My Husband's Brother Wants Me

The night I pushed my husband into my best friend’s arms… was the same night his brother told me he should’ve married me instead. I didn’t know a single sentence could ruin a marriage, a friendship, and my own sense of right and wrong at the same time. But here I was—standing in the glittering chaos of the Lagos elite after-party, the bass vibrating through my skin, Leonardo Badmus talking too closely to Jane, and Gabriel’s words circling my mind like a curse. He should’ve married me instead. Who says that to their brother’s wife? I wished I could pretend I misheard him. Or that he only said it because the champagne had gotten to him. But Gabriel Badmus didn’t get drunk. And he didn’t joke about anything, least of all marriage. Especially mine. I should’ve walked away. I should’ve told Leonardo everything. But I didn’t—because something in Gabriel’s eyes stopped me. Something dark. Something that knew too much. Something that promised he wasn’t saying it out of desire alone. He was saying it because he knew Leonardo and I were already cracking. But understanding something didn’t mean I handled it well. Because instead of confronting my husband about the distance between us, or Gabriel about the dangerous confession he dropped like a match into dry grass… …I did the stupidest thing imaginable. I pushed Leonardo toward Jane. Not literally—not with my hands. But with an idea. A suggestion. A whispered encouragement that, at the time, felt like a small, harmless moment. Something like: “Go talk to her. You two have always gotten along.” Something like trying to prove to myself that Gabriel’s words didn’t mean anything. Something like trying to convince myself that Leonardo still looked at me the way he used to. But as I watched Leonardo lean into Jane’s laughter—laughter I had known since I was sixteen—I realized what I’d done. I hadn’t just opened a door. I’d shoved it off its hinges. And Gabriel had been watching the whole time. His gaze burned into me from across the room—sharp, assessing, too intimate. When our eyes met, he didn’t look away. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t even blink. He just tilted his head slightly, like he was saying, You’re proving my point, Lucia. I walked away before I drowned in that look. --- The restroom was thankfully empty. I gripped the marble sink, my breath shaking out of me as I stared at my reflection. My makeup was flawless, but my eyes—God, my eyes looked like someone running from a fire she started herself. Get it together, Lucia. I had been telling myself that for almost a year. Ever since the miscarriage. Ever since the silence between Leonardo and me stopped being peaceful and turned suffocating. Ever since he stopped reaching for me. Ever since I started noticing Gabriel instead. The door opened behind me, and my heart seized. I didn’t need to turn. I knew that cologne. I knew that quiet, controlled breath. I knew that presence—commanding without trying. “Lucia.” Gabriel said my name like an accusation. Or a warning. Or both. I kept my gaze on the mirror. “You shouldn’t be in here,” I said. “I don’t care.” He stepped closer until the heat of him pressed against my back. He didn’t touch me. Gabriel never touched what he couldn’t control. But the air around him shifted—something electric, dangerous, forbidden. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured. My throat tightened. “And what game is that?” He leaned in, his breath grazing my ear. “Trying to pretend your marriage hasn’t already ended.” I felt that like a blow. “Don’t,” I whispered, not sure if I meant don’t say that or don’t come closer or don’t make this harder. “Why not?” he asked quietly. “Someone has to tell you the truth.” I turned then—because I needed to look him in the eye when I lied to both of us. “My marriage isn’t over.” He didn’t smile. He didn’t soften. He just searched my face like he was peeling back every layer I’d spent the last year carefully wrapping around myself. Then his jaw tightened. “You pushed him toward her.” My breath froze. So he had been watching. “It wasn’t like that.” “Wasn’t it?” he asked. I swallowed. “Jane is my friend.” His eyes darkened. “And Leonardo is your husband.” “I know that.” “Then why,” Gabriel said, stepping closer until my spine met the cold sink, “are you trying so hard to see if he’ll choose someone else?” My chest constricted. Because he stopped choosing me. Because I lost our child and he refused to talk about it. Because every night we lay inches apart but worlds away. Because I needed to know whether it was me—or him—who ruined everything. But I didn’t say any of that. “It’s complicated,” I whispered. “No,” Gabriel said softly, “it’s not.” His hand lifted—slowly, like he was giving me time to pull away—and for a terrifying moment, I thought he would touch my face. But he didn’t. He touched the gold band on my finger instead. His thumb brushed over it lightly, reverently, like it meant something to him. “You deserve a marriage where you don’t have to test your husband,” he said. My breath shuddered. “And Leonardo deserves a wife who actually wants him.” The words sliced deeper than he meant them to. I pulled my hand back. “Don’t speak about things you don’t understand.” “Oh, I understand more than you think.” “Gabriel—” “You’re hurting,” he said. “And you’re pretending you’re not.” I turned away because I couldn’t stand the truth in his voice. Gabriel sighed—a sound that felt almost defeated. “Lucia… what are you doing?” I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know. He left before I could gather myself. But not before he said, very quietly: “One day soon, you’re going to have to choose who you’re lying to—Leonardo… or yourself.” --- When I walked back into the party, Leonardo and Jane were gone. My stomach twisted. Not again. I checked the bar. Empty. The dance floor. Nothing. The hallway. No sign of them. Then I spotted them—outside on the balcony, talking closely, Jane’s hand brushing his arm. It shouldn’t have stung. I told myself I pushed him toward her to prove something. But watching them together—God, it felt like swallowing broken glass. I stepped outside, my heels sharp against the tiles. The night air was humid, heavy, almost suffocating. Leonardo turned first. He looked… startled. Or guilty. I couldn’t tell. “Lucia,” he said, straightening. Jane blinked, pulling her hand back like she’d just touched fire. “We were only talking—” “I know,” I said. Leonardo frowned. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” Another lie. He studied me for a long second, then exhaled. “Maybe we should go home.” I nodded. He offered his arm. I hesitated before taking it—because I felt Gabriel’s gaze burning into me from somewhere behind the glass doors. And when I finally looked back, he was there. Watching. Silent. Unreadable. But his expression changed—just slightly—when I looped my arm through his brother’s. Something cold. Something sharp. Something that looked a lot like regret. Or jealousy. Or both. --- Leonardo was quiet during the drive home. We sat in the back of the car with the partition up, the city lights flashing through the tinted windows. Lagos at night was a blur of neon and noise, but inside the car it was silent enough to hear my heartbeat. Finally, he said, “You disappeared earlier.” “So did you.” He flinched almost imperceptibly. “I was talking to Jane.” “I saw.” More silence. Tighter this time. “Is something wrong, Lucia?” Everything. Nothing. I didn’t know anymore. “No,” I said. “Just tired.” He nodded like he believed me. He didn’t. We got home, and Leonardo went straight to his study—another habit he picked up in the last year. I went to our bedroom alone. I undressed alone. I went to bed alone. But I didn’t sleep. Because twenty minutes later, someone knocked softly on the bedroom door. Not Leonardo. Gabriel. I knew it by the way the knock lingered—firm, controlled, patient. My heart slammed. Why was he here? Why now? I slipped out of bed and cracked the door open. Gabriel stood in the dim hallway, shirt unbuttoned at the top, eyes shadowed with something that made the air between us snap tight. “Lucia,” he whispered, “we need to talk.” My pulse jumped. “Not here. Not now. Leonardo is—” “He’s asleep.” I froze. “How do you know?” Gabriel hesitated… then said the one thing that knocked the air out of my lungs. “Because he wasn’t alone in his study.” My blood went cold. “What do you mean?” Gabriel’s jaw clenched. “It’s Jane.” My heart stuttered painfully. “Jane is in his study?” Gabriel shook his head. “No, Lucia.” He stepped closer—too close—his voice low, dangerous, final. “She’s in his arms.”