All Chapters of FALLING FOR THE WRONG BROTHER. : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

"Can you pass me the orange blossom, sweetie?" My mom’s voice sliced through the fog of my thoughts, a cheerful, mundane sound that felt utterly alien.I blinked, my fork hovering over a half-eaten triangle of pancake. "Hmm? Oh… the orange blossom. Sure." I reached for the little ceramic pot, my fingers brushing the cool, smooth glaze, but my mind wasn’t on breakfast. It was miles away, caught in the memory of a different heat and a different touch. The rough pad of his thumb stroking my jaw. The intoxicating scent of his skin, the low, commanding timbre of his voice. The searing, slick heat of his mouth as he taught mine a language I never knew it could speak."Earth to Kasey." Tyler’s voice, laced with familiar teasing, dragged me back to the sunlit kitchen. "You’ve been zoning out since you sat down. Big night last night? Did you finally get up the nerve to talk to that pretty boy you've been practically drooling over?"He was talking about Leo. My entire family knew about my crush

Landon’s POV The gavel hit the mahogany table with a crack that sounded like a gunshot in the paneled library. My thoughts snapped back into focus, the haze clearing just in time to catch the others staring in the same stunned silence. The sudden burst of barely restrained fury from Marcus, our sergeant-at-arms, had hit the room like a live wire. "Disrespect is a fucking disease, Reaper. You let the Jackals use that dock one more time, and it spreads. Next thing you know, they’re pissing on our logo in the middle of Main Street." His voice was a low, gravelly threat. He was old school, my old man’s age, and every one of his fifty years was etched into the scowl on his face. He looked at me, expecting a response. A plan. A show of strength from his future president. Normally, I’d have put Marcus in his fucking place for even thinking he could talk to me like that. Rank didn’t mean shit to me when it came to respect, and I’d earned mine the hard way. But tonight, I didn’t have it

Landon's POV I knew letting Kasey get close to me was the dumbest thing I’d ever done, but I had no idea it would fuck me up like this. I’d always been in control of my emotions, hell, I’d even buried the fact that I’d been crushing on her for years. No one ever suspected, not for a single second, the obsession I’d locked away. It was a secret I planned to drag to my grave. But now, all that control felt like it was slipping through my fingers. I drained another glass of whiskey, the burn doing nothing to cauterize the raw, furious jealousy eating me alive. A really good night. That's how she described their evening together. I’d nearly put my fist through the goddamn Sub-Zero fridge when she said that. Now, she was perched on my couch, a vision of temptation and obliviousness, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to ruin her for anyone else. Especially for him. The movie was a blur. I didn’t see the plot, the actors, the car chases. My entire world had narrowed to

Landon’s POV The air in our living room was thick with the chemical sting of nail polish, a scent that completely drowned out the gentle harbaceous note of my mother's chamomile tea. Though calling it tea was being generous. She’d made me drink it once, claiming it would "calm my nerves" and I’d spent the next hour puking my guts into the kitchen sink because she’d laced it with some earthy, bitter shit that was definitely not meant for human consumption. But she loved it. Just like she loved these little rituals, these forced moments of intimacy she’d probably dreamed of having with a daughter. She never said it outright, but we felt it in the little moments she tried to recreate. The DIY face masks that smelled like rotting fruit, those under-eye gel patch things that slid off our faces every two seconds, "spa nights" where she’d soak our feet in buckets of hot water and Epsom salt and pretend she didn’t see us gritting our teeth with discomfort. We complained every time. And w

Landon’s POV The whiskey in my glass was piss-warm, and I was seriously considering smashing the bottle over my own skull just to shut my brain up. I’d been nursing the same drink for over an hour, long enough for the ice to melt into a pathetic, watered-down swirl. I kept lifting it to my mouth out of sheer muscle memory, not because I wanted it, but because some stupid, desperate part of me hoped the next swallow might finally drown the thoughts clawing at my skull. It didn’t. My phone sat in my hand, the dead-black screen reflecting my own pissed-off face back at me. A smug little mirror reminding me I’d lost both my pride and my patience. I looked like a man circling the drain. Every time the damn thing buzzed, my idiot heart kicked against my ribs like it still believed in miracles—like maybe this time it would be her. And every single time, I lifted the screen only to get slapped with some bullshit score update or a crypto scammer promising I’d be a billionaire if I clicke