The Wrong Brother

Chapter Four — Nova

Three days.

That’s how long it had been since Adrian Castellane laid down his ironclad rules in the dark hush of his luxury car.

Now, I was parked outside the Castellane Mansion, staring at the wrought-iron gates and the sprawling façade beyond them. A place I’d been invited to just thrice, and as Bruno's girlfriend. A place I wasn’t supposed to belong.

My cousin’s beat-up sedan looked criminally out of place on the gravel drive as I killed the engine. 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.

“You’re late,” he said.

I arched a brow. “Fashionably.”

He didn’t smile, but his hand extended anyway. Not quite a romantic gesture, more like a silent command. I slipped my fingers into his, letting him guide me inside.

The Castellane Mansion was as intimidating as I’d seen it the last day Bruno had brought me here—marble floors, chandeliers dripping crystal, walls lined with stern portraits of ancestors who all seemed to frown at me.

“You ready for this?” Adrian asked under his breath, his grip warm and steady.

I tilted my chin. “More than you are.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement, before his mask settled again.

We entered the dining room, where the air was already thick with tension.

Margaret Castellane sat at the head of the long mahogany table, posture straight, pearls gleaming at her throat. Her smile was polite, but her eyes cut sharp as glass when they landed on me.

Man, I had only seen photos of her. But never the real deal.

“Mother,” Adrian said smoothly, pulling out a chair for me beside his. “This is Nova.”

Margaret’s gaze swept over me with a quiet assessment that made my skin prickle. Finally, she inclined her head. “Welcome.”

Her tone was cordial, but I caught the chill beneath it.

Across from us, Bruno froze mid-bite of toast. His eyes went wide, then narrowed, disbelief flashing across his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Good morning to you too, brother,” Adrian said dryly, pouring himself coffee.

Bruno’s chair scraped back as he half-stood, pointing at me. “Her? You brought her here? To our house?”

I gave him my sweetest smile, the one that used to make him melt. “Hello, Bruno. Long time.”

His jaw clenched. “What the hell is this?”

Adrian didn’t flinch. “This is my girlfriend. Nova and I are together.”

The words landed heavy, final, deliberate. My pulse skipped at hearing them out loud, even though I knew it was all performance.

Bruno barked out a laugh, bitter and harsh. “You’ve got to be joking. You’re dating my ex?”

He turned to his mother, searching for backup. “Tell me you don’t approve of this.”

Margaret set her teacup down with delicate precision. “I didn’t say I approved. But your brother is free to bring home whoever he chooses.”

Her gaze flicked back to me, cool and composed. “And Nova is our guest, so she will be treated as such.”

Bruno stared, incredulous, then dropped back into his chair with a muttered curse.

I placed my hand lightly over Adrian’s, playing my part.

“I hope this isn’t too awkward,” I said innocently. “But… Adrian makes me feel seen in a way I never was before.”

Adrian’s hand flexed under mine. Whether it was annoyance or agreement, I couldn’t tell.

Bruno’s face reddened. “You’ve got to be f*****g kidding me.”

“Careful,” Adrian said smoothly, his eyes sharp. “You’re in front of our mother.”

Margaret sipped her tea, silent as a judge.

The rest of brunch unfolded like a high-stakes performance. Adrian kept his composure, steady as stone, while I leaned into the role of doting girlfriend.

I laughed softly at his remarks, brushed crumbs from his sleeve, let my fingers linger on his wrist. Each touch was deliberate, designed to burn Bruno alive.

It worked. His scowl deepened with every passing minute.

Finally, Bruno slammed his napkin on the table. “This is insane. You can’t honestly expect me to sit here and watch this.”

Adrian set down his fork, his tone calm but edged. “You don’t have a choice. You made yours when you walked away from her.”

Silence fell. Margaret’s gaze flicked between her sons, her pearls gleaming like armor.

And me? I just smiled, savoring the chaos.

Several minutes passed.

The weight of Margaret’s polite scrutiny, Bruno’s simmering rage, and Adrian’s cool control pressed around me like heavy air.

I sipped water just to have something to do with my hands.

My performance had been flawless so far, but my stomach buzzed with nerves I refused to show.

Halfway through a fruit tart I didn’t even taste, I cleared my throat. “Excuse me. Restroom?”

Margaret gestured down the hall, her tone clipped. “Second door on the left.”

I gave her a grateful smile and rose, smoothing my skirt as I slipped away from the table. My heels clicked against the marble floor, each step a little lighter once I was out of their line of sight.

I pushed open the bathroom door and leaned against the sink, exhaling hard. My reflection in the gilded mirror looked calm, lips curved just so, but my pulse betrayed me — wild and uneven.

I splashed cold water on my wrists, willing my heartbeat to slow.

That’s when the door creaked open.

“Nova.”

My stomach dropped. Bruno.

I spun, hand still damp, eyes narrowing. “Ever heard of knocking?”

He shut the door behind him, jaw tight, eyes blazing. Gone was the cocky smirk I remembered from the boy who’d first asked me out. This was anger, raw and jagged.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed.

I folded my arms, masking the tremor in my chest. “Having brunch. Your mom makes great coffee.”

“Don’t play games with me.” He stepped closer, voice low. “You’re parading around with him just to mess with my head.”

A bitter laugh slipped out of me. “Oh, so now I have the power to mess with you? That’s funny. Because a week ago, you didn’t give a damn.”

His eyes flickered — a crack in the armor. He cared. He*still cared. That stung and thrilled me at once.

He moved closer, so close I could feel his heat. “You don’t belong with him, Nova.”

My throat tightened, but I lifted my chin. “And you get to decide that?”

“You’re doing this to get back at me.” His voice was sharper now, desperate. “But you don’t understand. Adrian doesn’t do relationships. He’ll use you, and when he’s done, he’ll throw you away. Just like…”

“Like you did?” My words cut before I could stop them. My chest ached, remembering the humiliation, the heartbreak.

His face fell for a moment, then hardened again. “You don’t know him like I do. He’ll hurt you worse than I ever could.”

I should’ve laughed. I should’ve brushed past him and left. But standing there, cornered between marble walls and his guilt, my body hummed with conflicting emotions — anger, defiance, a sick ache of old affection I hated myself for still feeling.

I tried to push past him. “Move.”

He blocked me with his arm, palm flat against the doorframe. “Nova… just admit it. You’re not with him because you want to be. You’re doing it to punish me.”

For one sharp second, his eyes searched mine, raw and pleading. And I hated that part of me wavered, that part of me still wanted him to regret, to suffer, to see me.

I opened my mouth to retort, but the air shifted.

Bruno’s fingers were still wrapped around my wrist when the bathroom door slammed open.

“Let go.”

Adrian’s voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The weight of it filled every inch of marble and mirror, sharp enough to cut the air in two.

Bruno froze, his grip loosening an inch. “We were just talking…”

“Didn’t sound like talking.” Adrian’s gaze dropped to my trapped wrist, then lifted back to his brother with a darkness that made the hair on my arms prickle. “Last warning, Bruno.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Bruno released me with a muttered curse and stepped back.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the steady thud of my heart.

Adrian closed the space between us in two strides, his hand curling around my waist before I could retreat. Possessive. Anchoring. His eyes locked on mine, fire burning behind them.

“She’s mine.”

Not a declaration for Bruno. Not really. The way he said it — low, raw, edged with something he couldn’t disguise — it was aimed at me. A brand pressed against skin.

I should have bristled. I should have pushed him away, thrown the claim back in his face. Instead, my breath caught, traitorous, and a heat I didn’t want to name coiled low in my stomach.

Bruno swore and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

But Adrian didn’t let me go. His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, tracing the angry red mark Bruno had left, and his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

“You don’t let anyone corner you like that,” he murmured, voice husky and dangerous. “Not him. Not anyone.”

I opened my mouth — to argue, to remind him this was fake, that I didn’t need saving — but nothing came out. Because in that moment, with his grip steady and his scent crowding me, the line between pretend and something else entirely blurred so badly I couldn’t see it anymore.

And God help me, some secret, reckless part of me didn’t want him to ever let go.