All Chapters of My Sister's Fiance: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

111 Chapters

a walk of shame

His eyes moved from my hair, to my neck, to the dress I had thrown on all wrong.Slowly.Too slowly.Like he had all the time in the world to enjoy every piece of evidence that last night had not been a dream.“That dress looks better now,” he said.I picked up one of my heels from the floor. “If you finish that sentence, I will make sure you can’t have children ever again.”He chuckled.I hated that the sound still had the same effect as a warning light in a chemistry lab.Danger. Do not touch. Do not inhale for too long.“You’re sexier than you were five years ago,” he said.My heel flew.Unfortunately, his reflexes were still very good. Zach caught the shoe an inch before it hit his face. The bastard didn’t even look surprised. He only looked at the heel in his hand, then back at me.Right. Damn overachieving MIT jock with a superiority complex.“I see your aim has gotten worse.”“I’m hungover. Don’t get arrogant.”“You’ve always looked good when you’re mad.”“I’ll look even better

two showers, zero moral improvement

My house was too quiet. Just the sound of the key I forced into the lock with frozen fingers, my own short breathing, and the soft rain tapping against the large glass windows in the living room.I slipped inside like a thief.A thief with her dress on backward, bare feet, heels in hand, thighs cursing her in a universal language, and a mark on her neck that would make Theo immediately go out and buy a shovel.I closed the door softly.Very softly.Then I stood in the foyer for three seconds, listening.No Bianna.No Theo.No Max announcing himself as the “king of breakfast.”No Issa rejecting life because her hair had “no emotional support.”Good.Finally, the universe had given me one small gift after slapping me with a naked Italian man at six-thirty in the morning.I crossed the living room quickly and climbed the stairs while gripping the railing like a rich old woman getting off a ship. Every step gave my body a new report. Thighs. Hips. Neck. Head. All of them taking turns fili

do not open the door

The morning finally ended the way all mornings in my house ended: not actually over, just surrendered. Bianna came downstairs fifteen minutes later in a sage green hoodie, her hair clipped up with a claw clip, wearing the expression of a woman who immediately knew there was drama but was smart enough to prioritize caffeine consumption before interrogation.By eight-twelve, the twins had left for preschool with her.By eight-thirty, I was already sitting in my own office.Not Northlake.Not in their building that smelled like marble, old family secrets, and money that had never learned how to apologize. Not in their walnut conference room. Not in front of people who used the word “principal” like it wasn’t just another name for Zachary de Sanctis standing behind dark glass, controlling my life with a remote.My own building made much more sense.Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking wet Portland. The dev team outside my office moved with its usual rhythm: keyboards, coffee, hoodies, heads

a very comforting list of horrors

Portland was wet outside. A thin drizzle clung to the glass, making the street look like a photo that hadn’t finished developing. Traffic lights stretched long across the asphalt.The twins’ preschool stood behind a white fence and wet maple trees, far too pretty for a place where my two children started daily riots. The building was low, all glass, pale wooden doors, neat flower pots, and one little sign that read “Spring Gelato Day!” in a cheerful font that made me suspect no adult in there had children like Max and Issa.I parked in the drop-off lane.Before I could open the door, the first Jeep stopped two cars behind me. The second one rolled past slowly, then parked across the street, facing outward. Whoever was inside didn’t get out.From the Jeep behind me, a man stepped out.Tall. Plain black jacket. Dark jeans. No obvious earpiece like some cheap-movie bodyguard, but the way he scanned the area made everyone near the fence suddenly look like part of a map. He walked toward m

Almost Safe, Almost Over You

Twelve minutes later, I turned into our driveway with one Jeep still following behind me and the other pulling to a stop across the street.I couldn’t tell whether they were deliberately trying to be discreet or genuinely didn’t understand that two enormous black vehicles in a quiet Lake Oswego neighborhood had all the subtlety of a tank parked outside a flower shop.I drove into the garage.The door was only halfway up when Issa unbuckled her seat belt.“Don’t get out until the car stops.”“I’m just preparing.”“You’re standing.”“I’m preparing with my feet.”I pressed the brake, turned off the engine, and looked over my shoulder.Max had pressed an empty gelato cup to his ear like a phone.“Hello?” he said. “Chocolate King speaking.”Issa rolled her eyes as she unbuckled herself. “There’s no one there.”“You don’t know that. It’s Italian technology.”I opened my door and got out before the conversation developed into an international conspiracy theory.Cold, damp air drifted into th

the devil never knocks twice

“I didn’t invite you.”“I know.”“Good. So your brain still works. Now use it to go back to your brother’s house.”He lifted the paper bag slightly. “I brought dessert.”“I have a door.”“I can see that.”“I can close it.”“You could also let me in.”I looked at the paper bag. It bore the logo of an Italian bakery in Portland that usually required reservations for its cakes and charged prices that made sane people question the value of sugar.Then I looked back at his face. “No.”Zach put on a wounded expression, lowering his brows slightly and tilting his head like a man who knew his face had opened doors, dresses, and bad decisions before. Unfortunately, it had.“I haven’t eaten anything yet,” he said.“Tragic.”“I had something to take care of as soon as I woke up,” he said casually, as though there were nothing strange about him standing on my doorstep like this.“You should be taking care of your fiancée.”The words escaped before I could stop them.His smile didn’t exactly disap

a home-shaped mistake

We entered the kitchen with... Zach taking off his denim jacket casually, a simple movement that somehow still managed to make God and every sinful woman on earth lose focus. And when the fabric slid down his shoulders, the edge of a black tattoo on his upper arm peeked out from beneath his T-shirt.I saw it, and it's enough to make something in my head jerk awake. A flash of last night. My fingers touching that line of ink. My mouth briefly pressed there.I froze for a fraction of a second. I had been drunk last night. I wasn’t supposed to remember details like that.So why did I remember?Why did it feel too clear?He moved toward Max, who was standing in front of the sink... then Zach walked to him and bent down to him.“Rinse until the soap is gone,” he said.Max wrinkled his nose. “I did.”Zach glanced at his hands.Max looked too. Soap was still stuck between his fingers. “Oh.”“Again.”Max didn’t argue. If I had said it, he would have demanded scientific evidence about soap.

a little rain, a loaded heart

I wanted to throw something, but I chose to eat.Lunch continued the way every lunch with Max and Issa did: not peaceful, but survivable.Max explained that Mr. Harris at preschool had called gelato ice cream, and that was “culturally suspicious.” Issa said Miss Harper’s lipstick had not been “commanding” enough for Spring Gelato Day. Zach listened to all of it like a high-level security briefing.“If the lipstick isn’t commanding enough,” Zach asked Issa, “what’s the solution?”“Red.” Issa nodded. “But not regular red. Red that makes people move.”Zach glanced at me.I pretended not to see it.Max placed a piece of asparagus on the end of his fork like a microphone. “I said SIUU during recess.”“I heard.”Max froze instantly. “From who?”“The state has eyes.”“Mommy has spies,” Issa said.“Mommy has Bianna.”“Same thing,” Max said.Zach held his water glass, his face looking very serious even though the corner of his mouth was betraying him. “Arsenal and SIUU don’t usually come as a

when the rain forgot the fire

Max had already found a new form of tyranny to impose.“Stand there,” he ordered, pointing at two stepping stones near the grass that sat slightly higher than the ground. “That’s the goal, but also the obstacle, but also the defender.”“That’s three jobs,” Zach said.“Because you’re tall.”“That’s not an answer.”“It’s a reason.”Zach stood between the two stones anyway. The man could have refused. Could have said no, or forced the game into something that made sense. But he only put both hands on his hips, looked at the wet grass around him, then nodded.“All right,” he said. “I’m the obstacle.”On the other side of the yard, Issa was already kneeling beside what remained of the fairy garden, now half destroyed. Her lavender rain boots sank slightly into the soft ground, her white sweater had officially lost the war against drizzle and mud, and she did not look bothered in the slightest.Princess, yeah... not surprising.That kid announced every week that she was the prettiest, most

all the lies came home dirty

YAYYYYI stared at that one word for too long.Yay.Of course.Because there was no other way to welcome the weekend except with three capital letters, four extra letters, and the possibility of emotional collapse within the radius of my own house.In front of me, Max was still attached to Zach’s leg, punching the man’s thigh with two small fists full of mud.“The obstacle can’t move!”“I’m not moving,” Zach said, holding the ball in place with one foot.“You’re thinking about moving.”“That’s legal.”“Not in my game.”Issa spun around them with the empty watering can in her hand, her lavender boots now more brown than lavender. Her hair had half come loose, one glitter clip missing from its original place and still sticking out of Zach’s jeans pocket like a tiny piece of evidence from a ruined kingdom.“I’m making a new rule!” she said.Max groaned immediately. “You always make new rules when you’re losing.”“I’m not losing. I’m improving the system.”“Your system is cheating.”“My s

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