All Chapters of Under the Mistletoe with my Ex's Brother : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

MY WIFE "As my wife, you'll live here." His tone was matter-of-fact, like this should have been obvious. "I've prepared the space for you and Jace. Three bedrooms—one for you, one for Jace, one for me. Separate, as agreed in the contract."Right. Separate bedrooms.The reminder hit me harder than it should have. We'd just spent the night tangled together in this bed, our bodies as intimately connected as two people could be. And now he was calmly informing me that we'd be sleeping in separate rooms.As agreed. As contracted.This was a business arrangement, I reminded myself. The sex was just a clause, a physical release with no emotional attachment. The fact that it had felt like more—that I'd felt cherished and wanted and worshipped—was just biology. Oxytocin and endorphins playing tricks on my brain."Fine," I said, my voice sharper than intended. "I'll get dressed and you can show me this penthouse. Then we'll wait for Jace."Damian studied my face, clearly seeing through my sudd

THE CUSTODY BATTLEScarletI couldn't breathe.The words Marcus Reeves had spoken kept echoing in my head: Emergency partial custody. DNA confirmation. Papers within the hour.My son. Lucas was coming for my son."Scarlet." Damian's hand was on my shoulder, grounding me. "Breathe."I sucked in air, realizing I'd been holding my breath. My hands were shaking so badly I had to clench them into fists."My lawyer is coming," Damian said. "Don't panic.""Don't panic?" My voice came out louder than I intended, sharp with fear and disbelief. "He's going to take my son!""He's going to try," Damian corrected, his voice hard as steel. "There's a difference."He moved away, phone to his ear, his voice dropping into that commanding tone he used when he meant business. I heard fragments: "—immediate counter-motion—" "—character witnesses—" "—every resource we have—"But the words barely registered. All I could think about was Jace. My baby. The little boy who still crawled into my bed when he had

THE FIRST HEARINGScarletFamily court was nothing like I'd imagined.I'd pictured something official and imposing—wood-paneled walls, a stern judge in robes, the weight of justice hanging in the air. Instead, it was a bland administrative building with fluorescent lights and cheap carpet, looking more like a DMV than a place where families were torn apart.But the stakes were just as high.Patricia sat to my left, her briefcase open and files spread across the table. Damian sat to my right, his presence a solid comfort even though he couldn't speak on my behalf. His hand rested on my thigh under the table, thumb moving in slow circles that were probably meant to be soothing but only reminded me how much I needed his support.Across the aisle, Lucas sat with Marcus Reeves.I'd been avoiding looking at him, but now I forced myself to turn my head and really see him.Lucas looked... devastated.That was the only word for it. His suit was expensive and perfectly tailored, but his face to

THE PROTECTORDamianI'd never been a kid person.Children were loud, sticky, unpredictable creatures that required constant attention and made no logical sense. Their emotional outbursts seemed excessive, their needs never-ending, their very existence a disruption to the careful order I maintained in my life.So when Scarlet had first mentioned Jace, when I'd known that marrying her meant incorporating a five-year-old into my meticulously organized world, I'd told myself it was a necessary inconvenience. Part of the arrangement. Something to be tolerated for the sake of protecting Scarlet.I'd been prepared to be distant but polite. To provide for the child without getting emotionally involved.That plan had lasted approximately forty-eight hours.I stood in my kitchen now, watching Jace build an elaborate tower out of the wooden blocks I'd ordered (against my better judgment, because what grown man needed wooden blocks in his penthouse?). The late afternoon sun streamed through the

THE EVALUATIONscarletThe psychologist's office was designed to be calming—soft lighting, comfortable chairs, a box of tissues strategically placed on the side table. But there was nothing calming about being here, about having every aspect of my life dissected and analyzed by a stranger who would then report her findings to a judge.Dr. Ellen Marsh sat across from me with a tablet and a kind but clinical expression. She was probably in her fifties, with graying hair and the sort of gentle demeanor that probably made most people feel safe opening up to her.I hated her on principle."Let's start with your childhood," Dr. Marsh said, stylus poised over her tablet. "Tell me about your relationship with your parents."Three hours.Three excruciating hours of questions that felt designed to expose every weakness, every insecurity, every mistake I'd ever made."Your mother favored your stepsister over you. How did that make you feel?""You mention feeling worthless during your marriage to