Yearning for My Husband's Brother

Three years ago, Dante Carter had her pinned against the backseat window of his Bentley, her fingers tangled in his curls, his mouth between her thighs.

Tonight, she was marrying his brother.

Hana Verlice stared at her reflection as she stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in her suite at the Carters’ mansion, the dress hugging every curve like it had been painted on. But it wasn’t the tightness of the fabric making it hard to breathe.

“I don’t like this. Try the next,” her mother, Narla, said from behind her, frowning at her exposed chest.

Hana brushed a curl behind her ear. “I don’t think so. I think it fits perfectly.”

“It’s too loud,” her mother muttered.

“Maybe I want to be loud.”

She didn’t need to look to know the expression on her mother’s face—tight-lipped disappointment, polished into something that passed for elegance. Any other day, Hana might’ve caved. Slipped into something safer. Quieter.

But not today.

Today, she was marrying Elijah Carter. And if she had any real choice, she’d be halfway across the world with a fake name and a plane ticket out of this mess.

Her mother didn’t argue further. She just turned, walked to the vanity, and opened a velvet box.

She pulled out a thin, glittering bracelet and walked back over. Without asking, she fastened it around Hana’s wrist.

Hana’s breath caught.

The diamond bracelet blinked in the light like it was mocking her.

She knew this bracelet. Knew it too well.

He’d given it to her.

Dante. Three years ago. Her twenty-first birthday. He’d snuck her away to his beach house and slipped it onto her wrist as she slept.

“You’re mine, Hana. Mine.”

Hana shut her eyes immediately, forcing those thoughts down.

Her eyes looked over the bracelet—she’d forgotten she even still had it. Probably left it buried somewhere in her things.

How the hell had her mother found it?

Her fingers brushed the cold metal now resting on her wrist, her chest squeezing so tight it was hard to breathe.

“Don’t ruin this for your father,” Narla said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“You know how long it took him to secure this merger. Put aside your petty feelings and stop acting like a child. Grow up. Do you understand me?”

Hana’s voice was quiet. “Understood.”

“Good.” Her mother’s tone softened again. “It’s not your father’s fault things got this bad. You think he’s happy—?”

“It’s okay, Mom. I get it.” Hana cut in, sharp and cold. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m doing what you want. Just… leave me alone. Please.”

Her mother stared for a beat too long, then turned toward the door.

“Fix your face before you come down. And don’t bring that scowl with you.”

The door clicked shut.

Hana finally let herself breathe. Her shoulders sagged as she walked to the drawer and pulled out her phone.

No missed calls. No texts.

Not even a goddamn emoji.

Her fingers trembled. She bit her bottom lip, eyes returning to her reflection in the mirror.

She raised her fingers to her lips,

And just like that, a memory punched her in the gut again.

“I breathe for you, Hana,” he’d whispered against her lips, wrecked and half-naked, the night before he had disappeared.

Hana shut her eyes.

Please stop...

She bit her lower lip tightly as she forced the memory down.

She wasn’t going to think about him… no, not today.

The door suddenly burst open, and Hana turned to it, startled.

Marjorie Carter stepped inside, and the temperature in the room reduced to chilling degrees.

Dressed in a knee-length white dress, her hair pulled up in a neat bun, a matte lipstick over her lips—Marjorie looked like she dined with the devil himself.

Hana’s breath caught in her throat as Marjorie’s gaze slid over her like a blade.

She looked her up and down, as though assessing her dress, and then she scowled.

“What are you doing keeping the guests waiting?” she asked, tone flat and cold.

“I was just… catching my breath,” Hana replied, quickly adjusting her dress, feeling herself shrink under Marjorie's scrutinizing eyes.

“Understandable,” Marjorie said. “It must be overwhelming—walking into a life you don't deserve.”

Hana flinched. Her hands fisting by her sides, but she said nothing.

Marjorie moved toward the gown on the mannequin, her fingers brushing the fabric like she was handling something cheap.

“Elijah could have anyone. Daughters of billionaires. Women with real elegance. But because of your father’s mess, he’s stuck with… you.”

Hana’s nails dug into the vanity.

“The least you could do is look the part,” Marjorie continued.

She turned back to her fully, eyes narrowing.

“Change out of this garbage. I’ll send someone up with something more suitable. I will not have you looking like a stray dog beside my son.”

And then she was gone.

Hana released the breath she didn’t know she was holding as she sank to the floor the second the door clicked shut.

Her fingers clutched the vanity table like a lifeline as the tears she had been struggling to hold in finally streamed down her face.

She didn’t even get a full minute before the door creaked again.

Two women stepped inside, carrying fresh gowns. They looked about her age, one a blondie and the other a brunette.

“Miss Verlice?” the blondie said gently. “We were asked to help you change.”

They paused when they saw her face.

Hana quickly wiped her tears and stood. “Yeah. Sure. Come on in.”

Minutes later, she was transformed.

The red dress was gone, replaced with a diamond-crested white gown. Her messy bun undone, auburn waves cascading over her bare shoulders.

“You look exquisite,” the brunette said softly.

Hana stared at herself in the mirror.

She looked like someone else entirely. The dress was definitely not her style, but it was something befitting for a Carter, courtesy of her mother-in-law.

She smiled at the girl but did not say anything in reply. There was quiet before the blonde girl spoke:

“Don’t take whatever she says to heart, she’s like that to everyone — even us.”

Hana smiled, just a little. “She’s something else.”

The blonde girl giggled. “Right? We’ve worked for her for six months and still go home depressed every day.”

Hana laughed, her eyes curving into crescents. At least someone wasn’t being a bitch to her today.

“Now as an aside, have you seen that gorgeous man downstairs?” the blondie asked, looking excited.

Hana blinked. “What man?”

“Tall. Messy hair. Sharp jawline. Looks like your fiancé — but way hotter,” she said, teasing. “We were all wondering… if he’s single.”

The room suddenly became too suffocating to breathe. Hana’s stomach dropped.

She moved toward the window, slowly.

And then she saw it.

The black Bentley parked out front, glinting under the lights.

Her lungs stopped working.

She didn’t need to see the plate. She knew that car like the back of her hand.

She’d made a mess in the backseat of it more times than she could count.

Dante.

He was back.