All Chapters of MY BROTHER-IN-LAW: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

LUCIAN THORNE’S POVThe dining table tonight was unusually full — and unusually loud.To my left sat Caelen, quietly elegant, his long fingers toying with the rim of his glass as if he owned my attention (he did). To my right, unfortunately, sat Caisen, sprawled in his chair like a prince of chaos, smirking at nothing and everything.Across from us, Aria had her daughter Ilina in her lap, the little girl playing with her hair while Ilya sat beside them, his posture perfect, but his eyes flicking to Aria every other second with something soft and unbearably smug.And then, in the middle of the clinking cutlery and quiet murmurs, Aria cleared her throat.“I have something to say,” she began, her voice light but firm.Everyone stilled. Even Caisen raised an eyebrow in faint amusement.I glanced at her. “Go on,” I said, my tone cautious.She exchanged a quick glance with Ilya, who gave her a small nod.“I’ve decided,” she announced, “that I’ll be going to Russia with Ilya. To meet his par

CAELEN VALENTINE’S POVThe next morning, I couldn’t sit still.I didn’t bother with breakfast. Didn’t bother with Lucian’s knowing glances or Conrad’s quiet observations from the corner.I climbed the stairs and walked straight to Caisen’s room.For a second, I stood outside his door, hand raised but hesitating. I wasn’t sure what I’d even say. He’d vanished for three days, come back looking like a ghost of himself, and then shut everyone out like he always did.But he was my brother.And no matter what he’d done or where he’d been — I couldn’t just let it slide.So I knocked.No answer.I sighed, pushed the door open anyway, and stepped inside.There he was.Sitting on the edge of his bed, one ankle resting lazily on his knee, tossing an apple in the air and catching it with an exaggerated flick of his wrist. The morning light cut across his face, sharp and golden, catching in the dark shadows under his eyes.The cocky grin was back, barely. The walls were back up.But now I could se

CAELEN VALENTINE’S POVThe next morning, the canvas and supplies finally arrived.Not just one canvas — dozens, stacked neatly against the walls of the room Lucian had designated for me. Brushes, oils, acrylics, turpentine. Everything I could need and more. Of course he didn’t just let me take over a random space — he’d cleared out a proper room on the east wing, one of those sunlit corners of the mansion that no one had touched in years.It took me half a day just to arrange it the way I wanted — laying drop cloths, organizing paints by hue, hanging a few empty frames for inspiration. It smelled of fresh wood and turpentine already, and for the first time since moving here, I felt something spark in me that wasn’t just lust, boredom, or fury.Then, of course, they came.Conrad appeared at the door — silent as always, dressed sharp in a black turtleneck and slacks, clipboard in hand even though this was my space now. He glanced around, eyes landing on the brushes I’d lined up like sol

LUCIAN THRONE'S POV“I’m done, Caelen. I’m leaving all of it behind. The business. The blood. Everything. For you.”I felt his body stiffen. Then relax. And then he turned.The look in his eyes wasn’t gentle.It was wildfire.And then he kissed me.The taste of him — sharp, desperate, sweet — burned away whatever restraint I thought I had left. He pressed me back against the cold wall, his paint-slicked hands dragging down my chest, leaving streaks of red and gold over my white shirt.It didn’t matter.Let him ruin me.I grabbed the back of his neck and deepened the kiss, my tongue tangling with his until we were both breathless.When his teeth grazed my jaw, my control snapped.I spun him, pressing him into the canvas he’d been working on, one arm pinning his hands above his head while my other hand slid under his shirt.“You think you’re in charge here?” I murmured against his neck, just before I bit down hard enough to leave a mark.He gasped, half defiance, half surrender, his hip

DIANA VALENTINE'S POV We were moving fast.Peter Valentine,my husband kept glancing nervously over his shoulder as we hurried through the terminal, our luggage clattering behind us. My heels clicked loudly against the polished floor, but I held my head high. Even now — fleeing, humiliated, hated — I refused to let the world see me crumble.“Keep walking,” he muttered to me under his breath. “We’ll be out of this godforsaken country in an hour. They won’t dare touch us once we’re gone.”I sniffed, clutching my handbag tighter. “Good. Let them stew in their filth. That boy—” My lip curled — “that whore and his gangster can rot for all I care. He thinks he can threaten me? Me? After everything I—”My husband tugged me sharply. “Quiet. Stop drawing attention.”We made it to the gate. Just a few feet away from freedom. I exhaled, shoulders starting to relax.And that’s when I noticed them.A pair of men, dressed in crisp airport security uniforms, flanked by two others in plain suits. Sta