All Chapters of Two Brothers. One Ruin.: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Julian looks like the ground just disappeared under him. The shock on his face deepens, cracks wider—and he pushes back from his chair, rising to his feet before he can stop himself. My breath catches. But before anything can happen, Randal’s voice slices in, firm and controlled. “Julian. Sit down, son. There’ll be plenty of time for congratulations.” Julian doesn’t move. Shaun pulls me closer, making sure everyone sees it. “Yeah, brother. Save that energy for our wedding day.” The words lands like another blow. Julian’s throat moves as he forces it down—whatever’s trying to come out—and with visible effort, he lowers himself fully back into his seat. “Your wedding day?” a young woman’s voice pipes up from somewhere down the table. “So technically, she’s not your wife yet.” She’s got deep auburn hair, and lipstick to match, painted on like a statement. “Give it a few days,” Shaun says smoothly, guiding me toward two empty seats. We sit. Right across from Julian. And Mi

I’m back in that goddamn warehouse. Metal, damp, and something faintly rotten lingering beneath it all. It’s been lodged in my lungs for hours—and now it feels like it’s made a home there. Last night—after that explosion of his—Shaun grabbed my phone and walked out like nothing happened. But I didn’t sit quietly. I pounded on that door until my fists went numb. Screamed until my throat burned raw. I didn’t stop—I couldn’t stop—until suddenly the door flew open and a few of his men stormed in. No words. Just hands. They dragged me out of that room, through the halls, out of the estate—and after a short, disorienting drive, I was thrown back into this place. Onto cold concrete. Into darkness. I don’t know what time it is. I didn’t shut my eyes for a second. My heart hasn’t slowed once—it’s not even beating normally anymore, it’s slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. The iron bars of the cage press against my chest. My mind won’t stop. The question keeps repea

“Get rid of the body.” I walk past Xavier without waiting for an answer. The cold air outside hits differently after the warehouse. Cleaner. Almost enough to wash the smell of blood out of the back of my throat. Almost. I cut around the side of the estate, taking the narrow stone path toward the front drive. But before I reach my car, the gates begin sliding open. A familiar black car rolls through. A quiet sigh leaves me. Jesus Christ. Persistent little fucker. I change direction mid-step and position myself directly in the middle of the driveway, waiting. The car stops a few feet away from me. A second later, Julian steps out. I smile lazily. “How are we feeling today, brother?” He shuts the car door and walks toward me. Calm. Controlled. Just like I taught him. Although every once in a while—like the other night—he forgets how to hold onto it. “I came to talk.” “About?” His jaw tightens. “You damn well know what about.” There it is. Control slipping again. Men really do l

For a split second, he just stands there too. Like he wasn’t prepared for this either. Like the sight of me hit harder than he expected. My breath stutters. Tears surge into my eyes, and then I’m moving. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just go. Straight to him. He moves at the same time, faster, like something snapped loose inside him—and then his arms are around me. Tight. Desperate. Pulling me in like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on hard enough. God— I close my eyes, pressing into him, gripping onto him like he’s the only solid thing left in a world that’s been collapsing for days. I wish time would just stop. Right here. Let this moment stretch—freeze—never move forward. Let it all be a lie. A nightmare I’m about to wake up from. Maybe it is. Because this— Him. The warmth of his body, the strength of his hold, the way his breath brushes against me— It’s the only thing that’s felt real in what feels like forever. He pulls back—just enough. His ha

Morning light spills through the kitchen windows, soft and golden, painting everything in a haze of false warmth. The same kitchen. The one I stepped into for the first time weeks ago—when Shaun stood at the stove—half naked and smug—cooking. God it feels like a lifetime ago. I’m a married woman now. Yay. Only—nothing about me feels like one. I’m not happy. I’m not even properly sad anymore. It’s something else. Something dull. Settled. Like the edges of everything inside me have been sanded down until nothing cuts deep enough to matter. At night, we sleep in separate rooms. Two doors down, a wall between us. In the mornings, we have breakfast like strangers playing house, and then he leaves. That’s been our routine. Two weeks of it. Clean. Predictable. Empty. Some nights, I hear them. The moans. The gasps. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin. The sounds of women whimpering, their pleasure sharp and loud through the wall when they come undone beneath him. Women