All Chapters of Craving The Wrong Brother: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

I’m pretty sure everyone in the room has stopped breathing. Mom's face drains of all color, eyes pinned to Jade with an expression I’ve never seen on her before. It’s not just shock. It’s not just betrayal. It’s far worse. Jade doesn’t move either, though I see his jaw tick. His eyes are locked on hers like he’s trying to telepathically explain the impossible. But there’s nothing to say that can fix this. “Is this some sort of prank?” Mom finally asks. “If it is, you all better stop it. It’s not funny.” “It’s not a prank, Mom,” Serena says, almost whispering. Jade turns to her. “Would you just shut up? You’ve done enough already.” “Done enough?” Serena’s voice cracks. “What? You expected me to keep lying?” “I expected you not to make everything about yourself. You took advantage of me when I was drunk! I kept it a secret from your mother so she wouldn’t hate you, and now you’ve decided to blow it all up?” He looks like he wants to throw something—at the wall, at himself, maybe

I nod, letting Serena's words sit between us. The light from the bedside lamp glows across the room, creating a halo around the edges of Serena’s profile as she stares up at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of comfort. I can still feel the tension clinging to her like sweat. “Do you even love him?” I ask gently. “Nathan.” Her lips part, but nothing comes out right away. Then, in a small voice, she says, “Maybe. He’s sweet, and he cares about me.” Her throat catches. A soft hiccup follows. Then the first sob. “And I just broke his heart,” she whispers, as if realizing it for the first time. “I’m an evil person, Sloane. So evil.” Her face crumples and her shoulders hunch inward. The tears come fast now. I slide toward her across the mattress and wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my chest. She doesn’t fight it. Just shudders in my hold, her body trembling. And even though she’s the older one, the taller one, the louder one, in this moment she feels impossibly smal

*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** Initially, I’d been skeptical about what a meeting with Hunter, who claims he has bad blood with me, would be like. I half expected an ambush or some kind of ego-driven showdown, but so far, it’s been surprisingly… normal. Almost too normal. Hunter is a good conversationalist, I’ll give him that. He doesn’t miss a beat, steering the topics around the table like a well-trained maître d’ of words, making the pauses smooth, the laughter effortless. He’s nothing like the scheming antagonist he paints himself to be. Honestly, I’m beginning to see why Knox called him a softie. He's kind of sweet. Charming in the way that makes you forget your drink is empty until he signals the waiter before you even reach for it. It's the other man on our table that scares me. Mateo Torres. He doesn’t speak much. When he does, it’s like he's dissecting me, not holding a conversation. Every time I think the topic will swing to what my new role would involve—which is Hunte

The words land right in the center of my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. I almost smile. Almost. God. Why does he have to say it like that? With so much passion and authority. So blunt. So certain. Like it’s just a fact and not the thing I’ve been secretly dying to hear again since the last time he said it while I was dozing off in the playroom, that soft whisper of ‘I love you’ against my neck. My whole body reacts before my mind can catch up—chest tightening, skin buzzing, knees a little weak even though I’m sitting. I want to throw myself into his arms. I want to blurt it back and tell him, ‘Yes, I love you too. I’ll stay here forever if you want me to.’ We’ll figure out the closet space and whose mug is whose and grow old yelling at each other over breakfast. I want to be that girl. Just once. But that would be my heart talking. And maybe my hormones, because every inch of me wants to be touched by him when he says stuff like that. My brain, though? My brain is still

It’s Sunday, and I am before a mirror, regretting my new choice of nails. I stare at my reflection and try to hold the eyeliner steady with what feels like ten tiny daggers sprouting from my fingers. Each movement is careful. One wrong turn could cause the sharp tip to skip across my lid and ruin everything. Again. I pull back and exhale. I don’t know what possessed me to get them at the salon yesterday. Maybe I was craving change. Maybe I needed a little jolt of something new that didn’t involve crying, fighting, or orgasms that left my chest tight. It was either the nails or going full redhead. I figured the nails were safer. And now I can’t even zip my jeans without stabbing my hip. Behind me, I hear the soft scrape of wood. I glance up at the mirror and find Knox standing at the closet door. He’s fully dressed for night work at his club. Black on black on black. Matte shirt, tailored pants. He doesn’t say a word. Just leans one arm against the doorframe and watches me with a l