Falling for My Brother's Best Friend

RILEY I used to believe in happily ever after. Not the flimsy kind that wilted under pressure, but the kind that wrapped its arms around you and whispered forever against your skin. I believed in promises, vows, lifetimes woven together. I believed in Liam. But fairy tales belong on inked pages and cinema screens, not in the real world—because mine has already been burned to ashes. The lobby of Breaking Brief’s headquarters swallowed me whole the moment I stepped inside. The marble floor gleamed under the glare of fluorescent lights, reflecting fragments of my face in cold, glittering pieces. I clutched the warm takeout bag against my chest—his favorite sandwiches—and waited for the elevator, willing myself to stay cheerful. This was our routine. My little gesture. My way of saying I love you in the middle of his chaotic day. When the elevator chimed on the ninth floor, nostalgia tugged softly at my heart. Three weeks. Just three weeks until I’d return to London for Christmas. I pictured my parents’ cozy house, the scent of pine drifting through the living room, twinkling lights dancing across the walls as Mom and I decorated the tree like we used to. Jackson would lift me onto his shoulders just so I could crown the angel on top—even though I was twenty-seven now, and he would probably pretend to throw out his back for comedic effect. Warmth bloomed inside me. And then the elevator doors opened. Liam’s assistant wasn’t at her desk. Odd, but not alarming. Maybe she’d gone to lunch early. Maybe Liam was buried in meetings, too busy to text. Maybe— My hand found the door handle to his office before the doubts even formed. I pushed. And my world cracked. The takeout bag hit the floor with a dull, final thud. There, against Liam’s desk—his hands gripping her hips, her blouse open, her breathy moans echoing faintly in the dim light—was Amy. Shock didn’t hit me all at once. It seeped into me like poison, paralyzing, freezing. Then, like a tidal wave, it slammed into my chest, into my throat, into every part of me that had ever loved him. “What the f**k?” My voice sliced through the air. Liam jerked his head up. Amy gasped and scrambled for her blouse. And I—I felt something inside me splinter. I had sacrificed everything for this man. My home. My family. My career. And he… he was panting like an animal in front of me, claiming another woman with the same body he held me with every night. He took a step toward me. “Don’t you dare touch me,” I snapped, my hand raised between us like a blade. “How long has this been going on?” Nausea twisted violently in my stomach. I grabbed the bin beside his desk just in time before my body revolted, the taste of betrayal burning painfully in my throat. When I finally looked up, tears blurred my vision—but not enough to hide the guilt or fear in his eyes. I turned my attention to Amy. “How long?” She swallowed hard. “Two years.” Two years. Two years of lies. Two years of shared beds, shared meals, shared life—while he shared himself with her. I laughed—broken, sharp. “Two years,” I repeated, staring at Liam. “She’s lying,” he said quickly, voice cracking. “She seduced me. You know how we men are—” “Don’t you dare generalize this. I know exactly how you are.” “Baby—” “Don’t,” I warned. Amy exhaled shakily. “He told me he was leaving you. That he signed divorce papers. For me… and our child.” My vision tunneled. A cold, heavy silence wrapped around us. I wiped my cheeks, my voice trembling yet steady. “Congratulations, Liam. Because those divorce papers you lied about?” I straightened, spine rigid with resolve. “They’re about to become real.” He lunged forward, gripping my arm. “You’re really going to believe her over me?” “I believe every damn word,” I hissed. “You told me you didn’t want children. Guess she was special enough, huh?” “Riley—” “I hope you have a happy life.” I turned, stepping over the ruined lunch. His voice chased me. “Wait, Riley, please let me explain!” I didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Didn’t waver. But Liam followed me to the elevator, desperation dripping from every word. “I didn’t mean for this to happen—” “No,” I snapped, “you just tripped and fell inside your assistant’s v****a, right?” The slap left my palm stinging and his cheek bright red. He dropped to his knees. Actually dropped. “Please,” he begged, arms wrapped around my legs. “It was her, Riley. You have to believe me.” Why do men always beg when they’re caught? Always blame the woman who isn’t their wife? His phone rang, slicing through the tension like a razor. And of course—of course—he answered it. “Wait for me at home,” he whispered urgently, backing away with the phone pressed to his ear. “I’ll be there soon.” I stepped into the elevator. And the doors closed between us for the last time. --- Booking a flight to London took five frantic minutes. Leaving the condo we once shared took ten. I packed only what mattered—clothes, toiletries, dignity—and ignored every call lighting up my phone. By the time I reached the airport, exhaustion weighed on me like wet cement. Check-in was long, chaotic, filled with the dull roar of travelers—but I moved on autopilot. My future wasn’t here anymore. “Boarding pass, please,” the attendant said kindly. I handed it over, offering a small smile I didn’t feel. She returned it with a cheerful, “Have a safe flight.” Safe. If only she knew how broken I was walking onto that plane. I found my seat, the window cool beneath my fingertips, and before switching to airplane mode, I typed a message to the only person who would understand. Hi Jackson… don’t tell Mom and Dad just yet, but I’m coming home early. I’ll explain later. I love you. His reply came quickly. Why? What happened? You never come this early. What about Liam? My chest tightened. I forced my fingers to keep moving. He has work. We’ll talk when I land. Love you. Phone off. Heart racing. Life changing. As the engines hummed to life beneath me, I closed my eyes and let the truth wash over me—painful, cleansing, absolute. I deserved better. And I was going home to reclaim the pieces of myself I had lost. This time, my story wouldn’t end in heartbreak. This time, I’d write the ending myself.