Seduced By My Brother’s Best Friend

Vivian’s POV On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband blindfolded me. “Keep your eyes closed, Vivian,” Julian whispered against my ear. “If you even peek, you'll ruin the surprise.” I stood frozen in the center of our master bedroom. The darkness was suffocating. Terrifying, even. But I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that the bruises on my arms from last week were accidents, that his cold silences were just stress. Tonight was our anniversary. He had promised a fresh start. “Julian, please. Hurry,” I said. “I can’t see.” “That’s the point, darling. Submission is about faith.” His fingers trailed down my bare shoulder, lingering on my collarbone. “I know you think our marriage has lost its spark. I know you feel guilty because you haven’t given me an heir yet.” His words were always soft, but they were always daggers. He knew exactly where to cut. “I… I don’t think that,” I whispered. “Shh. I’m fixing us. I’m giving you what you need to loosen up. To be the woman I need.” He guided me forward, his hands gripping my waist. A scent hit my nostrils—something floral, but sickeningly sweet. “Open your eyes.” He yanked the silk knot loose, and the fabric fell away. I blinked to clear my blurred vision. The lights had been dimmed, and Julian wasn’t alone in the room. There was a woman. The world spun around me. She was lying on our bed—on the Egyptian cotton sheets I had ironed just this morning. She was stunning: dark hair, crimson lips, and a sheer lace bodysuit. She looked at me with a detached boredom that made me want to shrink into the floor. I stumbled back. “Julian… who is that?” He stood right behind me, his hand already gripping mine tightly to keep me from running. “This is Chloe. She’s here to help you.” “Help me?” Bile rose in my throat. “What help are you talking about? She’s lying naked on our bed.” Julian let go of my hand. “This has been my fantasy for a long time, Vivian.” “What?” A wave of nausea hit me. “Julian… please. Get her out. Get her out of our bed!” Julian sighed, walking past me toward the woman. He ran a hand down her thigh, making sure I watched. “See?” His eyes shone with a disturbing, feverish intensity. “Chloe doesn’t scream. Chloe understands that a man has needs. You’ve been so frigid, Vivian. So closed off. I thought bringing in a professional would help you learn.” “You’re sick,” I choked out. “It’s our anniversary.” “Exactly!” His voice rose. “I paid a fortune for this night. For us. And look at you. Ruining it with your dramatic tears.” He closed the distance between us in two strides. He didn't hit me this time. Instead, he cupped my face tenderly, tracing my lower lip with his thumb. “You make me the bad guy, don’t you?” he crooned. “I try to spice up our marriage, try to save us from boredom, and you look at me like I’m a monster. Do you know how much that hurts me, Vivian?” “I don’t want this,” I sobbed. His expression hardened, the mask finally slipping. “I didn’t ask what you wanted. I told you what we are doing. We are opening this marriage, and we are starting tonight.” He pointed to the bed. “Get on the mattress. Or do I need to remind you what happens when you’re disobedient?” He reached for his belt buckle. Panic surged through me. This time, it wasn’t just the fear of pain—I was used to pain. It was the humiliation. The soul-crushing realization that he intended to break me in front of an audience. “No,” I whispered. “Excuse me?” “No!” I screamed. I spun around and bolted from the room. “Vivian!” His roar shook the walls. I didn't look back. I snatched my purse from the vanity as I ran, hearing his heavy footsteps right behind me. Without wasting another second, I scrambled down the stairs, adrenaline flooding my veins. I fumbled frantically with the locks until the deadbolt clicked. Throwing the door open, I plunged into the night. I didn't stop running until my lungs burned and my feet bled inside my heels. I flagged down the first cab I saw and collapsed into the backseat. “Where to?” the driver asked, eyeing my disheveled state in the rearview mirror. “Anywhere,” I gasped. “Just drive. Hurry.” I pulled out my phone and searched for a contact. Kael. I needed my brother. Years ago, he had warned me that Julian was a sociopath. He had begged me not to sign the prenup, but I hadn't listened. By the time I wanted to, it was too late—Julian had cut me off, ensuring I couldn't reach him. I had tried to call and text Kael a thousand times over the years, but the messages never went through. Tonight was no different. “Miss?” the driver said. “I can’t just drive in circles.” I looked out the window. We were passing the Meatpacking District. Up ahead, a neon sign buzzed through the dark: Midnight Vipers. I opened my purse. I barely had enough cash to cover the taxi ride. But then my gaze fell on the ring on my finger. I had no money, but I had a diamond wedding band that meant absolutely nothing now. “Stop here,” I said. I stumbled into the club. It was dark, loud, and smelled of sweat and expensive liquor. It was perfect. I could disappear here. Pushing through the crowd, I made it to the bar. “I don’t have cash,” I told the bartender, sliding the ring off my finger. It left a pale, empty band of skin behind. “But this is worth five grand. Just give me the strongest thing you have, and keep them coming.” The bartender looked at the ring, then at my pale face. He didn't ask questions. He just slid a shot glass and a bottle toward me. I drank. I drank until the image of the woman on my bed began to blur. I drank until I couldn't feel the cold. Five years. The gaslighting. The isolation. You’re crazy, Vivian. You’re imagining things. Why can’t you just make me happy? I poured another shot. My hand shook so violently that tequila splashed onto the counter. “Easy there, sweetheart.” A heavy hand landed on my waist. I froze. I looked up to see a man with greasy hair and an ill-fitting suit. He slid onto the stool next to me, his smile making my skin crawl. “You look like you've been through a war,” he slurred, leaning in close. His breath smelled foul. “Husband kick you out?” Then his hand slid to my thigh, squeezing tightly. I shoved his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” He laughed. “Feisty. I like that. Come on, let me buy you a drink in the VIP. It’s quieter. We can… talk.” “I said no.” He didn't listen. They never listened. He grabbed my wrist. “Don’t be a b***h. I’m being nice. I saw you come in alone. You look pale. You’re a runaway, aren't you?” When I didn't answer, he smirked. “Runaways are my favorite. Nobody misses them.” Panic flared. I tried to stand, but the room spun violently. “Sit down.” He pulled me back, his grip tightening on my leg, fingers digging into my skin. “You owe me a conversation just for the view,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to my chest. I hadn't had time to change. I was still wearing the sheer black lace robe and matching lingerie Julian had forced me into before blindfolding me. I opened my mouth to scream, but my throat was entirely dry. “Alright, you're coming with me.” He yanked me off the stool. I braced myself to slap him, to fight, to do anything—but suddenly, the tension vanished. The man’s eyes went wide. A choking sound escaped him. A large, black-leather-gloved hand had clamped around the back of his neck. “She asked you to let go.” The voice was colder than ice, a quiet promise of violence. The drunk man tried to speak, but the grip tightened. I heard a sickening pop of bone. The man’s knees buckled, but he managed to look up. His face drained of color, replaced by genuine terror. “I… I didn’t know she was with you.” “Out,” the stranger said. The creep didn't argue. He scrambled off the stool, nearly tripping over his own feet, and vanished into the crowd without looking back. I gripped the edge of the bar to keep from falling, turning slowly to look at my savior. He was massive. That was the first thing my brain registered. He wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit that accentuated his broad shoulders. He had a sharp jaw covered in dark stubble, but it was his eyes that held me. They were the color of storm clouds—gray, intense, and utterly unreadable. He signaled the bartender, who immediately placed a glass of water in front of me. “Drink,” he commanded. I obeyed instinctively. The water was cool against my burning throat. “Thank you. For… him.” He turned on his stool to face me fully, studying my face. His gaze lingered on my smudged mascara, then dropped to the bruise forming on my wrist. “You’re shaking.” He looked at my trembling hands, his tone dismissive, as if I were merely a stray cat. “Go home.” A bitter, broken laugh bubbled up in my throat. Home. The place where my husband was waiting with a belt and a stranger in our bed. “I have nowhere to go,” I whispered. He didn't flinch. “Call someone.” “My brother isn't picking up my calls.” I stared down into my water. “No one else?” I met his gray eyes. “No one else.” A heavy silence fell between us. He seemed to be calculating something as his gaze swept over my body. For the first time, I became acutely aware of how I must look under the harsh bar lights. The fresh, dark bruises Julian had left on my upper arms were fully visible through the lace robe. The stranger's gaze snagged on them. His jaw tightened. Without a word, he stood up and shrugged off his charcoal jacket. Before I could react, he draped it over my shoulders. The warmth was instantaneous. The fabric was heavy, smelling of cedar and expensive scotch. “Come.” It wasn’t a request. “I... I can’t pay you,” I stammered, swaying as I tried to slide off the stool. “I gave my wedding ring to the bartender.” “I don’t want your money.” He gripped my elbow, steadying me as the room threatened to tilt.