All Chapters of Two Brothers. One Ruin.: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The world narrows to just us—just this moment, just this hunger. The music fades into a distant thrum, the crowd around us blurring into nothing. There’s only his hands on my skin, his body pressed against mine. And God help me—I’m enjoying it. Like this was always inevitable. He leans in, his mouth brushing near my ear, his voice cutting through the music, low and strained. “Stop it, doc.” Even through the haze, I hear it. The warning. The control—barely holding. “Unless you want me to show you a different kind of dance.” A slow smile spreads across my lips. Deep. Wicked. I lean in, brushing my mouth against his ear. “I think you’re all talk… no action.” Then I bite down—just enough on his earlobe. His reaction is instant. He pulls back, his gaze snapping to mine, full of something that makes my pulse spike. That look. I know exactly what it means. I start to close the distance again, my lips just about to meet his—when a sharp scream cuts through everything. Even over the p

Two weeks ago, the answer would’ve been obvious. Now? Not so much. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “None of this is right.” “Whatever you say, doc.” This time, he lifts my hand toward his mouth—but doesn’t kiss it. Just holds it there, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over my skin. “Then why are you still holding my hand?” I exhale. “Why wouldn’t I?” he shrugs. “We’re still on a date. You still owe me two more. And I still like you.” Oh, he’s delusional if he thinks I’m still playing this game. "Wasn’t the whole point of this fucking arrangement to tempt me into hurting Julian with you?" My voice rises, sharp with disbelief. "Wasn’t my answer clear enough?" “The whole point?” he lets out a low laugh. “Of course not.” He leans in closer, his presence closing in around me. Fuck. Maybe it’s the alcohol—but a part of me almost wants to believe him. His other hand comes up again, fingers brushing my chin, tilting m

I’m about to fucking explode. I’ve somehow managed—twice in the past week—to get dragged right to the edge of sex… and then get yanked back at the last goddamn second. Twice. With two completely wrong men. That doesn’t exactly cancel out the fact that right now, I’m basically a walking nerve ending with a pulse. I step out of my car and start down my usual path in the parking lot. Almost at the same time, I spot Jenny getting out of hers. For the past two days, I’ve given her more than enough grief to tighten that big mouth of hers shut. Today, I’m… mostly over it. Not quite as furious as that first night I found out—but still not exactly thrilled. She starts toward me, her steps careful—like she’s approaching something that might bite. Her face twists into this cautious, slightly awkward expression. “You still mad?” she asks, voice testing the waters. I roll my eyes, letting out a quiet breath. “No. You’re free to go back to your usual over-the-top self.” The words barel

Diana and my father don’t show up for another hour. So I end up in Emma’s room. Talking. Or at least—I think I am. Her voice drifts in and out, soft, familiar, easy to follow without effort. The kind of conversation that doesn’t demand anything from me. And maybe that’s why—I don’t even notice it happening. One moment I’m listening. The next—everything fades. Sleep takes me before I realize it. ••• The sensation comes first. Fingers—slow, gentle—threading through my hair. Awareness seeps back in gradually, like I’ve been hovering somewhere between sleep and waking for a while, feeling the soft rhythm of her touch without fully surfacing. There’s the quiet sound of her breathing… and that scent—I’d recognize it anywhere. I shift slightly, a slow stretch rippling through me, and my eyes finally open. And there she is. Sitting at the edge of the bed, close enough that I can still feel the lingering warmth of her hand in my hair, a soft smile resting on her lips as she watch

Five hours in the operating room. Seven more ahead, because that’s just how my schedule works—relentless, unforgiving, routine. By the time I slide behind the wheel, exhaustion has settled deep into my bones, a dull, persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. And my mind? It feels overused, wrung dry—like it’s clawing for silence, desperate to shut down after being pushed too far for too long. Just hold it together. A few more minutes. Then I’m in bed. I turn the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering to life as I pull out onto the road. The world outside blurs into streaks of muted color, streetlights bleeding into one another. My grip on the steering wheel tightens, fingers stiff, as I force myself to focus—stay awake, stay present, just long enough to make it home. Halfway through the drive, my phone vibrates against the console, sharp and insistent. The screen lights up, casting a faint glow across the dim interior of the car. I assume it’s Aaron. At my father’s requ