The Wrong Brother
I smoothed down the front of my blouse, adjusted my sunglasses, and tried to pretend my stomach wasn’t twisted into knots.
This wasn’t just brunch. This was war.
Because inside that mansion was Bruno — my ex, Adrian’s little brother, the boy who’d tossed me aside like I was nothing. He thought I’d cry, crumble, disappear. Instead, I was about to walk into his family’s house on the arm of the brother he never measured up to.
If that didn’t rattle him, nothing would.
The front doors opened before I could knock. Adrian stood there, immaculate as always, dressed in a crisp shirt with the sleeves rolled just enough to show the strength of his forearms. His dark eyes flicked over me, unreadable.