Pregnant By My Ex's Brother

The music was too loud and the lights too bright, but none of it could drown out the sound of my own heartbeat slamming in my ears.

I pushed through the crowd, plastic smile still stuck on my face because it was supposed to be our night. One year together.

Marcus had promised a surprise. I thought maybe a ring, or at least dinner somewhere quiet. Instead I followed the sound of his laugh down a hallway I wasn’t supposed to go, past the velvet ropes, and into a private lounge that smelled like expensive cologne and betrayal.

The door was cracked open.

I saw them before my brain could catch up. Marcus with his pants around his ankles, hips moving in that familiar rhythm I knew too well.

The girl’s legs wrapped around him, her red dress hiked up, nails digging into his back. She was moaning his name like she’d earned it.

This fucking bastard!!!

I swear time didn’t stop. It just got heavier.

I stood there frozen, one hand still holding the stupid little gift bag I’d brought for him, a watch I saved three months to buy. My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might throw up right there on the expensive carpet.

Marcus turned his head. Our eyes met.

For a second he looked shocked.

Then that lazy, entitled smirk slid across his face like he’d been caught stealing cookies, not cheating on the girl who had stood by him through everything.

“Elena,” he said, still inside her. He didn’t even pull out. “Babe, it’s not—”

“Don’t.” My voice came out small. I hated how small it sounded.

The girl had the decency to look embarrassed. She tried to push him away but he just laughed, low and cruel, like this was funny.

“You really thought we were exclusive?” he asked, finally stepping back and fixing his pants. “Come on, Ellie. You’re sweet, but let’s be real. You don’t fit in my world. You never did.”

The words landed like punches. Every late night I waited up for this guy. Every time I covered his rent when his daddy cut him off.

Every promise he made while I was picking up extra shifts so we could build something.

Fuck! I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the watch at his head. Instead my fingers just tightened around the bag until the handle cut into my palm.

“Happy anniversary,” I whispered.

Then I turned and walked away.

The party noise swallowed me again. People laughing, glasses clinking, life moving like my world hadn’t just cracked open. I made it outside before the tears started.

Hot, ugly tears that ruined my makeup and made my chest hurt so bad I had to lean against the cold brick wall.

I called my best friend but she didn’t pick up. Probably still inside enjoying the party I dragged her to. My mother was too sick to hear this right now. So I just stood there shaking, staring at the city lights blurring through the tears.

Marcus Voss had taken everything soft I had left and spat on it.

And the worst part? Some sick, broken piece of me still wanted him to come running after me and say it was all a mistake.

Well of course the bastard didn’t! .

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. My phone stayed silent except for a single text.

Marcus: Don’t be dramatic. We’ll talk tomorrow.

I laughed. It sounded crazy even to me.

That was when something inside me snapped clean in half.

I wiped my face, fixed my lipstick in my phone camera, and started walking.

But not going home. Not to cry in my tiny apartment with my sick mum. Probably somewhere else. Somewhere that would hurt him back.

The bar I ended up in was dark and expensive, the kind of place Marcus and his rich friends liked to flex. I didn’t care about how much it cost. I ordered the strongest thing on the menu and drank it fast. The burn felt good.

For the first time tonight, I felt awake.

I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for him to apologize.

If Marcus wanted to throw away what we had like trash, fine.

I was going to make sure he regretted it for the rest of his life.

I just didn’t know yet how far I was willing to go to make that happen.

My phone buzzed again. Another text from Marcus.

Marcus: Where are you? Stop acting crazy.

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering.

Then I typed back with shaking fingers.

Me: Busy. Enjoy the rest of your night, asshole.

I hit send, ordered another drink, and looked around the bar like I was searching for trouble.

Because tonight?

Tonight I was done being the nice girl.

My gaze landed on him two stools down.

Damien Voss.

Marcus’s older brother. The one who always looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his expensive shoe.

He was nursing a glass of something dark, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, staring into his drink like the world owed him answers. He hadn’t noticed me yet.

My heart slammed harder.

He was the perfect weapon.

Cold. Rich. The only person Marcus actually feared.

I should have looked away. I should have gone home and cried like a normal person.

Instead I kept staring, the alcohol and the pain mixing into something reckless and sharp in my chest.

Damien finally lifted his head. Those dark eyes met mine across the bar.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then the corner of his mouth twitched; not quite a smile, more like he could already smell the disaster coming.

“Elena,” he said, voice low enough to cut through the music. “You look like hell.”

I swallowed hard, fingers tight around my glass.

“Yeah,” I answered, surprised my voice didn’t shake. “Because that’s exactly how I feel.”

He studied me for a long moment, like he was deciding whether I was worth the trouble.

Then he leaned forward slightly, eyes never leaving mine.

“So tell me,” he said slowly, dangerously too calm, “what exactly did my idiot brother do this time?”