All Chapters of Tangled With The Other Brother: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Graham's Point Of ViewHis expression didn’t soften. If anything, the lines around his mouth hardened further. “Either you sign those papers—” He gestured toward the documents on the desk, the ones I’d been avoiding since I’d entered the room. “—or get ready to be disowned.”For a second, I thought I'd misheard him. Not because his words weren't clear, they rang through the study with perfect precision. But because they didn't belong to him. They couldn't. Not directed at me. Not delivered in that flat, businesslike tone, as though he were discussing stock portfolios rather than severing the bond between father and son. I took a step back, my breath catching. Then another. My heel nearly caught the edge of the Persian rug, but I steadied myself, gripping the back of a leather chair. My eyes remained locked on him, as if looking away would make the room tilt completely, would make this nightmare solidify into something I could no longer deny. "What?" The word scraped out of my th

Graham's Point Of View"These are divorce papers." The words didn't register immediately. They hung in the air, suspended, as though my mind needed a few extra seconds to catch up with what my ears had just heard. It felt like being underwater… everything muffled, distorted, moving too slowly. My gaze dropped to the documents in my mother's hand. Then back to her face. Then back to the papers again. "No." The word came out under my breath. Barely audible. "That's not…" I took a step forward, reaching for them, but my hand stopped midway. My fingers trembled slightly, hovering in the space between us. Because I already knew. Before even reading a single line, something in my chest had already accepted it. That hollow, sinking feeling, the one you get when your body understands what your mind refuses to acknowledge. My mother watched me carefully, her expression a mixture of concern and something else I couldn't quite name. Pity, perhaps. "Graham?" I didn't answer. I

Graham's Point Of View "Do you think Elena is behind it?" The question didn't hit me the way it should have. It didn't shock me. Didn't anger me. It just… settled. Heavy. Expected. Like a stone dropping into still water, sending ripples I'd already anticipated. I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I studied him, really looked at him. At the way his eyes had narrowed again, sharp and calculating, like everything had already shifted from anger to strategy. To suspicion. To blame. It was a familiar transformation, one I'd witnessed countless times throughout my life. My father never stayed vulnerable for long. I exhaled slowly, my gaze dropping briefly to the signed documents on the table before lifting back to him. The papers seemed to mock us both, sitting there so innocuously despite the chaos they represented. I paused. Because the answer wasn't simple, and he wouldn't accept anything complicated. Not right now. Not when everything was burning around us and he needed

Graham's Point Of View "I've had enough of this nonsense." The words emerged quietly, almost conversational in their delivery. They didn't need volume to carry weight. Everything about the way he stood… spine straight, shoulders relaxed, the way the gun rested in his hand like a natural extension of his arm, the way his eyes swept across the room without urgency, without panic, without the slightest flicker of doubt. That was enough. I froze for half a second, my muscles locking involuntarily. Not out of fear, though my heart hammered against my ribs. Out of disbelief. This situation had spiraled further than I'd anticipated, further than any of us could have imagined. Way further. And the worst part, the detail that made my stomach turn? We had walked straight into it, blind and arrogant. "Graham—" My mother's voice trembled, a hairline fracture running through her usually steady tone. That alone was enough to snap me back to the present moment. I moved, ad

Elena's Point Of ViewA week had passed. Seven full days inside Jaxx's suite, and somehow I still hadn't figured out how I got stuck here. Not physically stuck. Because technically, I could leave. I had proven that much. After three days of arguing, glaring, ignoring him, then talking again like nothing happened, I'd managed to convince him to let me go to work. The negotiations had been exhausting, a constant back-and-forth that left me drained by the end of each day. That alone felt like a victory. A small one. But still. "Don't get used to it," he'd said that morning, watching me get dressed like he didn't trust the door not to disappear if I walked through it. His eyes had tracked my every movement with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "I'm not your prisoner," I'd reminded him, buttoning my shirt with deliberate slowness. "You're something worse." I paused, turning to look at him. My fingers stilled on the last button. "And what exactly is that?" He didn't answer.