All Chapters of My Husband’s Brother, My Filthy Trainer: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

MIA He didn’t stop kissing me against the door. His mouth stayed hungry, claiming, like he was making up for every time he’d held back, every moment he’d walked away instead of staying. His hands were already everywhere — cupping my waist, gripping the curve of my ass, sliding up under my tank top like the fabric was nothing but a barrier he’d had enough of. I pushed at his chest, palms flat, trying to find purchase, to make him slow down, to make this make sense. It did nothing. He didn’t even shift. “Jake —” “I can’t hold it anymore.” His mouth dragged down to my jaw, hot and open, nipping at the sensitive spot just below my ear. “I can’t keep lying to myself. Can’t keep pretending I don’t see you everywhere I go.” I turned my head, breaking the kiss, breath coming fast and uneven. We stared at each other, inches apart, breathing the same air, neither of us moving. The room felt too quiet, too small, like everything was about to shift irreparably. “What do you mean?” “Dam

MIA The front door clicked shut behind Jake and the apartment went too quiet too fast. I sat on the edge of his bed longer than I should have, knees pulled tight, hands folded in my lap like I was waiting for something to happen. The sheets were still rumpled, still warm, still smelled like last night — his mouth on my neck, his skin against mine, the rough, quiet way he’d said my name when he came. And underneath it all, that one sentence, looping soft and steady in my head like a heartbeat I wasn’t sure I could trust yet: I love you, Mia. Not because of Ryan. I traced the line where the blanket folded over the mattress, and the honest truth settled heavy in my chest — I should not have been there. Not in this bed, not in his clothes, not tangled up in something that looked exactly like what everyone would say it was. Every hour I stayed in his place was another thing Ryan could twist, another story he could tell, another weapon he could pick up. I needed a job. A room that w

MIA He was already home. I heard the keys turn in the lock before I even set my bag down, the door swinging open while I was still fumbling with the laces of my shoes. Jake stood there in gym shorts and a worn T-shirt, hair still damp from a quick shower, like he’d cut a session short just to get back. His eyes found mine immediately, scanning, searching, like he could already tell something had shifted. “You’re early,” I said, keeping my voice light, like I hadn’t just sat in a parking lot for an hour fighting every instinct I had. “So are you.” He stepped inside and shut the door behind him — not hard, not angry, just final, like sealing us in. “Where were you?” “Job hunting.” I kept my hands steady, gripping the back of the chair so I wouldn’t twist them together. “Went around to a few places. Nothing panned out.” He took one step closer, bag dropping to the floor with a soft thud. “Try again.” “That’s the truth.” “Your face isn’t.” He studied me, sharp and unflinching, the

MIAThe apartment went quiet the second the door clicked shut behind him. Too quiet. I stood in his kitchen, half-drunk glass of water cold in my hand, and told myself I would not sit on his bed again. Not after last night. Not after the way his voice had softened when he said my name. Not after Ryan’s voice in that café — calm, sharp, unmistakeable — telling me exactly what would happen if I stayed. Jake will lose everything. And it will be your fault.I needed papers. Real ones. Not a ring tossed onto a nightstand, not a slammed door, not promises made in the dark that would burn him if they saw daylight. I needed to untangle myself from Ryan Hale completely, so that when Jake reached for me, there was nothing left for anyone to hold against him.I didn’t have a lawyer. Barely had enough money in my account to cover groceries. What I had was a phone, a bus card, and a quiet, stubborn anger that had finally woken up after years of sleeping. I wasn’t the girl who nodded and looked d

MIA Clara’s footsteps faded soft down the hall, and the tap started running in the kitchen. Two minutes. Maybe less. Enough time to say something that would break everything, or fix it — or so I told myself. Jake didn’t sit. He stayed right there by the arm of the sofa, close enough that I could smell the faint, familiar scent of gym soap and clean sweat on his shirt, his voice dropped low, tight, meant only for me. “You saw him, didn’t you?” I didn’t deny it. There was no point. Not anymore. “Yesterday,” I said, my eyes fixed on the pattern of the rug beneath my feet. “At a café. He called twice. I answered. I went.” His jaw tightened so hard I could see the muscle jump. “And you didn’t tell me. You came home and locked the door and let me stand out there in the hall and say nothing.” “I’m telling you now.” “That’s not the same.” Somewhere past the hall, a cabinet door opened and clicked shut. Clara moving around, steady and ordinary, completely unaware. I kept my gaze fixed