Married To My Dead Husband Brother

Seven

After Lucian left that morning, the big room felt even larger and colder.

I stayed in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, replaying the blood on the living room floor and the way he had ordered me back upstairs without even turning around. The fear still sat under my skin like a second pulse. Eventually I forced myself up. I needed to move. Staying still only made the thoughts louder.

The bathroom was as luxurious as everything else in this place, marble, glass, soft lighting. I stood under the hot water until my skin turned pink, trying to wash away the memory of the bleeding man and Lucian’s cold voice. It didn’t work. When I stepped out and dried off, I found fresh clothes already laid out for me on the counter: soft black leggings and a simple cream sweater that felt expensive against my skin. Someone had been in the room while I slept. The thought made me uneasy.

Breakfast was waiting when I finally went downstairs. A quiet maid with kind eyes directed me to a smaller dining area near the kitchen. The food smelled good, eggs, toast, fresh fruit, but my stomach still felt tight from the night before. I ate slowly, alone at the long table, the only sound the soft clink of my fork. No one spoke to me beyond polite offers of more coffee. In this house I was the new wife, the purchased bride, and the staff treated me with careful distance.

When the plates were cleared, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

The mansion was too big. Too quiet. Hallways stretched in every direction, lined with closed doors and expensive art I didn’t understand. I wandered for a while, trailing my fingers along the smooth walls, peeking into empty rooms that looked like no one had ever lived in them. A formal dining hall that could seat twenty. A gym with dark equipment. A sitting room with tall windows that looked out over the gardens and the high walls beyond. Everything felt polished and empty at the same time.

Eventually I found the library.

It was at the end of a quieter hallway on the first floor. The double doors stood slightly open, and when I pushed them wider the smell of old paper and leather hit me first. Shelves rose from floor to ceiling, packed with books. Soft armchairs and a long dark couch sat near a tall window that let in the afternoon light. For the first time since arriving here, something in my chest loosened a little.

I walked the shelves slowly, running my fingers over the spines. Most of the titles were in languages I didn’t know or thick volumes on history and business. Near the bottom of one shelf I found a row of novels. I pulled one free at random, something about a woman running from her past and carried it to the couch. The cushions were deep and soft. I curled up on my side, opened the book, and started reading.

The words blurred after a while. The quiet of the room and the soft light made my eyes heavy. I don’t remember deciding to close them. One moment I was following the story on the page. The next, the book had slipped against my chest and sleep pulled me under.

---

I woke to the feeling of something warm against my cheek.

At first I thought I was still dreaming. Fingers brushed lightly across my skin, slow and careful, tracing the curve of my face. The touch was so gentle it almost didn’t feel real. I stayed still, eyes closed, floating in that soft space between sleep and waking.

A low voice whispered near me.

“I finally have you.”

The words were quiet, almost soft, but they cut through the haze. My eyes fluttered open.

Lucian was crouched in front of the couch, close enough that I could see the flecks of silver in his gray eyes. His hand was still against my cheek, the pad of his thumb resting just under my eye. He didn’t pull away when he realized I was awake. He just watched me for a long moment, expression unreadable.

Heat rushed into my face. I sat up too quickly, the book sliding to the floor. “I… I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He stood without a word, then leaned down and slid one arm under my knees and the other behind my back. Before I could protest, he lifted me off the couch like I weighed nothing. My hands automatically gripped the front of his shirt.

“You only ate breakfast,” he said as he carried me out of the library. His voice was calm, almost flat. “The maids told me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. The hallway lights were soft. Outside the tall windows the sky had turned the deep blue of early evening. I kept my eyes on the buttons of his shirt, too aware of the solid warmth of his chest against my side and the steady way he walked.

He took me straight upstairs to our room and laid me on the bed as carefully as if I might break. Then he pulled the blanket over me, tucking it around my shoulders. The gesture was so unexpected that I could only stare at him.

“Rest a little more,” he said. “I’ll shower.”

He disappeared into the en suite bathroom. A moment later I heard the water running.

I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My heart was still beating too fast from the way he had carried me and the strange softness in his voice when he whispered those words. *I finally have you.* What did that even mean? Was it possession? Or something else?

The bathroom door opened again.

Lucian stepped out with only a dark towel wrapped low around his hips. Water still clung to his skin, tracing the lines of his chest and the hard planes of his stomach. A few scars marked his torso, thin white lines that spoke of old fights. His dark hair was damp and messy. For a second I forgot how to breathe.

“Hi,” I said, the word coming out softer than I meant. My eyes moved over his chest before I could stop them.

He nodded once, the corner of his mouth almost lifting, then walked past me into the walk in closet without speaking.

I looked down at my hands, cheeks burning. The image of him stayed behind my eyes, wet skin, broad shoulders, the quiet power in the way he moved. I forced myself to breathe. This was the same man who had sat calmly while a bleeding man begged for mercy last night. The same man who had ordered me back to the room like I was nothing more than an interruption.

Yet he had carried me upstairs and covered me with a blanket.

When he came back out he was dressed in black pants and a dark shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked at me for a moment, then spoke.

“Let’s go eat.”

I nodded and slid off the bed. My legs still felt a little unsteady. He waited by the door, and when I reached him he didn’t touch me. He simply turned and walked ahead, expecting me to follow.

I did.

The house was quiet as we went downstairs. The scent of food drifted from the kitchen—something warm and rich. My stomach reminded me how long it had been since breakfast. Lucian led me to the smaller dining area again. Two places had already been set. He pulled out a chair for me, then took the seat across from me.

We ate in silence at first. The food was good, but I barely tasted it. Every time I glanced up, I found him watching me with that same unreadable expression. The same man who had whispered over my sleeping face. The same man who could make grown men bleed and beg without raising his voice.

I didn’t know which version of him was real.

Maybe they both were.

And that thought scared me more than anything else.