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

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 you e

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 mo

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

Shaun Colored lights roll through the darkness in slow waves, spilling over twisting bodies packed tightly across the dance floor below. Women arching against strangers. Men gripping hips like they’re starving. Liquor. Sweat. Bass vibrating through the walls hard enough to settle into bone. From my booth on the upper level—with its perfect view of the entire club—I sit back with a cigarette between my fingers and watch the chaos unfold beneath me. Usually, I enjoy this part. Watching people lose control always tends to relax me. Tonight, unfortunately, my mind keeps drifting somewhere else entirely. Toward a pair of eyes the color of the ocean right before a storm breaks. I lift the cigarette to my mouth and take a slow drag, smoke curling lazily from my lungs afterward. That stubborn little doctor actually thinks she can resist me. Cute. A faint smirk pulls at my mouth as I stare down at the crowd below without really seeing any of them anymore. Because honestly? It’s going t

It’s almost eleven. And I’m standing in front of the mirror. My hair falls loose in soft waves around my shoulders, exactly how I like it when I want to look like I didn’t try too hard—when I definitely did. I swipe on another layer of mascara. Smoky eyes with blue always slays. So why the hell not? If Shaun’s idea of a “gift” is a dress that barely exists, I already know we’re not headed anywhere casual. And my dress—my choice—might not be as economical with fabric as his little black suggestion, but it’s just as lethal. The thin straps dip low over my shoulders, the back plunging so far down it’s practically an invitation. The front clings to my curves before splitting into a deep V that ends just above my navel, the slit running all the way up my thigh. Tonight, I feel reckless. I reach for the powder again, dabbing lightly over the fading bruises—once, twice, maybe a third time—until there’s nothing left but smooth skin staring back at me. No traces. No reminders. I faste