Breaking Bro Code

The mirror in my bedroom felt like it was judging me. I smoothed the hem of the silk slip dress one more time, the fabric cool and impossibly thin against my heated skin. It was black, lace-trimmed, and entirely unlike anything I usually wore, but tonight wasn't about being the "sensible, quiet sister" or the "loyal girlfriend." Tonight was about finally giving myself to Liam. After two years, our anniversary, and the apartment he’d finally moved into alone, tonight was the night I crossed that line. I checked my reflection again. My hair was loose, falling in soft waves over my shoulders. A dab of perfume behind my ears, a deep breath to steady my racing heart, and I grabbed my small clutch. I had a bottle of his favorite expensive bourbon tucked into a gift bag, and a nervous, fluttering sensation in my stomach that felt less like anxiety and more like anticipation. I felt grown-up. I felt ready. The ride to his complex was a blur of neon city lights and the hum of late-evening traffic. I didn’t even text him that I was coming; I wanted the surprise to be perfect. I wanted to see his face when he opened the door and realized exactly what I was wearing under my oversized trench coat. When I reached the third floor, the hallway was quiet, save for the muffled bass of a song drifting from his apartment. I pulled a spare key from my bag—he’d given it to me months ago—and slid it into the lock with trembling fingers. *Don't be nervous,* I told myself. *He loves you.* The door swung open silently. "Liam?" I called out, my voice sounding thinner than I intended. I stepped into the living room, but the scene that greeted me froze the blood in my veins. The lights were dimmed low, cast in a hazy orange glow from the streetlights outside. On the couch—the couch I’d helped him pick out—was a tangle of limbs. Liam’s head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut in a way I had only ever seen when he was with me. His hands were buried in blonde hair that definitely didn't belong to me. My breath hitched, a jagged sound that tore through the quiet, but they didn’t even hear me. "Oh, god, Liam," a voice gasped. It was Sarah, his next-door neighbor. The one he’d called "annoying" and "a total nightmare" just last week when she’d complained about his music. I didn't drop the bourbon. I didn't scream. I just stood there, the world shrinking down to a singular, agonizing point of focus. The lace of my dress felt like it was burning my skin, a mocking reminder of the fantasy I’d built in my head. I watched, paralyzed, as Liam shifted, his hand sliding down her back with a familiar, possessive rhythm that made my stomach turn over. It wasn't just a mistake. It was practice. It was effortless. "Liam," I whispered, louder this time. The movement stopped. Liam’s eyes snapped open, his head whipping toward the entryway. The color drained from his face so fast he looked like a ghost, but he didn't move to cover himself. He didn't jump up to hide her. He just looked at me—at the dress, the gift bag, the sheer, pathetic hope written all over my face—and then looked back at Sarah with an expression of pure, unadulterated annoyance. "Allie," he groaned, his voice heavy with irritation rather than guilt. "What the hell are you doing here?" My knees felt like they might give out. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I turned around, the gift bag heavy in my hand, and walked out of the apartment. I didn't run; I didn't have the energy to run. I just walked, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor of the hallway, the sound echoing like gunshots in the silence. By the time I hit the street, the cool night air did nothing to soothe the heat of the humiliation crawling up my neck. I felt raw, exposed, and entirely untethered. I wandered for blocks, ignoring the way people looked at me—a girl in a slip dress and a trench coat, walking alone in the dark. My phone buzzed in my hand, a text from Liam: *I’m sorry, Allie. Don’t make this a thing. Let’s talk tomorrow.* I didn't answer. I kept walking until I saw the glow of a neon sign—*The Velvet Lounge*—flickering in the distance. It was the kind of place I usually avoided, too loud, too expensive, too chaotic. But tonight, it felt like the only place that matched the jagged, broken rhythm of my heartbeat. I pushed through the heavy mahogany doors, the smell of expensive gin and expensive cologne hitting me all at once. The bar was packed, a sea of shadows and sharp light. I slid onto a velvet stool, my hands shaking so violently I had to grip the edge of the bar to stay steady. "Whatever you've got," I told the bartender, my voice cracking. "Make it strong." The bartender looked at me, then at the empty seat next to me, then back at me. He didn't ask questions. He just slid a tumbler of amber liquid in my direction. I took a gulp, the burn sliding down my throat, but it didn't kill the cold ache in my chest. I felt invisible. I felt small. I took out my phone, my thumb hovering over the contact name that had been my anchor for as long as I could remember. *Nolan.* I needed my brother. I needed someone to tell me that I wasn't crazy, that what I had just seen wasn't the end of everything I believed in. I pressed the call button, listening to the dial tone. One ring. Two rings. Three. It went to voicemail. "Pick up," I whispered, my voice breaking again. "Please, just pick up." The call clicked over, but it wasn't Nolan's deep, steady voice that answered. It was a man, but the tone was deeper, sharper, and laced with a sudden, dangerous intensity. "Nolan’s in a meeting, who is this?" "Roman?" I choked out, the name catching in my throat. Roman. My brother's best friend. The man who had been a fixture in our lives since we were kids, the man who was currently the face of the league, the man I hadn't spoken to in months. There was a pause, a heartbeat of silence that felt heavier than the room around me. Then, his voice changed. The professional, clipped tone vanished, replaced by something dark, protective, and unmistakably sharp. "Allie?" He didn't even ask how I got the phone. He didn't even sound surprised. "Allie, why are you crying? Where are you?"