All Chapters of THE WRONG BROTHER : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Charlotte I stare at the black box for a long moment before pulling the ribbon loose. Inside is a silk dress, crimson red. The neckline dips low, elegant but deliberate. A slit runs high along the side, designed to make a statement with every step. The kind of detail Kevin always liked, the kind he thinks still works on me. With a message from Kevin: I hope you love the dress. I'll be waiting. I laughed so hard. Rhys is not home. He left for a meeting, muttering something about numbers and boardrooms. Maybe it is for the best. He would probably talk me out of what I am about to do. I run my fingers across the silk again, then fold it neatly back into the box. My pulse steadies as I pick up my phone. Message to Kelvin: I will see you tonight. I hit send and stare at the screen until the message delivers. The tiny satisfaction that comes with it almost makes me smile. Then I call a contact I haven’t used in months, a journalist I once met at a charity gala. The kind who thrives

Charlotte Morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, harsh and unforgiving. I didn’t sleep. Neither did Rhys. We spent the night watching the narrative war unfold in real-time tweets, articles, opinion pieces, all dissecting my marriage like it was public property. By 3 a.m., #CharlotteHayes had overtaken #KevinAnders. By 5 a.m., major news outlets were picking up our statement alongside his. Now, at 7:30 a.m., I’m standing in Rhys’s kitchen, staring at my phone while nursing black coffee that tastes like battery acid. “You need to eat something,” Rhys says, sliding a plate of toast toward me. I shake my head. “I can’t. My stomach’s in knots.” He’s already dressed, sharp charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, looking every inch the ruthless CEO about to go into battle. Meanwhile, I’m still in his oversized shirt from last night, hair tangled, eyes burning from lack of sleep. “The press conference is in two hours,” he reminds me gently. “You should get ready.” “I’m n

RhysI’m watching from my car, parked across the street with a clear view of The Greenhouse Café’s front windows. My laptop is open on the passenger seat, displaying four different camera feeds, two inside the restaurant, one on the entrance, one covering the street. Overkill? Maybe. But I didn’t get where I am by leaving things to chance. “Subject arriving,” Marcus says through my earpiece. He’s my head of security, positioned at a table near the back of the café, pretending to work on his laptop. I watch as Kevin’s car pulls up with a Mercedes, he steps out, and I lean forward slightly. He’s dressed carefully, designer suit, but understated. Hair perfectly styled. He’s even shaved, looking more put together than he has in the photos I’ve seen circulating from the board meeting disaster. “He’s going in,” Marcus confirms. I watch Kevin enter the café, and my jaw tightens when I see him spot Charlotte. Even from here, even through the camera feed, I can see the calculated smile tha

Charlotte My mother’s message comes in just after eleven.Mom: Lunch today? There’s someone I’d like you to meet. It’s important.I consider ignoring it. The last few days have been quiet, peaceful even, and I’ve finally started sleeping without waking up from half remembered nightmares. But the moment I think of her, the guilt sets in. She’s been trying, in her own way. So, I sigh and text back:Charlotte: Where?Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in front of my closet, trying to look like I didn’t overthink what to wear. I settle on a soft yellow sundress that brushes just above my knees, paired with dainty hoop earrings and a woven crossbody bag. My hair is pulled into a messy updo. Then I put on my tan strappy sandals, which are simple and open toed.When I arrive at the restaurant, she’s already there. She looks nervous. That’s the first red flag. My mother never looks nervous. Her eyes dart toward me, then to the man sitting beside her.“Charlotte,” she says quickly, standing

Charlotte “Hi, Charlotte.”The voice on the other end is unfamiliar, steady, and a little hesitant.“Yes?”“It’s, um… Larry.” A pause. “Your..... your stepbrother.”For a second, my mind goes blank. I grip the edge of the counter. “Oh.”“I hope this isn’t a bad time,” he says quickly. “I got your number from your mom. She said it was okay to call.”I force out a small breath. “Right. Okay. What’s going on?”He hesitates. “Nothing bad. I just… wanted to talk, if that’s alright. Maybe meet up?”I stare out the window, watching the leaves outside tremble against the wind. “Why?”“I think we both deserve to understand a few things,” he says quietly. “About him. About… all of this.”The words hang between us. I almost tell him no. But something in his tone, careful, not pushy, makes it hard to hang up.After a long pause, I say, “Alright. Where?”“There’s a small café on Ridge Street,” he says, relief in his voice. “Tomorrow? Around noon?”“Fine.”“Thank you, Charlotte.”We hang up. I sta