All Chapters of THE WRONG BROTHER : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Charlotte For a while, Rhys says nothing. The silence between us is not awkward. It's full, like the room itself is holding its breath. My pulse is still uneven from everything I just said. I don't know if I'm waiting for him to judge me or to tell me I overreacted or to try and fix something that can't be fixed.But he doesn't. He just comes closer. Slowly. Deliberately. "Hey," he says softly, and the sound of his voice feels like a hand brushing over a bruise. "You don't have to carry it all tonight, okay?"I nod, but it’s shaky, my throat tight. “I just....” The words die halfway. My chest feels too small for everything inside it.Rhys reaches out then, his hand resting gently on my arm. Warm. The kind of touch that doesn’t ask for anything, it just says I’m here.“Breathe,” he murmurs.So I do. Or I try to.For a second, I think I’m fine. But then my breath catches again, a quiet, broken sound that makes his expression soften even more. He doesn’t pull me in right away. He just

Charlotte “Did he send it?” Rhys asks the moment I step into his office. He doesn’t even look up from his desk at first, just flips through a few documents before glancing toward me. “Yeah,” I say, setting my bag down carefully. “Last night. I told him to send it before midnight. He actually did.” Rhys nods once, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. “Efficient. That’s a good sign.” “He was excited,” I add quietly. “Nervous, but excited.” When I look up, his gaze has softened a little, that unreadable calm he carries so easily. He gestures to the chair opposite him. “Sit.” I do, trying not to think too much about how his tone sounds different today, quieter, more careful somehow. He types something on his laptop, then leans back in his chair. “HR went through it this morning. He’s being considered for an entry-level role in the marketing department. It’s not final yet, but… it looks promising.” I blink. “That fast?” “Sometimes things move fast when someone inside gives a

Charlotte Larry calls the next morning. His voice bursts through the line before I can even say hello.“I got it, Charlotte. They called me this morning, and I got the job!”For a second, I don’t respond. It’s not because I’m surprised, but because hearing the joy in his voice makes something inside me ease in a way I hadn’t realized needed easing.“That’s incredible,” I finally say, smiling. “Larry, that’s… that’s amazing. You really did it.”“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says. “Or without Rhys, I guess.”The mention of Rhys draws a soft flutter through my chest. “You earned it, Larry. You impressed them, I could tell from how you handled yourself.”He laughs, still giddy. “You sound like a proud mentor.”“Maybe I am,” I tease. “But you deserve this. You’ve worked for it.”After we hang up, I just sit there for a while, staring at my phone. It’s strange how happiness for someone else can mix so quietly with an ache you can’t quite name.Larry’s joy feels like closure, in

RhysI don't remember this. I don't remember any of this. I scroll through more photos, my heart pounding, my breath coming in short gasps. There are at least a dozen. Different angles, different moments. Professional quality shots. And I don't remember a single second of it. Who is this woman? How did she get into my apartment? What the hell happened last night? I rack my brain, trying to force the memories to surface, but there's nothing. Just a black void where the entire night should be. The last clear memory I have is pouring bourbon. After that... nothing until waking up on the floor. My phone is ringing. Marcus. "Boss," he says the moment I answer. "Please tell me you've seen the photos and have an explanation." "I've seen them." My voice sounds hollow, strange. "Marcus, I don't remember last night. Any of it. I remember coming home, pouring a drink, and then... nothing until I woke up on the floor just now." There's a pause. "You don't remember the woman?" "No. I don

Charlotte A week passes in this horrible new reality. Seven days of moving through the apartment like we're strangers forced to share space. Seven days of Rhys trying to talk to me and me shutting him down with silence or single word responses. Seven days of sleeping in separate rooms, eating at different times, existing in parallel universes that occasionally, painfully intersect. I've perfected the art of looking through him. Of being in the same room but acting like he's not there. It's easier than acknowledging the pain in his eyes every time I walk past him. Easier than seeing how much weight he's lost, how exhausted he looks, how completely destroyed he is by my silence. Good, the bitter part of me thinks. Let him know what betrayal feels like. But there's another part, smaller, quieter, that whispers I'm being cruel. That whispers I should at least listen to his evidence, his explanations. That whispers the man I fell in love with wouldn't do this to me. I silence that voi