Oh My Brothers

The fading Spark

Elena Bennett stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of her Manhattan penthouse, her reflection merging with the sweep of gold and red lights glittering far below. Thirty-two years old, a litigator who could slice through arguments with surgical precision and a presence people either feared or admired; yet a quiet hollowness clung to her tonight.

Her dark hair cascaded in loose waves over her shoulders, framing the striking face everyone praised: sharp cheekbones, full red lips, emerald eyes that could burn or freeze at will, but tonight, those emerald eyes were dulled, exhausted, restless, and thirsting for something she had gone too long without: the feeling of being a woman.

She adjusted the silk blouse, leaning on her beautiful breasts to show more cleavage, the fabric whispering against her skin. Even that small, sensual motion felt practiced, performed for no one, like most parts of her polished life.

Marcus Bennett: her husband, her storm in a tailored suit had built this penthouse, this empire around her. Thirty-eight-year-old billionaire CEO of Blackwell Enterprises, a man whose presence dominated boardrooms, bedrooms, and entire continents. Their first years together had been wildfire: stolen kisses behind velvet curtains at charity galas, breathless quickies in his office overlooking the skyline, raw nights where he’d pin her beneath him and take her until her limbs trembled and shook from multiple orgasms.

But that Marcus had become a ghost.

Now his empire claimed every piece of him. Tokyo, Dubai, London, he chased time zones more than he chased her body. Weeks passed in a blur of empty nights, and their sex life had withered into rushed attempts that lacked romance, which reminded Elena only of how deeply she still craved the early days. Her desire was a constant flame, but lately, she was left alone to tend it.

She glanced at their bed. The left side was untouched, smooth, cold. Marcus had flown to Paris that morning, promising he’d be back in ten days.

Elena hadn’t believed him for a second.

Her phone buzzed on the marble nightstand.

Sophia, her best friend, her reality check, the last thread holding her together.

Girls’ night. Club Eclipse. 10 PM. No excuses.

Elena sighed and typed back; Fine, one drink.

But she already knew one drink wouldn’t fix anything. What she needed was distance from the loneliness the penthouse embodies, from the long waits for Marcus’ return, from the version of herself slowly fading into the darkness that looms.

She slipped into a black dress that clung to her hips, as if worshipping them. The neckline dipped low, unapologetically. A hint of jasmine along her throat and wrists, and she felt the first spark of aliveness in weeks. The elevator ride down felt like shedding another layer of suffocation she had endured.

Tonight wasn’t about Marcus.

Tonight was about remembering she still had a pulse.

Club Eclipse greeted her with a shock of sound and color. Bass thumped through the floor, lights strobed like lightning, and bodies writhed in chaotic, electric rhythm. Sophia grabbed her hand and dragged her to the dance floor before she could protest. Tequila slid down Elena’s throat, spreading warmth until laughter spilled out, light and unrestrained.

“See?” Sophia shouted over the music, “This is what you needed. Marcus can wait.”

Maybe he could.

Maybe she had waited long enough.

As Elena moved with the beat, something inside her loosened. Her gaze drifted through the crowd, sweat-slick bodies, hands wandering, lips grazing throats. The room pulsed with life, with hunger, with something she had forgotten she could feel.

Then she saw him.

He cut through the crowd like he owned the space. Shirtless, body sculpted into lines and ridges that made her breath catch. Late twenties, broad shoulders, a chest built like stone, abs catching the flashing lights. His jeans hung low enough to tease the sharp V disappearing into shadow; dark, tousled hair fell in deliberate disarray.

Every step he took radiated a slow, confident, and predatory control.

And then his eyes met hers.

A shock rolled through her heat, awareness, something wild snapping awake.

He approached with a smirk that curled her lips before she realized it. He handed her a drink without speaking. When their fingers brushed, the spark that rushed through her went straight between her thighs.

“Dance?” he murmured, stretching out his hand, his voice smooth and sinful.

Elena knew she should say no.

A married woman should.

A woman with a diamond that could blind anyone should.

But loneliness was a powerful hunger.

Desire deepened; the view before her struck her with an overwhelming rush of heat.

And tonight, the fire burning in her blood answered for her.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.