One Night With My Ex's Billionaire Brother

Two Brothers, Two Lies

"I'm not going anywhere." He said.

“Why?” I asked.

That came out smaller.

I hated that too.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

He looked at me properly, and for a second, something slipped.

“I wasn’t going to let him—”

He stopped.

Too fast, but too late.

My chest tightened so hard it actually hurt.

“Let him what?” I demanded. “Finish it.”

His jaw locked.

He didn’t.

Of course he didn’t.

And that—

That was worse.

Or maybe I just needed it to be worse so I wouldn’t think about the fact that he sounded like he was trying to protect me? No. That’s stupid.

---

“This isn’t your problem,” I said, stepping back again because I needed space, I needed air, I needed him not this close to me. I can't think straight with the smell of his cologne enveloping me. “You don’t get to turn it into one.”

“I’m not turning it into anything.”

“You are just by being here.”

Silence.

Then—

Movement.

The man in the suit stepped forward.

“Sir.”

Alexander didn’t even look at him.

“Not now.”

“It won’t hold past noon.”

That made him react. Just a little.

“What won’t?” I asked immediately.

Neither of them answered.

Of course.

The man handed him a plain, closed envelope.

Alexander took it. Didn’t even open it.

But I saw it.

That tiny shift in him, his shoulders tightened and his eyes flickered down for half a second like whatever was inside mattered more than this moment, or maybe just as much, which—

“What is that?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

Too quick.

“No. That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not relevant.”

“To me?” I laughed. “Everything seems to be relevant to me right now whether I like it or not.”

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t explain.

Just stood there like I wasn’t allowed to know things.

I hated that.

And I hated that the other man looked at him like he’d just wait forever for a decision, like Alexander just—decides things and people move, and I didn’t notice before or I ignored it or—

---

“I’m leaving,” I said.

He nodded.

“This isn’t finished.”

“It is for me.”

It wasn’t.

But I said it anyway.

He looked like he wanted to say something else.

Like he was deciding again.

Then—nothing.

He stepped back.

Got into the car.

And just left.

No apology.

No explanation.

Just gone.

And I stood there like an i***t for a second longer like he might come back, which—why would he, obviously he wouldn’t, I don’t even want him to—

---

I flagged a cab.

“North,” I said. “Just go.”

The driver nodded.

Didn’t ask anything.

Good.

Because I didn’t have answers.

Or I did and I just didn’t like them.

---

My hands were shaking.

I didn’t even notice until I tried to unlock my phone and missed twice.

Seventeen notifications.

Jason.

Of course it’s Jason. Of course he suddenly remembers I exist now, of course he’s texting like this now when—

I opened them anyway.

Where are you?

We need to talk.

Nora, answer me.

This isn’t what you think.

Don’t make this worse.

Worse.

I almost laughed.

Like he didn’t already—

I scrolled.

Last message.

Unread.

I tapped it.

I know you ran into my brother.

My chest just—stopped.

We need to talk before he tells you his version.

I read it again.

Slower this time, trying to process the words.

His version.

Like there are options.

Like this is a story they both get to edit.

Like I’m just—what, a detail? A mistake? God.

Something cold settled in my stomach.

I took a screenshot.

I don’t even know why.

Just—did it.

Like I needed proof.

Or maybe I didn’t trust myself to remember this properly later, because what if I twist it, what if they twist it, what if—

---

The cab stopped at a red light.

I opened my contacts.

Scrolled.

Stopped.

Alexander.

I don’t remember saving it.

But it’s there.

Of course it is.

My thumb hovered.

I shouldn’t call him.

I know that.

I literally just told him to stay away.

I meant it.

I think I meant it.

But Jason’s message—

before he tells you his version

It wouldn’t leave.

It just sat there.

Heavy.

Wrong.

Like something is already happening and I’m the last person to know, like I’m always the last person to know, which is so embarrassing, like actually embarrassing—

The light changed.

The car moved.

My thumb pressed call before I could think.

It rang.

Once.

Twice—

He picked up.

Of course he did.

“I’m listening.”

Not hello.

Not my name.

Just—

“I’m listening.”