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Chapter 24: First gift.
Last Updated:
2025-06-22 08:43:15
Latest chapter
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Chapter 120: I love you, Lyra. That's not going to change.
What the hell is he saying?“Am I the one who decides if I want you, or are you the one that decides if you want me, Christian? Each time I step away, it’s because I’m reminded of how much I have to lose compared to you, and tonight just made that clear, didn’t it?”Christian’s jaw is set into a hard line, but I turn away, chest heaving and eyes blurring with tears. Estel. Estel is still in the apartment, and I can’t deal with this right now. “Estel needs me,” I say.I’m shaking inside, but I try to make my voice as stable as I can. “She’s been crying her eyes out for hours, and she matters to me. Tonight isn’t about me or you. At least not anymore.”Christian doesn’t budge. His stare doesn’t waver, and his voice is hard as stone as he responds, “You can’t keep running away and blaming me, Lyra. You’re going to listen to what I have to say.”I almost scream at him in response. “Why should I? Why should I listen to anything else you have to say after what happened tonight?”The respons
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
The whiskey burns my throat, harsh and bitter, a reminder of why I’ve never cared much for drinking. The amber liquid sits in my glass untouched now, swirled once, then abandoned, the ice melting into watery circles. The bar is one of the high-end places in the city, a sleek lounge where men in tailored suits and women in glittering gowns move with practiced ease. The world hums around me, clinking glasses, muffled laughter, but I feel none of it.I sit at the far end, half-shadowed by the low golden light, trying to drown in the noise instead of the drink. It doesn’t work. My mind replays last night like it’s branded into me, frame by frame, sound by sound.Lyra’s silence is louder than any argument we could have had.The flashback comes unbidden.I drive her home after the fundraiser, the city lights passing in streaks of silver and gold through the tinted windows. My hand rests on the steering wheel, the other flexing uselessly against my thigh, wanting to reach for her but not dar
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
The knock at the door doesn’t stop.I stand frozen in the middle of my small living room, the sound hammering against my skull like an impatient drumbeat. Estel sits curled on my couch, her face swollen from hours of crying, her hair a dark, messy halo around her shoulders. She sniffles, eyes darting to me as though waiting for me to decide whether we’re about to be invaded or ignored.“Maybe they’ll leave if you don’t answer,” she whispers, voice still hoarse.But I know better. The rhythm of the knocking is too steady, too insistent, and I already feel the weight of who it could be pressing against my chest. My legs move before my brain decides, and by the time I realize what I’m doing, my fingers are already gripping the door handle.The door swings open—and there he is.Christian.His suit jacket is gone, the white shirt beneath faintly creased, his tie loose around his neck. His hair is slightly disheveled like he’s run a hand through it too many times, and the sharp edge of his
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
I slam the door shut behind me, my heels clattering against the hardwood as I stumble into my apartment. My chest feels tight, as though someone has stuffed it with hot stones, and the air burns in my lungs with every shaky breath I take. I want—God, I want—to rip the whole evening out of my memory, shred it until nothing remains but silence. But no matter how many times I pace back and forth, no matter how hard I press my palms against my temples, the images flash back, relentless, cruel.The party. The lights. Christian’s hand around mine, warm and firm, the illusion of belonging. And then—her. The bitter ex-lover who stormed up to us like a hurricane, venom dripping from every word. I could almost handle her. Almost. What undoes me isn’t her accusation, isn’t her face that could have been mistaken for mine in another life—it’s Christian. The way he didn’t deny it when she hurled the word fiancé at him like a curse.He said nothing. No explanation, no rebuttal. Just silence.And in
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
I slam the door shut behind me, my heels clattering against the hardwood as I stumble into my apartment. My chest feels tight, as though someone has stuffed it with hot stones, and the air burns in my lungs with every shaky breath I take. I want—God, I want—to rip the whole evening out of my memory, shred it until nothing remains but silence. But no matter how many times I pace back and forth, no matter how hard I press my palms against my temples, the images flash back, relentless, cruel.The party. The lights. Christian’s hand around mine, warm and firm, the illusion of belonging. And then—her. The bitter ex-lover who stormed up to us like a hurricane, venom dripping from every word. I could almost handle her. Almost. What undoes me isn’t her accusation, isn’t her face that could have been mistaken for mine in another life—it’s Christian. The way he didn’t deny it when she hurled the word fiancé at him like a curse.He said nothing. No explanation, no rebuttal. Just silence.And in
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
The whiskey burns my throat, harsh and bitter, a reminder of why I’ve never cared much for drinking. The amber liquid sits in my glass untouched now, swirled once, then abandoned, the ice melting into watery circles. The bar is one of the high-end places in the city, a sleek lounge where men in tailored suits and women in glittering gowns move with practiced ease. The world hums around me, clinking glasses, muffled laughter, but I feel none of it.I sit at the far end, half-shadowed by the low golden light, trying to drown in the noise instead of the drink. It doesn’t work. My mind replays last night like it’s branded into me, frame by frame, sound by sound.Lyra’s silence is louder than any argument we could have had.The flashback comes unbidden.I drive her home after the fundraiser, the city lights passing in streaks of silver and gold through the tinted windows. My hand rests on the steering wheel, the other flexing uselessly against my thigh, wanting to reach for her but not dar
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