Chapter 4: Jealous Games

Chapter 4: Jealous Games

Alex POV

Max’s text sat on my phone like a live grenade for the entire weekend. Every time the screen lit up with a notification, my stomach lurched, expecting another message from him. “I know your secret. Tell them or I will.” The words burned behind my eyes even when the phone was face-down on my nightstand. I didn’t tell Kai right away—I couldn’t bear to see that flash of violence in his eyes again—but by Sunday night, the weight of it was crushing me.

I waited until the house was quiet. Dad and Lisa had gone to bed early after a long day of “family bonding” activities—board games in the living room, forced small talk about work and weather. Kai slipped into my room just after midnight, the door closing with the softest click. He didn’t speak at first; he just crossed the room, cupped my face, and kissed me slow and deep, like he was trying to erase whatever worry he could already see on my features.

When we broke apart, I pulled out my phone and showed him the message.

His expression darkened instantly. Jaw tight, eyes narrowing to slits. “That nosy little shit,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. He took the phone from my hand, thumb scrolling as if rereading it would make the threat disappear. “I’ll handle him. One conversation. He won’t open his mouth again.”

“No.” I grabbed his wrist, hard enough that he actually paused. “No fights, Kai. No threats. If you go after him, it’ll only make things worse. He’ll tell just to spite you—or us. We talk to him. Together. Calmly.”

Kai stared at me for a long moment, chest rising and falling. The muscle in his jaw ticked once, twice. Then he exhaled through his nose and handed the phone back. “Fine. But if he pushes, I’m not promising I’ll stay calm.”

We set the meeting for the next afternoon—a small, neutral café downtown, tucked between office buildings, the kind of place where people came to work on laptops and pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. The air smelled of espresso and warm croissants. Max was already there when we arrived, sitting in the corner booth with his arms crossed, curly hair falling into his eyes. He looked smaller than usual, nervous.

We slid into the seats opposite him. No one spoke for several seconds.

Max broke first. “I’m not trying to ruin your life, Alex. But this… stepbrothers? It’s messed up. Your dad will lose it. Lisa will lose it. And if anyone else finds out—coworkers, friends, social media—it’ll blow up. I’m just saying… someone’s going to notice eventually.”

Kai leaned forward, forearms on the table, tattoos stark against the white marble. His voice was quiet, controlled, but the threat underneath was unmistakable. “You saw two guys holding hands in a park. That’s all you saw. You keep your mouth shut about it, and we all go on with our lives. You don’t? Then we have a problem.”

Max swallowed visibly. “I’m not scared of you, Kai.”

“You should be,” Kai said simply.

I kicked Kai under the table—hard. Then I turned to Max, softening my voice. “Look, I know it looks bad from the outside. But we’re being careful. No one else knows. We’re not flaunting anything. Please, Max. You’ve been my friend since high school. Just… let this stay between us for now.”

He studied me for a long time. Finally, he nodded once, short and reluctant. “Fine. I’ll keep quiet. But if this crashes and burns—and it will—I’m not picking up the pieces.” He stood, tossed a few bills on the table for his coffee, and left without another word.

Kai watched him go, then turned to me. “You really think he’ll stay quiet?”

“I think he’s more afraid of losing our friendship than he is of you,” I said. “For now.”

The relief didn’t last long.

Jealousy didn’t only come from outside threats.

Tuesday at the office was ordinary until it wasn’t. I was in the break room pouring coffee—black, no sugar, the way Dad always drank it—when Tom walked in. Tom was one of the junior analysts: easy smile, quick laugh, harmless. We’d been chatting more lately, mostly about music and weekend plans. Nothing flirty. Just… normal.

That day he leaned against the counter next to me, stirring sugar into his mug. “You catch that new indie band at The Blue Note last weekend? Killer set.”

“Yeah, they were great,” I said, smiling. “The guitarist is insane.”

We talked for maybe three minutes—tops—before I excused myself to get back to filing.

I didn’t think anything of it.

Until I saw Kai’s face when I passed his office door ten minutes later.

He was standing at his desk, arms crossed, staring at me through the glass wall like I’d just committed a crime. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but the set of his jaw told me everything.

That evening, on the drive home, he didn’t speak for the first fifteen minutes. Traffic crawled through downtown, horns blaring, rain starting to speckle the windshield. Then he pulled off into a narrow side street—dark, empty, lined with overflowing dumpsters and graffiti-covered brick.

He killed the engine.

Turned to me.

“Who the fuck was that guy in the break room?”

My heart stuttered. “Tom? He’s just a coworker. We were talking about music. That’s it.”

Kai’s hand shot out, gripping my thigh—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to pin me. “You smiled at him. Laughed. Like you do with me.”

“Kai, it was nothing—”

He unbuckled his seatbelt in one sharp movement. “Prove it.” His voice dropped to that low, dangerous register that always made heat pool in my gut. “Prove you’re mine.”

He pushed my head down toward his lap. I didn’t fight it. I unzipped him, took him into my mouth—thick, hot, already hard. The car filled with the sounds of my breathing, his low groans, the wet slide of my lips. His hand fisted in my hair, guiding the rhythm, hips rocking shallowly until he came with a choked curse, spilling down my throat.

When it was over, he zipped himself up, started the car again, and drove us home without another word.

That night in his room, the sex was punishing.

He shoved me face-first onto the mattress, yanked my wrists behind my back, held them there with one massive hand while the other spread me open. No slow prep—just lube slicked roughly, then he thrust in deep, no pause. Each stroke was hard, deliberate, claiming. He bit the back of my neck, my shoulder, leaving marks I’d have to cover with high collars for days.

“No one else,” he growled against my ear. “No one else gets your smiles. No one else gets your laugh. No one else gets this.” He punctuated each word with a brutal snap of his hips. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I gasped, voice muffled against the sheets. “Only yours.”

We came together—me untouched, just from the friction and the raw possession in his voice; him buried so deep I felt every pulse.

Afterward, he held me like I might disappear. Arms locked around my chest, face buried in my neck. “I don’t share,” he whispered, quieter now. “I can’t.”

I turned in his hold, kissed the corner of his mouth. “I don’t want anyone else.”

But the jealousy had cracked something open between us—something raw and unsteady.

Thursday afternoon I went up to the attic again, restless. Boxes of old holiday decorations, photo albums, forgotten winter coats. And then the bundle of letters—yellowed envelopes tied with a faded ribbon. Lisa’s elegant, looping handwriting. I shouldn’t have read them. I knew that. But I did.

They were love letters. Passionate, reckless. Written to a man named Robert. Dates from fifteen years ago. Descriptions of stolen nights in hotel rooms, whispered promises, guilt over betraying someone unnamed. One line stood out: “I know it’s wrong, but I’ve never felt more alive.”

My hands shook as I folded them back into the envelope.

That night I showed them to Kai in the garden, hidden behind the rose trellis where the security lights didn’t reach. The air smelled of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine.

“Your mom,” I said quietly. “She had an affair. With someone named Robert. Do you know who he is?”

Kai’s face went blank—dangerously blank. “Put them back where you found them.”

“But—”

“Alex.” His voice was steel. “Some secrets are better left buried. For her sake. For all our sakes.”

I nodded, but the parallel sat heavy in my chest. Hidden love. Lies. Risk. Was that all we were?

Saturday night we needed to escape.

We drove to an underground club on the east side—low ceilings, pulsing bass you felt in your bones, bodies pressed too close under strobe lights. No one knew us here. We danced like strangers who’d just met and already couldn’t keep their hands off each other. His palms on my hips, my back to his chest, grinding slow and filthy to the beat. Sweat slicked our skin. His teeth grazed my earlobe. “You’re fucking perfect,” he breathed.

I turned in his arms, kissed him hard in the middle of the crowd.

Then some drunk idiot—tall, reeking of cheap vodka—stumbled into me, hand landing on my ass. “Hey, pretty boy, dance with me instead.”

Kai moved like lightning. One second the guy was standing; the next he was on the floor, blood streaming from his nose. Shouts erupted. People pushed. Security surged. Kai grabbed my wrist and we ran—through the back door, down an alley reeking of garbage and rain, hearts hammering.

We didn’t stop until we reached the garage at home. The car was still warm when he shoved the passenger seat back, yanked my pants down, and fucked me over the center console—hard, desperate, windows fogging. The whole vehicle rocked.

Halfway through, buried deep, he pressed his forehead to mine and rasped, “I love you.”

The words hit like a punch.

I came instantly, clenching around him, dragging him over the edge with me.

Afterward, slumped together in the cramped space, breath fogging the glass, I whispered back, “I love you too.”

But morning brought consequences.

Dad found Kai’s shirt in the laundry hamper—blood on the collar, knuckles bruised. “What the hell happened here?” he demanded over breakfast, holding the shirt up like evidence.

Kai shrugged, casual as ever. “Fell while jogging last night. Hit a curb. No big deal.”

Dad frowned but let it drop.

Lisa, however, looked between us with those sharp green eyes that missed nothing.

“Family trip next weekend,” she announced, setting her coffee down. “Lake house. All four of us. No phones, no work. Just family.”

My stomach plummeted.

A whole weekend trapped together. No escape. No secrets left to hide behind.

The games were over.

And the real danger was only beginning.