Page 35 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
Gina lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe I got tired of being erased.”
She stands, already halfway to the door before I can process what she means.
I look down at the envelope. It's unsealed.Ivy, inked in sharp cursive across the front. The paper is smooth beneath my fingertips, heavier than it looks. I don’t open it, not yet. My thumb drifts along the seam while my other hand trembles against the side of the cup I haven’t touched.
The café around me hums with the comfort of strangers, low music, milk steamers, the clink of ceramic. But I feel like I’m in a soundproof box, the noise muffled by the rush of blood in my ears. My chest is tight, jaw clenched, every cell bracing for something I can’t name.
I don’t even know what I’m afraid of what she said, or what she didn’t. Or maybe I do.
I’ll tell you everything soon.
Jack’s words feel like they’re fading, losing shape under the weight of Gina’s certainty.
I flip the envelope over. Pause. Then, slowly, I slide the flap open and peer inside. There’s a stack of photos. A printed email. A screenshot of a bank statement. The top photo is slightly crooked, like someone snapped it in a rush, Jack’s car parked outside a townhouse I don’t recognize. The timestamp is recent.
My reflection stares back at me from the café window, flushed, unreadable, still dressed like the version of myself that believes in clean slates and quiet mornings. But maybe that version doesn’t exist anymore.
I tuck the envelope into my bag and rise from my seat. I smooth my blouse, tighten my grip on the strap, and walk out into the late afternoon sun with my jaw set and pulse unsteady.
I need space. Air. Distance from Gina, from Jack, from the truth I’m not ready to read. Because once I know… I can’t un-know. And right now, I’m still choosing not to look.
20
JACK
I’m in my office before seven, the city still gray and yawning outside the windows, as if even Manhattan isn’t ready for what this day is about to become. Leo Santiago is already waiting for me, slouched in the armchair by the bar like he owns the place. He’s in jeans and a blazer, sipping espresso like it’s whiskey, looking every bit the fixer I remember, calm, sharp, dangerous in a subtle way.
“I pulled the article,” he says without waiting for a greeting. “But it won’t stay buried unless we give them something better to print.”
“Define better,” I mutter, loosening my tie.
“Better than the truth,” he replies.
My jaw tightens. Leo only speaks in half-truths and strategic lies. It’s how he made his name cleaning up corporate disasters and political landmines. He’s also the reason the media never found out about the kid.
“What does Derek have on me?”
Leo pulls a file from his bag and tosses it on the table. “Not much that isn’t already sanitized. But he’s pushing a version of you that looks like manipulation. Player. Strategist. Someonewho seduced Ivy to steal her away. He’s painting you as someone who can’t be trusted.”
My chest is tense. That last part? It’s not just strategy. It’s personal.
“What’s your plan?” I ask.
Leo eyes me. “Depends. Are you ready to go nuclear? Or are you still trying to protect her?”
I don’t answer. Because both are true.
Leo leans forward. “Here’s the strategy. We distract. Give them a new headline. A different story. We release a piece on your new investment, your company’s expansion, your philanthropic push, the STEM initiative. We spin the ‘player’ narrative into ‘reformed powerhouse with a purpose.’ If we beat Derek to the next headline, we control the frame.”
“And if that’s not enough?” I ask.
“Then we outplay him. We dig. We find what he’s hiding and leak it first.”
When Leo leaves, I try calling Ivy. She doesn’t pick up.
At five-thirty, I’m standing outside her building. I spot her cab first, then her figure behind the glass, her profile backlit by fading light.
When she steps out, my breath catches. She looks good. Gorgeous, even. Confident. Like last night never rattled her. Like my secrets don’t have the power to undo what we built. Except they do. I take a step forward, heart pounding. She sees me, pauses. Her lips part, but she doesn’t smile.
