The Wrong Brother’s Kiss

Chapter One – The Gala Kiss The city never really slept. From the balcony of the Grand Astoria Hotel, Manhattan pulsed with neon veins and glittering skyscrapers that sliced the night sky. The ballroom behind Ava Carter sparkled just as brightly, filled with laughter, champagne, and people who carried themselves like they owned the world. She didn’t belong here. Not really. Yet here she was, standing on the arm of Ethan Blackwell—the man who owned half the towers in sight. Ethan was perfection carved into human form. Tall, broad-shouldered, every strand of his dark hair in place. His hand rested on the small of Ava’s back with a protective ease, as though she were something rare and fragile. When he introduced her to investors and socialites, his deep voice carried weight, every word laced with confidence. People leaned in when he spoke, like planets orbiting the sun. And Ava… she was the sun’s guest. The dress he’d chosen for her shimmered under the chandeliers, a midnight-blue gown that hugged her body and whispered wealth. She smiled when introduced, laughed politely at jokes she didn’t understand, and tried to ignore the sinking thought: I’m a visitor in his world, not a resident. “You’re radiant tonight,” Ethan murmured, brushing his lips briefly against her temple. Her chest fluttered. He was kind, protective, a man any woman would be lucky to have. A man who had saved her from late rent payments and small dreams, sweeping her into something bigger than herself. She wanted to love him the way he deserved. But her gaze betrayed her. Because across the ballroom, leaning against the marble bar like he owned it, was Liam Blackwell. He looked nothing like Ethan, though their jawlines and dark hair revealed their blood. Where Ethan wore his suit like armor, Liam wore his like temptation—tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at heat beneath. His grin was lazy, dangerous, and those eyes—smoldering, untamed—had found Ava the moment she walked in. She tried to look away. Failed. The memory of his touch haunted her: that night weeks ago, when his hand had brushed her arm at a gala, a spark so sharp it stole her breath. He had whispered something teasing, his voice low enough to curl against her skin. She had laughed despite herself. Since then, every accidental glance, every too-close brush, had grown heavier. Now his gaze burned across the ballroom, pinning her in place. She shivered. Ethan didn’t notice. He was discussing mergers with a gray-haired senator, his hand steady on her waist, anchoring her. She should be grateful. She was grateful. Ethan was security, devotion, the future she should want. So why did her pulse race whenever Liam looked at her like she was the only woman in the world? An hour later, Ava excused herself for air. The balcony welcomed her with a cool breeze, city lights sprawling endlessly below. She pressed her palms to the railing, breathing deeply. “You keep slipping away,” a voice said behind her, smooth, amused, achingly familiar. Her stomach tightened. She didn’t need to turn to know. “Liam,” she whispered. He stepped closer, the scent of whiskey and spice clinging to him. He offered her a glass of champagne. Their fingers brushed, and fire shot through her veins. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, voice trembling. “Neither should you,” he countered softly. “This isn’t your world. Not really.” She bristled, though his words hit too close to truth. “I belong here. With Ethan.” His smirk faded, replaced by something darker. “Do you?” Her throat tightened. She wanted to deny it, to remind herself that Ethan was everything right. But when Liam’s hand brushed a stray curl from her face, her breath caught. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t what?” His voice dipped lower, a velvet challenge. “Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t want you?” Her heart slammed against her ribs. “This is wrong.” “Then why,” he whispered, leaning closer, “does it feel so right?” And before she could stop him, his lips crashed against hers. The world tilted. His kiss wasn’t polite or practiced like Ethan’s. It was wildfire—raw, consuming, a demand and a surrender all at once. Ava’s knees weakened, her body betraying her as she clutched his jacket. Heat surged through her veins, igniting places she’d long buried. When he pulled back, breath ragged, his forehead pressed to hers. “Tell me you don’t feel it, Ava. Just once. And I’ll walk away.” Her lips parted, but no sound came. Because it would be a lie. “Ava?” Her heart plummeted. She spun, horror flooding her veins. Ethan stood in the doorway, framed by golden light, his eyes narrowing as they flicked from her flushed face to Liam’s hand still tangled in her hair. For one suspended heartbeat, the world froze. Ethan’s voice was calm, too calm. “What’s going on here?” Ava’s chest heaved, words tangled in her throat. Liam didn’t move, his gaze daring her to confess. Her entire world balanced on a knife’s edge.