Seducing My Husband's Brother

Invisible Lover

PURITY

••••••••••

Bang bang bang.

The sound of my door rattling from the force of what is probably Ryat's fist is followed by his make-believe sweet voice. "Purity, darling. It's been a little over a week since I last saw your alluring face. I'm going crazy wanting to be in your sexy presence again. Don't you miss me too?"

The goosebumps blanketing my entire skin shrink together, becoming even more prickly.

Bang bang bang.

I tighten my hold around my legs, pressing my knees further into my breasts.

Bang bang bang!

At this point, Ryat might just break the door.

And he does.

One last heavy bang, and the door gives way, shattering in like it's some thin veil over a bride's head.

I hug myself even tighter, my heart jumping furiously in my chest no matter how hard I try to regulate it.

From behind the curtains, I pin the floating dark blur that's Ryat's silhouette. He's as upright as always, probably dressed in a suit—judging by the dark presence. His hands are spread out, as he comes to stand directly facing the bed—facing me.

"Do you have any idea how thick those doors are?" His voice is calm, but not the type of calm that soothes. It's the type that brews dread. "You could have simply let me in, dear wife. I was freaking out thinking you hung yourself, or maybe did something a little more creative and slit your wrists or something." He takes the first step forward.

Instinctively, I push back, cold clogging to my skin as my back connects with the headboard.

"I'm glad to see that you are safe," he continues. "How will poor Saint cope with losing his mommy?" His hand finds his chest. He's nothing but a moving shadow from my perspective, but I'm pretty sure he squeezes his expensive suit—emphasizing his fake concerns. "However will I cope?"

Slowly, I draw air into my lungs, allowing the feeling neutralize the storm raging inside me before slowly letting it escape through my nostrils. If I want to face Ryat and come out on top, I can't let my fear lead.

Suddenly, a flush of light, brighter than the one present within the confinement of the sheers, floods me, blindsiding me for exactly a second.

"Your actions hurt me, Pure."

I glare up at him, my lower appendages the only thing shielding my nakedness from him.

As if my glares mean nothing, he breaks eye contact easily, his gaze sweeping my bed.

First, his brows draw together, a little scowl appearing on his chill face. His golden eyes search the bed even further, looking for something—somebody. But he won't find what he's looking for. I made sure of it.

As my mouth parts to speak, I notice the pistol in his right hand, and flashes from the last time we were in a similar situation appear before me. The last time, he shot Seb. But now, there's nobody else to shoot but me.

I need to act smart, there's not Ryan to save me this time.

Stealthily, I release air from my lungs. "What do you think you are doing?"

He continues his futile search, a rough wrinkle already settling deep on his forehead. At this point, he's probably looking for something else.

"Ryat Matteo Reigns!" I'm surprised at how steady I sound, but altogether impressed. If I keep my act up, he'll probably leave without causing a scene. "What—"

"Where is he?" The shift finally appears. That cold, dark shift that completely contrasts his initial cool front.

Carefully, I swallow, trying to force the lump in my throat down, but the saliva only comes rushing back to my mouth. Doubling over, I cough violently. "Ahem! Ahem! Ahem!" Hitting my chest lightly.

"What's that, Purity?" he presses on. "I didn't get the response I was hoping for."

"What do you want?" My voice is weak, but my anger is clearly communicated.

He moves a step away, probably to scan my room. "You know what I want." His voice is just below a rumble.

With a smile, I tilt my head to look at him. "No. Ahem! I don't."

Then, he grabs the edge of the sheer and pulls the cloth down, effectively ripping that part from the ceiling.

"Ryat!" I spring to my feet, towering over him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Where are you hiding your lover, Purity?" he seethes through his teeth, the veins on his temple popping.

"Lover?" I feign shock. "What lover?"

Quickly, I reach for the vibrator casually lying on my bed and wave it at him. "You've seen me use this countless times before. What's this sudden foolishness?"

The scowl remains, his demeanor not easing even a little. He's not convinced, and his next action proves it.

Without sparing me another glance, he moves to the side of the room. The wrong side. Immediately, I jump from the bed, rushing after him.

"What's your deal?" I'm immediately appalled by the urgency in my voice, as I say a silent prayer, hoping it doesn't sell me off.

Still looking through my wardrobe, slowly moving each piece along the rod like Marco could possibly have a place to hide between the hanging clothes, he speaks. "Get something to wear."

"What?"

My sight goes blank, then the light returns as the silk robe slides from my face.

"Wear that." His voice is as calm as ever, but there's no mistaking the authority clinging to it.

"What for?"

"I'm inviting some men in." He only stops searching through my wardrobe when he hit the end. "This room needs a proper search."

My hands tremble, the robe almost falling to the ground. I want to protest. I will myself to. But it seems like I've fought the last fight I have in me.

It was wishful thinking on my part, hoping Ryat would fall for "I was only m**********g," especially not after I didn't answer the door until it was broken down.

With shaky hands, I throw the robe over my shoulders, reluctantly letting my arms slide through the sleeves and concealing my nakedness—the one Ryat didn't even bother to acknowledge.

Ryat begins the search, ahead of his men's arrival. He yanks my drawers out, spilling their contents across the rug. He doesn't spare the bedside table as he turns it over, smashing the lamp on the floor, glass skittering across the hardwood.

He checks beneath the bed, inside the bathroom, behind the door—every place a man could fit, even places a man cannot.

When his men finally arrive, they make sure to double whatever damage Ryat has done, as if their real mission is to destroy my personal space.

My mattress is lifted, pillows sliced open, feathers flying everywhere like snow. The wardrobe doors are torn wide and my clothes poured out, most of them ripped to pieces.

They go as far as checking the vents, cabinets, even the hollow behind the mirror, knocking every corner until the walls answer back in solid, stupid silence.

This madness goes on for minutes, or maybe hours.

And I stand idle, watching as my room slowly goes from being mine to nothing but ruin and debris.

After countless shattering and destroying, one of them straightens and shakes his head. "There's nothing."

There's silence. Just mad men waiting for their equally mad commander's final orders.

Ryat stands in the center of the wreckage, annoyance shrouding him like a cloak. He presses the gun's butt against his brow, his other hand casually on his hip.

"Sir?" The hulk who made the announcement urges an answer.

Ryat exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Clear it."

The men do not argue. They file out, boots crunching shattered glass, stepping over splintered wood and torn fabric as if none of it ever mattered.

When the door—what is left of it—finally shuts, the room feels too big. Too quiet.

Ryat lingers a second longer. His eyes sweep the space one last time, that wrinkle still resting on his forehead.

My nails pierce the flimsy fabric of the robe and stab my skin so hard I almost draw blood. The explosion of pain that follows is bittersweet, something similar to what I feel in my chest right now.

When his gaze finally returns to me, he huffs. "Tidy up." His voice is flat.

Without giving me a chance to respond, he turns and, with a few long strides, exits the room.

I stand there in the ruins, heart still hammering, knees weak, surrounded by proof of his suspicion—and the miracle that nothing incriminating was found.

Slowly, my eyes return to the wardrobe, tears stinging my eyes.

Marco.