03- Wrecking My Stepbrother's Wedding.

Vivienne's Pov.

It’s exactly what I expected. Here I am, tucked into the corner of the table, sipping something non-alcoholic while forcing myself to half-heartedly participate in the games. The noise of the club presses in around me, the bass from the music thrumming under my skin, but none of it reaches me. Not really.  

Wren is glowing, laughing with her bridesmaids, her white dress clinging to her in all the right places. The sash across her chest reads Bride to Be in bold, glittering letters. She’s beautiful tonight—radiant, even. The kind of beauty that should make me insecure, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because my mother spent years drilling confidence into me, making sure I never doubted my own reflection. Or maybe it’s the snide little voice in the back of my head that whispers, *If she was everything, her fiancé wouldn’t be sleeping with me.* I drown the thought with another sip of my drink.  

The club is packed, just how Wren wanted it. Music pulses through the air, bodies pressed together on the dance floor, laughter and shouts blending into one chaotic hum. The bridesmaids are in their element, shrieking with excitement as they start a pole-dancing game. I force a smile, clapping and cheering them on, but my heart isn’t in it.  

One of the girls, a brunette with sharp eyes drops into the seat beside me.  

“Hi,” she says, her voice cutting through the noise.  

“Hey,” I reply, my tone flat.  

“Vivienne, right?”  

“Just Viv.”  

She grins, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it without hesitation. The smoke curls between us, sharp and suffocating. “I’m Jane,” she says, exhaling. “You don’t seem into the party tonight. Everything okay?”  

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie, holding my breath as the smoke stings my lungs. “Sorry, can you not do that right now? I’m asthmatic.”  

“Oh, shit. My bad.” She stubs it out immediately, flashing me an apologetic smile. “Better?”  

“Thanks.”  

She leans in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “So… you know the groom?”  

I stiffen. “Yeah. He’s my stepbrother.”  

The moment the words leave my mouth, three other heads snap in my direction. The rest of the girls are still dancing, lost in the music, but the ones still at the table are suddenly laser-focused on me. I feel like prey caught in a spotlight, but I keep my expression neutral.  

“Stepbrother?” Jane barks out a laugh. “Girl, we had a whole bet going on whether he was your ex or something.”  

My stomach twists. “What? Why?” My voice comes out too high, too shaky. I shouldn’t sound scared.  

“The *tension*,” one of them purrs, swirling her drink.  

“Heavy sexual tension,” another adds, smirking. “Like he could peel your clothes off with his eyes.”  

“And the way you look at him?” The third girl giggles. “Total dom and sub vibes.”  

I blink, my fingers tightening around my glass. “Aren’t you Wren’s friends?”  

“Yeah,” Jane says, shrugging. “But we’re just calling it like we see it. We know Luca loves her, but it’s different with you.”  

A cold laugh escapes me. “If Wren sent you to interrogate me because she thinks something’s going on, you can tell her it’s never happening. He’s my brother*. Ten years older.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. It’s the truth—one I’ve had to choke down for years. A truth that claws at me every time I see them together. We were never going to be a thing.  

Jane holds up her hands. “Hey, we’re sorry if we crossed a line. Wren didn’t send us. We just thought you were his ex, that’s all.”  

Before anyone else can speak, a girl comes sprinting toward us, her face flushed with excitement. “Guys! You have to see this! Luca just gifted Wren a custom Maybach! It’s parked outside!”  

They all scramble up, squealing, rushing toward the entrance. I force myself to follow, my legs moving on autopilot.  

The crowd parts just enough for me to see it—the sleek, black car gleaming under the club’s neon lights. And there they are. Luca and Wren, wrapped around each other, his hands cradling her face as he kisses her like she’s the only thing that matters.  

Something inside me snaps.  

The anxiety I’ve been fighting all day surges up, hot and acidic. I stumble back inside, barely making it to the bathroom before I’m hunched over the sink, my body shaking as I empty my stomach. Tears burn my eyes, spilling over before I can stop them.  

My reflection stares back at me: pale, broken, pathetic.  

“I hate you, Luca Moretti,” I whisper, my voice raw. “I hate you so much.”  

A dry scoff cuts through the silence.  

“Yeah,” comes the familiar, infuriating voice. “I figured that.”  

I look up.  

And there he is.

I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face, trying to wash away the sting of tears. My hands are shaking. "This is the ladies' restroom," I say, my voice flat as I move toward the door. I can't even look at him right now. Disgust coils in my stomach—not just at him, but at myself. Because the worst part isn’t that he’s cheating. It’s that I feel like the one who’s been betrayed, watching him kiss her like she’s the only woman in the world.  

"I already know that," he says, unfazed.  

"Yeah, I figured," I snap, rolling my eyes. "Since you're not just a cheat but a pervert too." I try to push past him, but his hand snaps out, fingers wrapping around my wrist like a vise. In one sharp motion, he spins me around and slams me against the wall, his other hand settling possessively on my waist, trapping me.  

"I know I am," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "You made me this way, didn’t you?" His fingers trail up my side, slow and deliberate, stopping just beneath the edge of my bra. My skin burns under his touch, and I hate how my body reacts—how it always does. "Are you seducing me, Viv?"  

I grit my teeth. "And why would I do that?"  

"So you’re wearing this for someone else, huh?" His voice is low, dangerous. He’s so close that I have to tilt my head back just to meet his gaze, and even then, his frame towers over me. His free hand slips under my dress, fingers skimming over my thigh before sliding beneath the fabric of my panties. I bite down hard on my lip to stifle a moan as his fingers brush against me, already finding me dripping with need.  

"Do they make you feel this way, Viv?" he asks again, his fingers teasing, circling, coaxing a response from me that I don’t want to give.  

"No," I gasp as his thumb presses just right, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.  

"Because you don’t belong to them," he growls. "You belong to me, don’t you?"  

I want to answer. I want to give in completely, let him take what he wants like he always does. But then I remember—his fiancée is still in the club, still gushing over the car he bought her, still wearing the lipstick that’s smudged on his mouth from their kiss.  

"Just leave me alone," I sob, shoving him away. My hands tremble as I yank my dress back into place, then bolt for the door before he can stop me.  

I don’t know if I should stay for the rest of the party or just leave. But if I go now, it’ll look suspicious. So I force myself back to the table, sinking into my seat like nothing happened.  

"Viv, are you okay?" Wren asks, her voice laced with concern. The bridesmaids glance up at me, their expressions unreadable.  

"Yeah, I—"  

"She isn’t," Luca cuts in, appearing out of nowhere. He grabs my bag from the chair. "She got sick. I’m taking her home."  

Wren’s face falls. "Oh my, Viv, I—"  

"She’s asthmatic, Wren," he snaps, his grip tightening on my wrist as he pulls me toward the exit. "You guys should’ve never brought her here."  

I hear her murmur something to the others, something about him being overprotective, about big brothers always acting like that. The words make my stomach twist.  

Luca doesn’t loosen his grip until we’re outside, his fingers digging into my skin as he stops beside the car.  

"I don’t want to go with you," I say sharply.  

He ignores me, snatching the keys from his driver and shoving me into the passenger seat before tossing my purse in after me. The door slams shut, and a second later, he’s in the driver’s seat, peeling away from the curb with a screech of tires.  

"Where are we going?" I demand.  

Silence. His jaw is clenched, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. The anger radiating off him is almost palpable, but he doesn’t say a word. Just drives, faster and faster, like he’s trying to outrun something.  

"Luca, where the hell are you taking me?!" I scream.  

The car jerks to a stop so suddenly that my seatbelt locks, digging into my collarbone. We’re parked in front of a deserted park, the only light coming from the dim glow of streetlamps.  

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Luca exhales sharply, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel with a muttered curse.  

"Vivienne," he says finally, his voice rough. "What do you want?"  

You. Just you.  The words sit heavy on my tongue, but I don’t say them. Instead, I swallow hard. "I don’t know. Can we just go home? I’m tired and I—"  

"You think I don’t want that with you in public too?" he interrupts.  

I blink. "What?"  

"What you said earlier today—you think I enjoy hiding? You think I wouldn’t give everything I have right now to hear you say my last name, to put my ring on your finger and have you be mine in every way that matters?"  

My breath catches. Tears well up again, blurring my vision. "You kissed her, Luca. You kissed her in front of me."  

"Because I had to, my dad wants me to marry her so badly, there's a deal he had with her father ten years ago." 

“What? I thought you wanted it.”

“Of course not. I care for Wren more like a friend but not the way I care about you,” He whispers, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to face me fully. His hands cup my cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tears before they can fall. "I don’t like seeing you hurt. I thought you wanted it to be just sex, so I kept it all inside—just to keep you close."  

Is he serious? 

"I don’t want it to be just sex," I choke out. "I love you. I love you so much, and I hate this—I hate pretending to be happy about your wedding. It’s killing me."  

"Then I’ll call it off."  

My eyes widen. "What?" I need to hear him say it. Need to be sure.  

"It took this wedding for me to realize how deep I’m in with you," he says, his voice raw. "I love you so much that I can’t function without you. I meant every word I said—I was just scared you were rejecting me. I’ll call it off. We can elope, do whatever you want. I’ll leave it all behind for you. For *us*."  

My heart feels like it’s going to burst. I lean in, pressing my lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss, one he takes control of almost immediately, his hands tangling in my hair as he deepens it. His tears mix with mine, salty on my tongue, and for the first time in forever, it feels real. Like we might actually have a future.  

When we finally break apart, my lips still tingling from his kiss, I become acutely aware of the hard press of him against my thigh, and the answering heat pooling between my own legs. My breath hitches at the contact, at the way his body responds to me so effortlessly.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his thumb brushing away another tear with surprising tenderness. The contrast between this gentle touch and the tension in his body makes my pulse race.

I don't hesitate. In one fluid motion, I climb into his lap, straddling him with a smirk that feels both familiar and daring. The leather seats creak slightly beneath us as I settle against him, close enough to feel his heartbeat through our clothes.

He laughs, the sound low and rough in his throat. "You're so naughty."

"I'm your bad girl, aren't I?" I tease, reaching behind my neck to pull my dress over my head in one swift motion. The cool air of the car washes over my skin, raising goosebumps that have nothing to do with temperature.

His hands are on me instantly, warm and possessive. "I've been dying to take that off, you know." His fingers trace patterns along my bare shoulders, down my arms, as if memorizing me all over again.

"They say you look at me like you can peel my clothes off with your eyes," I breathe, arching into his touch.

He smirks, that cocky expression I've loved since we were kids. "Well, maybe I can." With a practiced flick of his fingers, my bra snaps open, the straps sliding down my arms.

The reality of where we are—the dim interior of the car, the possibility of being seen—makes my pulse spike with both nerves and excitement. "We have to be fast," I whisper, already reaching for his belt with trembling fingers.

He doesn't argue, doesn't make one of his usual teasing remarks. The quiet intensity in his eyes tells me he feels the same urgency.

When I guide him into me, I have to bite my lip hard to stifle the moan that threatens to escape. He fits perfectly, like we were made for each other, like no time has passed since the last time we were this close. His mouth finds my breasts, his tongue swirling in a way that makes my toes curl, while his hands grip my hips with just enough pressure to leave marks.

We move together, slow at first, relearning each other's rhythms, then faster as the tension builds. It's quick, desperate—just enough to take the edge off the hunger that's been simmering between us all night. But even like this, rushed and breathless in the backseat, it's everything.

He was my first. My only. And now, he's going to be my last.

"You're doing well, baby," he praises, his voice rough with pleasure as his fingers find that sensitive spot that makes me gasp. The added stimulation sends sparks dancing behind my closed eyelids, and my moans come louder now, less restrained.

"Don't stop," he whispers against my skin, his breath hot. "Keep going." I obey, moving with him in perfect sync, just as he captures my lips in a kiss that's both familiar and brand new—soft and reassuring like that first time when the pain had been too much, but now laced with years of shared history.

When we finally come apart, breathless and shaking, I rest my forehead against his, our ragged breaths mingling in the quiet of the car. The windows have fogged up, sealing us in our own private world for just a little longer.

"I love you," he murmurs.  

I kiss him again, soft and sweet. "I love you too."  

For the first time, I let myself believe it.  

Our future starts now.