My ex-brother-in-law won't stop bothering me

A black sedan sliced through the storm, raindrops streaking the window where Sophia Rossi watched the night, her expression glacial perfection. Beside her, her husband Daniel Stone murmured into his phone. "Not avoiding school tonight, sweetheart—something urgent came up." His eyes flickered toward Sophia, shrouded in dashboard shadows. "You’ve got rumors wrong. I swear." Lie. Daniel lowered his voice velvet-rough. "Go spoil yourself—need another wire? Tell my assistant a million’s pre-approved." Silence. Then: "A penthouse in Seaview Heights? Next Friday." Sophia’s gaze stayed locked outside. Inside, ashes settled. Fifteen years since they’d shared frozen noodles in that roach-infested Brooklyn rental. Now their promises tasted like gutter rain. "You overthink." Daniel reached for her waist. "What I do with other women…it’s theater." Performance. Like her hollowed marriage. Sophia turned knife-edges eyes on him. "A year and counting? Impressive run for a one-act farce.” Daniel smiled faintly. “She feels…almost like you did. Before.” Before ambition corroded him. Before everything. Sophia shut her eyes just as thunder ruptured the sky. Boom. The storm snarled over Manhattan as Daniel’s phone shrieked again. "You scared?" He winced at muffled sobs through the speaker. "Be there." When he hung up, remorse painted his face false—another matinee act. “Her high-rise glass rattles in storms. I need to…” Sophia cut him like shaved ice. "Drop. Me. Off." Daniel hesitated like she might combust. "Midtown’s flooding—” "Hilarious." Sophia gathered her clutch. "Little Girl whimpers for backup? Meanwhile your wife—” she jerked the door handle, "—ditched Old in this tempest." Funny how he forgot her own terror years ago when police left chalk outlines at crime scenes in heavy August rains. This hollow savior complex? Pathetic. Daniel frowned as streetlight carved his sneer sharp. "Stop throwing tantrums." Sophia slid out without another glance. Concrete soaked her Valentino pumps instantly as the sedan vanished into rain, spraying gutter filth like her marriage of refuse. Lose it all, Dan Stone, you sanctimonious— Headlights pierced the downpour—bile bright chrome of a Rolls-Phantom, then window lowering. **Connor Pierce’**s hawk-sharp stare landed on her. Manhattan rain haloed his steel-cut arrogance. "Get in." Sophia stalled, scanning empty 6th Avenue. Taxis? Dead post-crash night. She chose leather-scent backseat silence over lethal pride. “East Village—Veridian Lofts.” He flicked a finger against his cuff almost boredly beside his open securities report. The silence thickened. When her damp Dior wrap gown hitched cold-cling low on her thigh, he slid a cashmere blanket across the seat barrier. No words exchanged—just his observant gaze. Brakes hissed curbside moments near 2AM. Sophia refolded the linen precisely. Outside, monsoon-fierce deluge. "Thanks." But Connor’s gaze never lifted, busy etching symbols inside his Montblanc journal—yet tracking her exit through reflection when she grabbed inadequate silk umbrella outside door. Halfway inside entrance of marble facade apartment, footsteps echoed in tempo inside thunder c***k. Sophia paled—just as Connor body blocked heavy metal entrance door slamming back against hinge groaning protest. Trapping her between rain-laced glass tower darkness… and him breathing down her neck all wet heat proximity scent of cedar/cigars/bull market fury barely corked. Connor crowded backward, forcing her onto cream foyer flooring. Hand still coiled possessively around waist. “Release me.” Sophia bit back adrenaline sharp as citron perfume gone bitter stale smell memory. His laugh vibrated against spine. "Playing patient saint? Sophia Rossi—you keep ignoring how that husband treats you." Calloused thumbs mapped slow torture arcs against bare under-arm skin where dress vanished exposing naked defensiveness. "Serve him papers." Connor’s lips brushed ear cartilage now low dangerous register. "Move—to—me." Hot vow. Sophia clawed backward twisting escape route blocked by stacked contemporary abstract bronze sculpture gleaming hard metallic promise. "So Daniel is weak? And you—his 'Wall Street brother'—sneak around sniffing after wife collateral?" Fingers trapped inside tangled strand wet hair—Connor yank tilting throat bared. "You mistake my patience," his breath scorched across vulnerable pulse. "Difference between us? Daniel destroys diamonds casually as cufflinks. Me?" Teeth scraping lightly on vein-throbs beneath wet skin. "If I bury you? It’d be deep enough no resurrection happens." Brutal sincerity. "And never cheap disposable flings." A shark circling... Sophia shivered unexpectedly betraying momentary tremor beneath him before wrench twisting leverage loose with desperate claw nails scratching her cheek lightly. "Hypocrite."