The Wrong Brother

I gulped down the glass of chilled liquid in one go. My dark eyes watered a little. The burning sensation that tinkled my throat and the slightly sweet aftertaste was strong. “Another shot.” I slammed the empty glass on the bar. Music rattled through the floorboards. Behind me, bodies swayed in a blur of heat and flashing lights, but here, tucked under the soft glow of neon, it felt almost private. Glasses clinked, laughter rose and fell, and the smell of citrus and alcohol clung to the air. This was my corner, my escape, where the world dulled just enough to breathe.“Nova, that’s enough.” The blond bartender gave me a concerned look. “I’m gonna get fired if the manager finds out I’m tending to a seventeen year old.”“I’m turning eighteen next month, Daryl.” I slurred, trying to be firm. “So, get me another shot of tequila.”“I think you’re forgetting that you must be twenty one and above to enter this nightclub.”“Just give me the shot.” I grumbled, leaning further on the bar.Da

Three days.That’s how long it had been since Adrian Castellane laid down his ironclad rules in the dark hush of his luxury car. Now, I was parked outside the Castellane Mansion, staring at the wrought-iron gates and the sprawling façade beyond them. A place I’d been invited to just thrice, and as Bruno's girlfriend. A place I wasn’t supposed to belong.My cousin’s beat-up sedan looked criminally out of place on the gravel drive as I killed the engine. I smoothed down the front of my blouse, adjusted my sunglasses, and tried to pretend my stomach wasn’t twisted into knots.This wasn’t just brunch. This was war.Because inside that mansion was Bruno — my ex, Adrian’s little brother, the boy who’d tossed me aside like I was nothing. He thought I’d cry, crumble, disappear. Instead, I was about to walk into his family’s house on the arm of the brother he never measured up to.If that didn’t rattle him, nothing would.The front doors opened before I could knock. Adrian stood there, immacu

The café smelled like roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries, the kind of smell that usually calmed me, but right now it only made my stomach tighten. The walls were painted a soft cream, lined with shelves stacked with tiny potted plants and books no one would ever open. The place was cozy, warm, buzzing with laughter and low conversation. Perfectly ordinary. Perfectly wrong. Because nothing about this afternoon was ordinary. I tugged at the hem of my pink blouse for the thousandth time and tried not to think about how ridiculous I felt sitting here, waiting for Adrian Castellane. Adrian. Freaking. Castellane. The man who, for reasons I still hadn’t wrapped my head around, had agreed to play boyfriend. Fake boyfriend, I corrected myself quickly. Fake, fake, fake. A means to an end. The plan was simple: make appearances, play the part, and watch Bruno squirm. The execution? Not so simple when your “fake” partner was six foot four, devastatingly handsome, and had a knack

The Castellane Mansion had always been quiet, but tonight the silence pressed harder than usual. A silence you could choke on. The kind polished wealth loved to drape itself in, so no one could hear the fractures beneath. My suite smelled faintly of cedar and leather. Zeus; my German shepherd, stretched across the rug by the window, massive frame rising and falling with steady breaths. He was the only thing in this house that ever felt alive. I sat in the leather armchair, glass of scotch warming in my hand, though I hadn’t touched it in half an hour. The city beyond the tall windows glittered, North Wilmore’s lights blinking like they had secrets I wasn’t allowed to know. I should’ve been finishing contracts. Should’ve been preparing for tomorrow’s board meeting. Instead, my mind had been caught two days back. The café. Nova Ashton. Her hand in mine. It was supposed to be a role, nothing more. A performance staged to slice Bruno’s pride and remind him actions had consequ

The heat of the afternoon pressed against my skin like a heavy blanket. Summer had a way of wrapping itself around everything—lazy, sticky, relentless. I had been curled up on my bed for hours, blinds half-shut, the faint hum of the old ceiling fan barely moving the air. My phone lay face-up on the blanket, screen glowing every few minutes with new notifications.Another post. Another whisper. Another mention of my name alongside his.Adrian Castellane.I scrolled through Instagram, and there it was again: a blurry shot of us at the café two days ago. My hair tucked behind my ears, his sharp profile unmistakable even in grainy lighting. Someone had captioned it:“Nova Ashton… isn’t that Bruno’s supposed cousin?👀 And now she’s with his brother???”The comment section burned hotter than the summer sun.She moves fast lol.Adrian tho?? Upgrade if u ask me.Bruno must be fuming.Plot twist of the summer right here.I dropped the phone on the bed like it had scalded me.Part of me wanted