ASHES OF A PROMISE

Chapter three

Ethan's POV

The applause had faded, the champagne glasses drained, and the last of the guests swept out into the night, leaving only the echo of laughter in the marble halls of the Deveraux estate. My wedding night. The night I was supposed to feel invincible. The night I should have been the happiest man alive.

Instead, all I felt was an ache. Not in my body—though that pulsed too—but in the pit of my chest, hollow and dark.

I closed the door to our suite with a quiet click, leaning against it for a moment. My bride—my wife now—stood across the room, her back to me, undoing the pins in her hair. They clattered onto the vanity like tiny bullets. Her reflection in the mirror was serene, glowing, everything a man could want. And yet… I couldn’t force my heart to beat the way it should.

Because my heart wasn’t here. It never had been.

I loosened my tie, the silk slipping through my fingers like a noose I’d finally unfastened. My mind raced back to forbidden moments, stolen glances with a face I should never have desired. His face. My brother’s.

The weight of it pressed on me as I watched her. She deserved love. She deserved the devotion I couldn’t give, no matter how hard I faked it. Every vow I spoke earlier felt like a betrayal before the ink of the marriage certificate had even dried.

“Ethan?” she asked softly, catching my eyes in the mirror. Her tone was sweet, tender, unsure.

I pushed off the door, forcing a smile. “Yes, darling?”

She turned, her dress spilling around her like liquid ivory, and for a moment, guilt carved through me so sharply it almost took my breath. She was beautiful—undeniably so—but beauty had never been enough to erase obsession.

I walked toward her, each step deliberate, careful, as though the floor might collapse beneath the weight of my secrets. My fingers brushed her arm. Her skin was warm, inviting, but my chest tightened at the thought of another’s touch—the one that haunted me, that I craved in the shadows.

Her lips moved, forming words I barely heard. Something about how surreal this night felt, how perfect everything had been. I nodded, murmured a reply that sounded convincing enough. But inside, I was elsewhere—locked in memories I couldn’t speak aloud.

The truth was corrosive. It burned through me with every beat of my pulse: I had married a woman I admired, respected, maybe even cared for. But not the one I wanted. Not the one I loved in the dark, unspoken corners of my heart.

My brother’s laugh echoed in my mind, sharp as broken glass. The way his eyes lingered too long when no one was watching. The night we crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. The taste of betrayal that had never left my tongue.

And now, on this night of beginnings, I felt only endings.

She reached for me then, closing the space between us, her arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me into the life I was supposed to want. I let her. My hands rested against her waist, the fabric of her dress cool under my palms. I even leaned down, brushed my lips over hers. But it was hollow, like kissing through glass.

Because every kiss tasted like a lie.

Inside, my thoughts screamed. What have you done, Ethan?

Marriage wasn’t a promise for me—it was a cage. And worse, the one holding the key wasn’t the woman now calling herself my wife. It was the very man I should never think of this way.

And that, more than anything, terrified me. Because desire has a way of burning through every lock, every boundary. And mine had only just begun to blaze. The sound of footsteps outside the suite pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts. A knock—light, deliberate—broke the fragile quiet.

She lifted her head, surprised. “At this hour?”

I frowned, already knowing. My chest tightened, breath catching as I opened the door just enough to see him.

Liam.

My brother stood there, tie loose, jacket gone, a half-smirk on his lips as if he owned the night. His eyes swept past me, straight to her, softening for a fraction before finding mine again. And in that look—God help me—I felt the same fire we had sworn never to acknowledge again.

“What are you doing here?” My voice came out harsher than I intended.

“Just checking in on the groom.” His tone was smooth, casual, but I caught the flicker in his gaze—something hungry, something reckless.

Behind me, she smiled warmly. “Liam, come in! You should’ve stayed longer at the reception.”

He stepped inside, his presence sucking the air out of the room. I closed the door slowly, fighting the storm clawing at my chest. His cologne hit me—familiar, intoxicating, like a ghost wrapping around my throat.

He congratulated us, said all the right words, even joked about how surreal it was to see me married. But under it all, every glance he threw me was a razor blade, slicing through my composure.

At one point, she excused herself to change. The moment her footsteps faded into the adjoining room, silence stretched thin between us.

“You look miserable,” Liam murmured, lips curving, voice low enough only I could hear.

I clenched my jaw. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe not,” he said, stepping closer, eyes locked on mine. “But neither should this.” His hand brushed mine, fleeting, hidden in the shadow between us, but it was enough to send lightning up my spine.

I yanked back like the touch had burned me. “Stop.”

But he didn’t. He leaned in, voice a whisper laced with danger. “Tell me, Ethan. When you kissed her tonight… did you think of me?”

My stomach twisted. Rage, desire, shame—all tangled into a knot I couldn’t undo.

And then the door behind us creaked open.

She reentered, glowing in silk, smiling like she’d walked into a dream. My heart pounded, guilt slamming me like a hammer.

Liam straightened instantly, all composure, mask back on. “She looks radiant,” he said smoothly, his smile easy, his sin hidden.

She laughed, oblivious, while I stood between them—my wife and my brother—feeling the walls of my carefully built life begin to crack.