Craving My Husband’s Brother

CHAPTER 13 AMBER

Weeks had passed since the library door slammed shut behind Liam, and I had used every single second of that time to bury myself in work.

I stopped staying at the Hawthorn mansion past eight in the morning, and I didn't return until late into the night when the halls were dead and dark.

Nathaniel had practically moved out anyway, spending his nights at elite lounges or, more likely, tucked away in Audrey’s apartment. I didn't care. The silence of the estate was a relief.

In the quiet corners of my office at the design firm, I wasn't Alice Sinclair, the barren, invisible wife trapped in a toxic dynasty.

I wasn't Amber Garcia, the terrified girl fleeing the shadow of Diego Martin. I was a professional. A woman who could turn a blank, concrete shell into a masterpiece.

"Alice, my office. Right now," my boss, Mr. Vance, called out as he marched past my cubicle, a thick, premium leather portfolio tucked under his arm.

I blinked, shaking myself out of a blueprint sketch, and quickly smoothed down the front of my tailored beige trousers. I grabbed my tablet and followed him into the corner office.

"Sit," Vance said, a rare, genuine grin breaking across his usually stern face. He slammed the portfolio onto his desk.

"I'm about to hand you the holy grail of this firm. If you pull this off, the board of executives won't just look at you for the upcoming promotion. they’ll give you a permanent seat at the table."

My heart did a little flutter. "What's the account?"

"An exclusive penthouse in the newly completed Obsidian Towers," Vance said, leaning forward. "Sixteen thousand square feet. Completely raw slate. The client is a high-profile billionaire who just returned to the city and wants a space that commands authority but retains absolute privacy. He specifically asked for our lead designer, and after seeing your portfolio from last month's gallery, I told his team you were the only option."

A smile broke across my face, the first real one in weeks.

"Thank you, Mr. Vance. I won't disappoint you. When do I meet them?"

"Right now. The initial consultation is at the penthouse site. His private security has already cleared you at the lobby. Don't look back, Alice. Go secure your future."

Ten minutes later, I was in the back of a cab, my fingers scanning through modern minimalist trends on my tablet.

Obsidian Towers was the pinnacle of modern luxury, a soaring column of smoked glass and steel that overlooked the entire metropolitan skyline.

When the elevator doors whirred open on the penthouse floor, the sheer scale of the space took my breath away. It was magnificent. Soaring twenty-foot ceilings, exposed concrete pillars, and massive floor-to-ceiling windows that captured the glittering expanse of the city below.

The space was completely empty, save for a massive, minimalist obsidian desk set up near the center of the room, positioned directly against the backdrop of the skyline.

A man sat behind the desk, his back partially turned to me as he reviewed a set of documents. He wore a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, exposing the dark, intricate ink trailing down his forearms.

My breath caught. The tablet in my hand suddenly felt heavy enough to drop.

No. Please, God, no.

As if sensing my presence, the man turned his head.

Storm-grey eyes locked onto mine with a sudden, sharp intensity that made the entire sixteen-thousand-square-foot room feel microscopic.

Liam.

The world tilted on its axis. The pencil in my fingers slipped, clattering loudly against the raw concrete floor. Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke.

For three whole weeks, we had successfully lived like ghosts in the same house, ignoring each other's existence with a brutal, frozen discipline. And now, fate had shoved us into an empty room at the top of the world.

Liam slowly closed the leather folder on his desk. His handsome face was an unreadable mask, but I caught the slight, sudden tightening of his jaw, the way his chest expanded with a heavy, controlled breath.

He hadn't known either. This wasn't a trap he had set; it was a cosmic joke.

"Mr. Vance didn't mention the client's name," I whispered, my voice sounding incredibly small against the high ceilings. I took a step back toward the elevator, my survival instincts screaming at me to run. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hawthorn. There's been a mistake. I can't take this account."

"Sit down, Alice."

His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that rubbed against my nerves like sandpaper. It was the first time he had spoken to me since the library, and the sheer authority in his tone made my knees weaken.

"I am not doing this," I said, my voice hardening as I channeled every ounce of defiance I had left. I refused to let him see me shake. "I will call Vance the moment I get downstairs and tell him I have a conflict of interest. He can assign Sloane or Aria. They are more than qualified to handle your... vision."

Liam stood up. His tall, muscular frame loomed over the obsidian desk, casting a long shadow across the concrete floor.

He didn't rush. He walked around the perimeter of the desk, his movements slow, deliberate, and entirely predatory.

He stopped just two feet away from me, the familiar scent of cedar and sharp mint instantly invading my senses, throwing my heart into a frantic, chaotic rhythm.

"I don't want Sloane, and I don't want Aria," Liam said, his grey eyes darkening as they tracked the rapid rise and fall of my chest. He leaned down slightly, stepping directly into my personal space. "I want the designer who knows exactly how to build something beautiful out of nothing but chaos. I want you."

"We drew a line in the sand, Liam," I hissed, my hands clenching into fists at my sides to keep them from trembling.

"You told me I was nothing to you. You said if we were in the same room, I shouldn't even look at you. Have you forgotten your own rules?"

"I haven't forgotten a single goddamn thing," he growled, a dangerous spark flashing in his eyes. He stepped closer, crowding me until I could feel the literal heat radiating off his body. His gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to my eyes. "But this is business, Alice. This project dictates the public image of my private life for the next decade. If you walk out that door, Vance will know you refused a billionaire client over a personal whim. You'll lose your promotion. Is your fear of me worth destroying your career?"

"I am not afraid of you," I lied, my voice cracking slightly under the sheer weight of his proximity.

"Good," Liam murmured, a slow, devastating smirk touching the corner of his lips—the first sign of life I had seen on his face in weeks. He reached out, his long fingers picking up the portfolio I had tightly clutched against my chest, his knuckles deliberately scraping against my skin.

A violent shiver shot straight down my spine. "Because you're going to design this space. Every inch of it. And you're going to do it with me watching."

I stared up at him, trapped between the burning desire to slap the arrogance off his face and the terrifying reality that my body was completely betraying me, remembering the way those same hands had anchored my hips.

He was forcing me into his orbit, and as the elevator doors closed behind us, I realized the boundaries we had fought so hard to build were already turning to dust.