Brother Chapter 9
Serena’s POV After weeks of planning, the day finally came. I woke up with that strange feeling in my chest again the one that felt like excitement and fear sitting in the same place. The room was still quiet, the early morning light slipping through the curtains like it was afraid to wake me. For a moment, I stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft hum of the city below the hotel. Today was my bridal shower. Everyone kept saying how lucky I was. How blessed. How perfect everything looked. I pressed my hand to my stomach and took a slow breath. The planning had taken weeks. Endless calls, messages, fittings, arguments over colors, flowers, food. Chloe had taken control early, insisting she wanted everything to be “perfect.” She said it with a smile that never quite reached her eyes. I told myself she meant well. I always told myself that. I got out of bed and padded into the bathroom, the cold marble floor waking me up fully. The mirror showed a woman who
In the Arms of the Enemy’s Brother Chapter 8
Liam’s POV The Maybach glides through the Hamptons highway like it owns the road. Smooth. Silent. Untouchable. Just like me. Serena sits beside me, back straight, hands folded tightly in her lap. Her fingers are locked together so hard her knuckles have gone pale. The black dress still hugs her body, elegant and fragile at the same time, like it’s the only thing holding her together. She hasn’t said a word since we left my parents’ estate. The silence doesn’t bother me. Silence tells you more than words ever do. I keep one hand steady on the wheel. The other rests casually near the gear shift, close enough that my knuckles brush her thigh when I change gears. It’s not an accident. It never is. She notices. She doesn’t move away. Good. The dashboard clock glows softly: 10:32 p.m. Dinner dragged longer than necessary. My father’s loud stories. My mother’s relentless talk about wedding details. Serena sitting quietly, answering only when spoken to. Roman watching everything wit
In the Arms of the Enemy’s Brother Chapter 7
Serena’s POVThe Maybach rolled to a stop in front of the Voss family estate just after seven. The house glowed under floodlights, its white walls gleaming like they wanted to look warm, welcoming, inviting. The ocean breeze carried the smell of salt and freshly cut grass. My black dress felt tight across my chest, the neckline too low, the hem too short. Liam had chosen it this morning, laying it out like a gift I wasn’t sure I wanted. He said I looked elegant. I felt exposed, like something he wanted everyone to see and claim.Liam turned off the engine and looked at me. For a split second, his blue eyes softened, the tension in his jaw disappearing as if he could be charming for one heartbeat. Then his hand squeezed my knee, firm and heavy.“You ready, baby? Everyone’s excited to see you.”I nodded and tried to smile. “Ready.”He opened my door, offered his hand. Warm, strong, inescapable. His fingers brushed mine and lingered. Side by side, we walked up the wide stone steps. His a
In the Arms of the Enemy’s Brother Chapter 6
Roman’s POVI’m standing on the terrace of my penthouse at 60 Vestry Street, sixty-three floors up, smoking a cigarette I told myself I’d quit two years ago.The October wind is sharp enough to cut skin. I like it. It keeps me awake.Below me, the city is doing what it always does: lights, noise, people pretending they matter.Above me, the sky is the color of a bad bruise.I live in the same building as Serena’s stepsister,Chloe. because rich people in Manhattan all buy the same five buildings and then act surprised when they keep running into each other. My apartment is Penthouse A. Chloe’s is Penthouse B. Different elevators, different keys, same view. We nod in the lobby sometimes. That’s the extent of our relationship.Tonight I’m out here because I couldn’t sleep.Again.I’m on my second cigarette when I hear the elevator ding inside Chloe’s place. The terraces are separated by a ten-foot glass wall, but the railing is low and the sound carries on nights like this.I glance ove
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