Break Up With Him

POV: Chloe

I will never, as long as I live, forgive my ringtone.

The cheerful little pop song died instantly as Ethan’s thumb swiped the screen. The silence that followed was suffocating—the heavy, static kind that fills a room right before something irreversible happens.

From under the desk, I couldn’t see Ethan’s face. I didn’t need to. I could hear his total stillness. The way his breathing shifted from casual to dangerously careful.

I did the only thing I could think of. I shoved my phone upward, straight into Tristan’s hand. His long fingers closed around it without hesitation.

“That’s Chloe’s,” Ethan stated slowly.

“It is.” Tristan’s delivery was flawless. Composed, faintly puzzled. The tone of a man simply identifying an object, not constructing a massive lie on the fly. “She stopped by earlier to discuss the project timeline. Must have left it on the desk when she headed out. I was going to have it sent down.”

I pressed my back against the inside of the mahogany desk, breathing quietly through my nose, and tried to think about absolutely nothing at all.

“Is that so.” Ethan’s voice was measured. Not quite convinced, but not outright accusing either. It was the verbal equivalent of a man stepping onto thin ice to test the weight.

His heavy boots moved closer. “I’ll take it to her, then. I was going to find her anyway.”

“Of course,” Tristan said, extending his arm to hand over the phone.

There was a brief moment of contact between the brothers, and then... the soft chime of a screen lighting up by accident as it changed hands.

The silence that followed was completely different. Lethal.

I knew exactly what was on my lock screen. I’d known for three months, ever since Ethan had pouted for a solid afternoon until I changed it to please him. It was a photo of him kissing my cheek at a rooftop restaurant, both of us windswept. He was grinning like he’d won the lottery.

It was a good photo. Ethan looked warm, unbothered, and devastatingly young. Carefree.

I heard Tristan draw a sharp, barely audible breath. I knew with absolute certainty that this was about to go to hell.

“What’s this?” Tristan’s tone had shifted. Not loud. Not shouting. But edged with a dark, slicing blade. “Are you flashing that picture to make me jealous that you have a girlfriend? Or are you worried I might steal her from you?”

My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp. I nearly choked on my own spit. I blindly grabbed the hem of Tristan's tailored trousers and yanked—a sharp, desperate SOS.

Shut up... shut up... shut up! You absolute maniac!

Ethan didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice was stripped of all its usual warmth, replaced by something quiet and incredibly dangerous.

“I’m pretty confident about my relationship,” Ethan growled. “But if seeing a picture of my girlfriend provokes you like this, brother... you should probably prepare yourself mentally.”

I could picture Ethan right now—the stubborn lift of his chin, the way his easygoing mask dropped to reveal the alpha underneath.

“Because she’s going to be my mate soon.”

The office went arctic. Literally. The air pressure in the room plummeted like the second before a violent thunderstorm.

Two alpha wolves in the same space. The same bloodline. Pulling against the exact same point. My fingernails were digging into Tristan’s ankle now. I hadn’t meant to. My hand had just clamped down in pure panic.

Tristan spoke first.

“Is that so,” he sneered, each word laced with venom. “Then take your future mate’s phone and go find her. I have work to do.” He ruthlessly dismissed his brother, turning his attention to his laptop.

I heard Ethan’s boots retreating. The door opened and clicked shut.

And then... three full seconds of dead silence. It was so quiet I could hear the blood roaring in my ears.

Tristan bent down, his massive hand closing around my wrist like a vice, and pulled. He gave me zero time.

One second I was in the dark, and the next I was yanked upright, blinking in the harsh afternoon light. My back hit the edge of the desk, and Tristan’s hands slammed down on either side of me, caging me in.

Close. Too fucking close.

His jaw was locked tight. His glowing amber eyes were furious in a way I’d never seen before. This wasn’t his usual calculated ice. This was raw, feral rage that had run completely out of patience.

“A mate,” he growled, the word scraping out of his throat like a curse. “He can’t even track your scent correctly right now, and he thinks he can mark you?”

“Tristan...”

“Listen to me.” He leaned in, his hard chest brushing my silk blouse. He was so close I was drowning in his cedar and musk. “This game ends today.”

“It’s not a...”

“Break up with him.” His blazing eyes pinned me in place. “Today!”

“If you can’t find the courage to do it yourself, I have absolutely no problem calling him back in here so he can see exactly whose cock you want.” His gaze dropped to the frantic pulse hammering in my throat. “Shall I?” The threat landed heavy and hot between us.

“I’ll handle it,” I whispered, hating how weak I sounded.

His eyes searched mine, hunting for the lie. Then, he straightened, stepped back, and calmly returned to his leather chair like the last twenty minutes had been a minor scheduling conflict.

“Today, Chloe,” he commanded, without looking up.

I fled the room before I did something completely reckless—like dropping to my knees.

Ethan was waiting in my office. He didn't look anxious or suspicious. He was just leaning against my desk, balancing two coffees, smiling like he hadn't just squared off with his alpha brother in the room I was hiding in.

“Found you,” he beamed, handing me a cup.

“I thought you were bringing lunch.”

“Changed plans.” He shrugged, his golden-boy charm back in full force. He set his coffee down and casually browsed my office like a tourist. He picked up an architectural model, set it down, and wandered over to the window.

My office had a glass wall. It was one-way reflective on the corridor side, but totally transparent from within. I’d never thought twice about it.

I thought about it now. My stomach twisted into tight knots as I realized exactly which corridor that glass faced.

Ethan stepped up behind me. His strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling my back against his chest. He dropped his chin onto my shoulder in that easy, possessive way that usually melted my heart.

“I missed you today,” he murmured.

I forced a smile, staring at our reflection in the glass. His arms holding me. His cheek pressed to mine. The picture-perfect image of a happy couple.

God, he looked so much like Tristan. The same sharp cheekbones. The same strong jaw. Just a younger, softer version of the man who had cornered me twenty minutes ago, ordering me to end it.

Ethan gently turned me around, tipped my chin up, and kissed me. And I...

God help me.

I let the lines blur. I let myself lean into his warmth and pretend, just for a second, that the past week hadn’t completely blown up my life. I kissed him back, desperate to feel something safe.

POV: Tristan

I saw everything.

His arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Her hands resting on his chest. The way she tilted her face up to him, letting out that small, surrendering sigh I knew intimately—because I had felt it against my own skin.

And then they kissed. It was unhurried and sickeningly familiar, like they’d done it a thousand times before.

The files slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor, but I didn't feel my fingers open.

I stood there, staring through the glass at my fated mate wrapped in my brother’s arms. And something inside me—a beast I had kept chained on a very short leash for seven years—simply snapped.

My wolf surged so violently my vision bled to pure gold.

MINE!

The roar didn’t feel like a thought. It felt like something ripping its way out of my bones.

Mine! Mine! MINE!

My hand slammed flat against the glass. It was the only thing standing between me and the door five steps away.

They pulled apart. She murmured something. He laughed—that easy, carefree laugh I’d heard him use since he was seventeen. A laugh that had never bothered me until this exact second.

He pulled her back in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. My knuckles turned stark white against the glass.

“Break up with him.” I had given her a direct order two hours ago. Why the fuck is she testing my patience?

I stood there like a psycho, glaring through a one-way mirror, watching my little brother casually hold my female like he owned her. He had no idea how close he was to losing his throat.

I dragged in a ragged breath, fighting the feral urge to shatter the glass, storm inside, and drag her out by her hair.

I bent down, snatched up the scattered files, and forced myself to walk to the elevator without putting my fist through the wall.

“Today,” I had said. And she swore she would handle it.

I stepped into the elevator, staring at my furious reflection as the steel doors slid shut. My jaw was locked, my eyes still glowing bright gold.

Today. That was the fucking deadline.