CHAPTER 4: Nasty

Spencer stood and gave her a devilish smile.

“We sinned,” he said, his voice smooth and low. “I came to ask for mercy.”

Monica’s breath caught in her throat. A cold sweat prickled at her forehead. His eyes locked with hers, intense and unreadable—he wasn’t bluffing.

“Spencer, you need to leave. Now.” Her voice cracked with panic.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Are you disgusted that we spent the night together, Monica?” he drawled.

That teasing tone, paired with his frustratingly handsome face—he looked so carefree unlike Liam. Liam was always stern and professional. Spencer, on the other hand, looking like a playboy.

“What the hell, Spencer!” she snapped. “I was drunk. I barely remember anything. So no—we didn’t spend the night together.”

Spencer chuckled darkly.

“Or do you just hate how much I turn you on?”

“Turn me on?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “In your dreams, Spencer.”

He started moving toward her. She instinctively stepped back.

“We could test it,” he said, his tone almost playful. “Find out if I’m lying or not.”

Her back hit the wall. She shivered as his eyes swept over her teasingly.

“Move away,” she groaned, flustered.

“Or what?” he whispered.

He was so close now—closer than he should’ve been. Monica couldn’t stop her eyes from roaming over his face: flawless skin, chiseled jaw, sharp nose, and lips that were infuriatingly perfect.

Spencer smirked. “Take a picture, Monica. It’ll last longer.”

“Shit,” she hissed and tore her gaze away. She had to be insane—admiring her soon-to-be ex-husband’s brother?

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I don’t mind if I turn you on,” he whispered.

A shiver raced down her spine as his tongue grazed her earlobe. Furious, she raised her hands and shoved him back.

“Fuck you, Spencer.”

He only grinned wider.

“We almost did that last night. Shame you can’t remember.” He winked.

Her rage boiled. She swung her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist mid-air and pulled her against his chest.

“Spencer…”

She stiffened. Footsteps and muffled sounds came from the kitchen. The maid was nearby. Liam might still be home too—it was early.

“Stop it,” she said louder, twisting out of his grip. “You’re doing this just to mess with me.”

She was overwhelmed, confused. Why did he keep looking at her that way? Like she was a game.

“You need to leave,” she said again, more firmly this time.

A voice boomed from above.

“What’s going on here?”

Liam.

Monica jumped back as Spencer gave her a smug smile. Liam stormed down the stairs, his eyes scanning the room—landing on her flushed face… and the subtle marks on her neck.

“You ungrateful bitch,” he growled. “You left home just to whore yourself around?”

The slap landed hard. Her hand stung from the impact against his cheek.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Liam,” she spat. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been loyal. You destroyed everything.”

Liam turned to Spencer.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?”

Monica’s stomach twisted. This was a nightmare. Liam had cheated on her, and now she slept at his brother's place. Revenge or not, it was wrong.

“Just got back to the country,” Spencer replied casually.

“And?”

“I want what’s mine. Mom’s property.”

Liam scoffed. Monica didn’t wait to hear more. She stormed up the stairs.

“We’re not done talking, Monica!” Liam shouted behind her.

She reached the bedroom, still trembling. Despite Liam’s coldness, they’d always shared this room. They made love two nights ago and it was beautiful, it was her first time.

Her mouth fell open.

Brie was curled up in her bed, wearing her nightgown, sleeping like she belonged there.

“What the hell!” Monica screamed, rushing in and yanking the covers away.

Brie blinked herself awake as Monica yanked the covers off the bed. She sat up slowly, her hand lazily brushing her hair from her face.

"Sister, you're back," she said, all fake sweetness.

Monica’s voice shook with fury.

“You’re in my bed, wearing my nightgown. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Brie smiled softly, stretching like a cat.

“Well, you weren’t here. The bed was so cold... and your nightgown is just so soft. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Monica’s fists clenched at her sides.

“You thought I wouldn’t mind you stealing my husband and my life?”

Brie gave a soft, mocking laugh.

“Life? Oh Monica, what life? Your husband barely stands you. I figured this room was already mine—just like your marriage.”

Monica’s jaw dropped.

“You little—”

“You’ve always been dramatic. Always so perfect. The lucky gem, shining so bright but guess what?” Her eyes narrowed, venom seeping into her voice.

“No one wants a Barbie doll when they can have someone real. Maybe Liam just needed a woman who actually knows how to keep his attention.”

Monica slapped her hard across the cheek.

Brie gasped and staggered back, then suddenly grabbed her stomach.

“Ahh! My baby!” she cried out. “Sister, please—don’t hurt my baby. It hurts!”

Monica froze, confused.

“What? I didn’t even touch your stomach—”

Brie collapsed onto her knees, tears welling in her eyes.

“Please, Monica. You’re scaring me… the pain, it’s too much…”

Monica stared at her in disbelief. She’s faking it. She has to be.

But before she could react, she heard the footsteps pounding up the stairs.

“Why were you screaming?” Liam’s voice thundered as he burst through the doorway, eyes wide.

Brie looked up, all innocent and fragile, still clutching her stomach.

“She hit me,” she whispered tearfully. “She slapped my belly.”

Monica’s mouth parted, too stunned to speak.

She’s really doing this. She’s actually framing me.

Brie pointed at Monica, tearful.

“She hit me. I upset her, and she slapped my belly.”

Monica’s mouth dropped open.

“You’re lying,” she whispered.

“Why would you hit her? Are you trying to kill her?” Liam barked.

Something inside Monica cracked. No more playing nice.

“Liam, she’s lying—”

Brie cried louder and ducked behind Liam.

“Don’t let her hurt me again!”

Brie’s sobs filled the room, her hand protectively cradling her stomach as she whimpered dramatically on the floor.

“Sister, please… I didn’t mean to make you angry. I didn’t know what else to do…”

Monica stood frozen, staring down at her. Not with confusion. What did she do wrong?

She had already seen them together. Already lived trough the shock of finding her husband in bed with her sister. She’d spent the last hours trying to convince herself it was a nightmare. That maybe she imagined it. Maybe Brie was drunk. Maybe Liam was drugged. Maybe—just maybe—there was a shred of innocence left.

But now?

Now, seeing them in her room. Brie in her clothes. Liam pushing her to the floor like she was nothing. Watching him comfort her like she was the one who needed protection—

It all clicked.

Brie wasn’t sorry. She had never been.

Liam didn’t regret anything. He was protecting her. Choosing her.

They’d made a choice—and it wasn’t Monica.

Her heart didn’t just break—it hardened.

Brie looked up, playing the victim beautifully.

“I upset her… and then she slapped me. I didn’t

Liam shielded Brie and shoved Monica away. She hit the floor, stunned.

“You pushed me,” she gasped, breathless.

She stood slowly, disgusted. Her own husband just laid hands on her—for Brie.

Monica stormed past them, grabbed her suitcase, and started throwing clothes in with shaking hands.

“Where are you going?” Liam demanded.

She didn’t even look at him.

“I want a divorce.”

Liam’s eyes were glued to the side of her neck, his voice rising with suspicion.

“Where did you get those hickeys from?”

Monica didn’t answer right away. She stood still, zipper halfway closed on her suitcase, her back to him.

When she finally turned, there was a strange calm in her eyes. Something unreadable—different.

“Why?” she asked softly. “Are you jealous?”

Liam blinked. “Answer me.”

She took a slow step toward him, each movement deliberate. Her voice dropped, sultry and mocking.

“It’s funny,” she said, circling him slightly. “You never noticed me wearing those crazy night wears or when I tried looking good just for you.”

She stopped just behind him, close enough for her breath to graze his ear.

“But a couple of marks on my neck? Suddenly, you care?”

Liam tensed.

She stepped in front of him again, her lips curled in a cruel smirk.

“I guess someone finally touched me in a way that left a mark.”

His jaw clenched. “Monica…”

She leaned in slightly, voice soft but cutting.

“Would you really like to know who it was?”

Liam’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “Don’t play games with me.”

She held his gaze, icy and unflinching.

“Your brother, Liam.”

A pause.

“Spencer.”