All Chapters of You’re supposed to be my Brother Inlaw: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Eva’s POVI wake up before Ian, slip out of bed, and spend an hour getting ready. Black pencil skirt, burgundy silk blouse, heels that make my legs look endless. Professional with just enough edge.Ian barely glances at me when I come downstairs. He’s at the kitchen table with his laptop, probably emailing her. Probably telling her he wishes he could leave me, if only it weren’t so complicated.Well. I’m about to make it less complicated.“I have that interview today,” I say, pouring coffee. “At Ashford Industries.”That gets his attention. His head snaps up. “What?”“For the senior marketing manager position. Your father set it up for me.”Ian’s face does something complicated—surprise, confusion, maybe a flash of suspicion. “My father? When did you talk to my dad about a job?”“Last week. At coffee.” I take a sip, letting him process. “He thinks I’d be a good fit for the company.”“You didn’t tell me you were looking for work.”“You didn’t ask.” The words come out colder than I inte

Ian’s POVI barely sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see that anonymous text. “Your wife is having dinner with your father.” The words loop in my head like a broken record, each repetition making them more sinister.By the time dawn breaks, I’ve convinced myself I’m being ridiculous. Of course Eva had dinner with Dad. They’re discussing her new job. It’s perfectly innocent. The text was probably from someone trying to stir up trouble—maybe even Felicia, though that doesn’t make sense either.Still, my stomach churns as I get ready. I shower, shave, put on a suit I haven’t worn in months. If I’m going to Ashford Industries to discuss a position, I need to look the part.Eva’s side of the bed is still empty. Still untouched.I check my phone obsessively as I make coffee. No texts from her. No calls. Nothing.At eight-thirty, I can’t take it anymore. I dial Dad’s office number. His assistant, Margaret, answers on the second ring.“Ashford Industries office.”“Margaret, hi. It’s Ian. I

Richard’s POVMonday morning arrives with the weight of inevitability. I sit in my office, staring out at the city skyline, my mind replaying the weekend with Eva. The sounds she makes when I touch her. The way she arches beneath me. The trust in her eyes when she lets me take control.My son’s wife.The thought should fill me with shame. Should make me sick with guilt. Instead, I feel satisfied. Possessive. Like I’ve claimed something precious that was being carelessly discarded.Margaret buzzes through. “Sir? Ian is here for your ten o’clock.”I close my eyes briefly, steeling myself. “Send him in.”The door opens, and Ian walks in looking like he hasn’t slept. His suit is wrinkled, his hair uncombed in that artistic way he thinks is charming. He looks young suddenly, younger than his thirty-two years. Like the boy in that fishing photo on my nightstand.The boy who grew into a man who betrays his wife.“Dad.” He crosses the room, and we embrace briefly. He smells like coffee and an

Felicia’s POVI was cleaning myself up in the kitchen when Ian messaged me. “Come to our spot” that was all the encouragement I needed, I bolted out running as Anna ran after me. Jake was coming out of a cab when I bolted in ignoring him calling my name and locked the door, giving the driver the address and telling him to speed. Ian’s arms tighten around me when I got there, and for a brief, perfect moment, everything else fades away. All the pain, all the waiting, all the doubt—it disappears in the warmth of his embrace.Then he pulls back, and I see his face properly. He looks terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, stubble on his jaw, his hair a mess. Like he hasn’t slept in days.“You came,” he says, his voice rough.“Of course I came. You asked me to.” I reach up to touch his face, but he catches my hand, holding it between both of his.“We need to talk.”Four words. Four simple words that make my stomach drop.“Okay.” I move past him into the room, needing distance, needing spac

Felicia tilts her head back, searching for my mouth, and the moment our lips meet again it’s like gasoline on the low-burning fire we’ve both been pretending to ignore for weeks. The kiss is messy, desperate—teeth clashing, tongues hungry. She tastes like wine and salt and the kind of want that makes your bones ache.My hands slide under her thin tank top, palms flat against the warm skin of her back. She shivers hard, arches into me like she can’t get close enough. “Ian,” she breathes against my mouth, voice wrecked already. “Please.”That single word—please snaps something inside me.I walk her backward until her spine hits the bedroom wall. The impact makes her gasp, and I swallow the sound, kissing her deeper while my thigh pushes between hers. She grinds down on it immediately, shameless, needy little rolls of her hips that make my cock throb painfully against my zipper.“You’ve been thinking about this,” I mutter against her throat, teeth grazing the pulse point that jumps under