Semua Bab Choked And Claimed By My Brother’s Best Friend : Bab 11 - Bab 20

Josephine “You want to know why I trust him? Fine.”Alexander’s voice drops to something raw, stripped of his usual bullshit armor. His fingers drum against the marble countertop like he’s tapping out morse code for vulnerability.“Back when I was drowning in high-stakes poker and parties that should’ve come with liability waivers, shit went sideways. Some genius dealer decided to spike the deck. Cops got a tip, came storming in like they were raiding a cartel.”I blink. This is the most honest thing he’s said since becoming my unwanted houseguest.“Nicholas took the hit. Straight-faced lied to the cops, claimed the whole setup was his idea. Got me out clean while he ate a night in county lockup.”“And there was that time he took a grenade for me,” Alexander adds, the corner of his mouth twitching.“A literal grenade? What the fuck are you talking about?”“Worse. An aggressively unattractive socialite with daddy issues and a trust fund. Let’s just sa

Alexander The apartment falls into that particular brand of silence that comes after someone’s world gets rearranged. Muffled sounds drift from behind Josephine’s bedroom door—pacing, probably some creative cursing, definitely the sound of someone trying to convince themselves they didn’t just get caught wanting something they shouldn’t.She’s unraveling. I can practically feel it through the walls.Probably screaming into a pillow right now. Probably pretending she didn’t just look at me like I was the answer to every question she’s been too scared to ask.But I know what I saw.That glance wasn’t shock. That was hunger, raw and undeniable, even if she’d rather set herself on fire than admit it.Josephine Huntington—corporate ice queen, professional ball-buster, woman who treats emotions like hostile takeovers—looked at me like she wanted to devour me and slap herself for it.I drag a hand through my hair, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline from wha

Josephine Hailey barely gives me a chance to offer her a drink before she grabs my wrist and pulls me out of Alexander ’s view. Her eyes are wide, her expression far too amused for my comfort.“Girl,” she whispers, glancing over her shoulder. “You didn’t tell me he was that Alexander .”“What do you mean, that Alexander ?” I try, and fail, to sound indifferent.Hailey gives me a look that could melt steel. “Please. Tall, built like sin, and wearing gray sweatpants like he’s trying to break the internet? That Alexander . And he was definitely eyeing me like dessert.”I roll my eyes so hard it nearly gives me whiplash. “He eye-flirts with lamp posts, Hailey. Don’t let it go to your head.”She cackles. “Sure, but lamp posts don’t blush every time he stretches and shows off those abs. You, however…”My face burns. “We’re just sharing space. Barely. He’s like a walking HR violation, and I’m one step away from taping a shirt to his chest.”Hailey grins lik

Alexander “She’s just his newest toy,” the blonde in the obscenely expensive Valentino purrs, her voice dripping with fake concern and genuine poison. “What happened to the last one? Did she leave crying or did daddy’s checkbook make her disappear?”Her brunette sidekick giggles behind crystal that probably costs more than most people’s rent. “Please. Give it six weeks max. He’ll trade up for something younger with better tits and fewer opinions.”The words slice through the ballroom’s golden ambiance like a machete through silk.Josephine goes rigid beside me. Her fingers slip from mine like they’ve been burned. She takes a step back, and I watch her face transform—not hurt, exactly, but something worse. Resignation.“Jos, wait—”“Don’t.” Her voice is perfectly controlled, corporate-meeting calm. “Just… don’t.”She turns and walks away with that particular brand of dignity that makes you feel like absolute shit for being the reason she needs it.I s

Alexander I’m planted at the apartment window like a gargoyle, coffee going cold in my grip because apparently my brain’s too busy having an existential crisis to remember basic motor functions.The skyline doesn’t give a shit about my problems. But I do.Everything hinges on the next few hours. No pressure or anything.Manhattan spreads below me through morning haze, all blurry edges and false promises. My suit’s pressed to perfection, Italian wool that probably costs more than most people’s rent, but it feels like costume jewelry. Shiny and impressive until you realize it’s all for show.Today isn’t about looking the part. It’s about not completely destroying what’s left of my reputation while cameras roll and vultures circle.If I fuck this up—one wrong word, one slip into old habits—we don’t just lose the merger. We lose everything. Investors bolt. The Madrigal name becomes toxic waste. Josephine’s brilliant strategy gets flushed down the drain because I