Chapter two

CYRUS’ POV

“I wonder why I had to wait that long to pop your hole, stepbrother,” he said casually, laughing.

I forced a smile—one that didn’t reach my heart.

“You don’t have anything to say?” he asked, stepping closer. His breath brushed my face. “What’s wrong, husband?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I need to take a shower.”

I slid off the bed, my thighs brushing together. I glanced down and froze—slick between them, his mess and mine.

“Cyrus,” he called softly.

“I just need a break.”

I pushed the bathroom door open, stepped inside, and shut it behind me. Resting my head against the door, I whispered, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

My eyes drifted to the bathtub. I crossed the room and slowly lowered myself into it, letting the water swallow me whole.

It all started five years ago, after my father’s sudden death by poison. I was reduced to nothing—no house, no fame, no money. I was nothing more than a fly.

My mother and I became a burden.

No one stepped forward to help us. Not even my father’s friends.

Friends—excuse me. Family members.

They were the cruelest people I had ever known. That was when I truly understood the saying: your enemies are right under your nose.

When my father was alive, he loved them all. He helped some of them become who they were. But when we needed them the most, they all turned their backs on us.

Three and a half years ago, my life shifted again. My mother remarried a filthy rich CEO. I moved in with her, hoping things would finally change.

They didn’t.

Death took her too—along with my stepfather—in a ghastly car crash.

Vivian Hale, my stepmother, took over the household. I hadn’t known she wore a mask during the few months we lived together.

That was when my nightmare truly began.

Sometimes, she would serve her son, Thomas, food and deny me mine. When she did give me food, it was leftover crumbs she stepped on in front of me, or the burnt portion scraped from the pot.

And college?

Until I graduated, I was everyone’s target.

Males. Females. Lecturers. Even the Vice Chancellor.

I was their prey.

Cold water slid over me, seeping into places I didn’t want to feel anything. My skin crawled.

“I hate this,” I whispered. “I hate this so much—”

Why did I beg?

Why did I moan Marcus’s name?

Why did I let him touch me?

Why did I let him in?

He was my first man.

This was all wrong. Completely messed up.

How did we even get here?

Because Vivian didn’t want me out of her sight, she turned me into a servant to run errands at Hale Enterprises. Their company.

Everything changed the day he returned from abroad to claim his father’s position as CEO.

Marcus.

He cared for me. In small, quiet ways—giving me food, standing up to his family, helping me at work. Things that may have meant nothing to him… but meant everything to me.

Then one afternoon, he called me into his office, sat across from me, and slid a file in my direction.

“A contract marriage?” I asked, shocked. “Do you even hear yourself, Marcus? You’re my stepbrother.”

“That’s why I need your help,” he said calmly.

I shook my head, my breathing uneven. “I can’t do this. I’m not even gay.”

“No one is,” he laughed. “You’ll be my husband for three years. By then, I’ll have full control of the company. After that, we will dissolve the contract. I’ll give you a handsome reward in return and you can live the life you want.”

Who would refuse such an offer when their life was already falling apart?

I didn’t think too hard. I agreed for the money. Knowing he was my stepbrother. Knowing I wasn’t interested in men. Something we should never do. Especially with the media watching.

What I didn’t expect were the feelings.

The quiet affection. The attention.

They might have meant nothing to him.

But they meant the world to me.

And somehow, earlier this evening, a joke turned into closeness. Closeness turned into heat. One moment led to another and we crossed a line we never should have touched.

“This is wrong,” I muttered, splashing water onto my face. “I should never have agreed to that contract.”

I rinsed off quickly and stepped out of the tub. Slipping into my nightdress, I watched the sun sink beyond the horizon.

With a heavy sigh, I left the bathroom.

In the room, Marcus stood by the window with his back to me, his hands tucked into his shorts. The bold tattoo on his forearm caught the fading light, standing out against his stillness.

Clearing my throat, I started, “Marcus, I—”

That was as far as I got before he turned.

His face was cold. Unreadable. Nothing like the man from earlier.

So distant it made my chest tighten.

What had happened to him?

A brown file was clutched in his hand. Without a word, he tossed it onto the bed—the only thing standing between us.

“What’s wrong, Marcus?” I asked carefully. “You don’t seem okay.”

“I will be,” he said flatly, “once you check the contents of the file.”

I hesitated, then picked it up. As soon as I opened it, my eyes locked onto the first page, questions flooding my mind.

“What do we need this for?” I asked, stepping closer. His hands now rested on his waist, his posture rigid.

“Your eyes work perfectly, Cyrus,” he replied coolly. “It’s a divorce agreement.”

“But—”

My voice broke as the words sank in.

A divorce agreement.

He wanted to end this. End us.

“Why?” I asked, my throat dry, sweat forming as my hands trembled.

His gaze held mine, steady and unfeeling.

“He’s back.”