All Chapters of Two Brothers. One Ruin.: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Today—finally—I manage to pull myself together. I listen to Hunt like my life depends on it—every word, every instruction. No drifting. No slipping. We get a couple of trauma cases from a car accident, and I’m right there in it—hands steady, mind clear, doing what I’m actually good at. By the end of it, Dr. Sheila Dale looks genuinely pleased. Which—doesn’t happen easily. Even Melissa’s usual comments barely register. I don’t bite, don’t react. She’s the last person I’m letting get under my skin right now. Because compared to everything else? She’s nothing. When I can push Julian—and my father—out of my head, she doesn’t even qualify as a distraction. Unfortunately—she’s still physically present. Like right now. I’m sitting in the staff lounge, halfway through a very late lunch, while Melissa sits a few tables over, picking at her sandwich and occasionally throwing me those pointed looks. I ignore her. Or try to. A quiet breath leaves me as I

With a quiet exhale, I move and take a seat on the stool behind the counter. The cool surface presses against my legs as I settle in, my arms folding instinctively across my chest. Across from me, he moves with unhurried precision. Plates. Utensils. A casual arrangement that feels anything but accidental. Like he has all the time in the world. “What’s the meaning of all this?” I finally ask, my voice cutting clean through the quiet the moment he sits across from me. “Why did you bring me here?” He shrugs. Like the question doesn’t deserve more. “Do you always look for meaning in everything?” he’s almost bored. “Why can’t you just accept that my bandage needed changing?” “I’m the doctor here,” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the counter, my gaze locking onto his with deliberate intensity. “Your bandage is fine. If all you wanted was to have it changed, one of your bodyguards could’ve handled it. Hell—you could’ve handled it.” He takes a bite, completely unfazed. “Do

The moment I step into my apartment, I head straight for the bathroom. There are very few things in this world capable of quieting the chaos in my head, but a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine? That combination comes dangerously close. So I let myself indulge. I sink into the warmth, letting it swallow me whole, the soft fizz of bubbles brushing against my skin as the heat seeps deep into my muscles, loosening every ounce of tension I’ve been carrying. The wine burns just enough going down to distract me, to blur the edges of everything I don’t want to think about. Time slips. I don’t keep track of it—don’t want to. An hour. Maybe two. Long enough for my body to relax… but not nearly long enough for my mind to follow. When I finally step out, the air feels cooler, sharper against my damp skin. I wrap the towel around myself, not bothering to fully secure it yet, still half-lost in that fragile, fleeting calm— —until a knock echoes through the apartment.Sharp. Unexpected

My heart plummets—then soars. What did he just say? I don’t even have time to process the fact that I’m naked in his arms.
 “What?” The word is barely a whisper, trembling on my lips, desperate to hear it again.
 “You heard me.” His teeth graze the shell of my ear, sharp and teasing, sending a jolt of electricity straight through my core.
 I can’t stop it. 
I don’t want to. 
Even if I tried—even if my pride and willpower hadn’t already leapt out the window like reckless fools—I wouldn’t stand a chance. 
My body melts into his, my head falling back against his chest, surrendering to the heat of him, the rightness of him.
 And he knows. 
He knows exactly what his touch does to me. 
His hands move without hesitation now, one palm kneading my breast, fingers rolling my nipple until I gasp, while the other traces slow, torturous circles down my stomach. 
His mouth finds the curve of my neck, his lips hot, his tongue wicked as he sucks at my skin. “Fuck, you’re intoxicating.” His voice is a

The bruises are everywhere. Faint now, but still there—ghosts of his mouth on my throat, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts. They’re fading, but not fast enough. Every time I catch sight of them in the mirror, my stomach twists. Reminders. Of how easily he unraveled me. Of how quickly pleasure curdled into something ugly. Of how thoroughly he shattered me. I should hate them. And I do. But then why does the sight of them send a traitorous heat pooling between my thighs? Why does my skin still hum where his teeth sank in, where his fingers dug in too hard? Why does my body ache for more, even now? No! What the hell was I thinking? How could I let him touch me like that—use me like that? How could I let him strip me bare, not just of my clothes, but of my pride, my control? Fuck. Even now, just remembering his last words—my body tenses. A sharp, involuntary tremor runs through me. From the way it landed… and stayed. But I saw it. I saw something in his eyes. I h