Page 39 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
I move to the living room, pulling framed photos off the shelves, ones I’d been too numb to grab the first time. Old sketchbooks. A stack of art books I never replaced. A ceramic dish I made in college, cracked but still intact. I slide them intothe tote carefully, almost reverently, like each item still holds a pulse of the girl I used to be. I’m reaching for the sculpture from my gallery debut when the front door slams hard enough to rattle the frame.
My heart stops. Sienna bolts from the hallway like a shot. Derek stands just inside the doorway. He’s in an impeccable suit, his coat still on, and there’s a sharp gleam in his eyes that doesn’t match the smirk on his face.
“You came,” he says lightly, as if we’re having brunch.
“You said you wouldn’t be here.”
“I lied,” he replies with a shrug, stepping further inside. “Call it nostalgia.”
Sienna immediately positions herself between us, her stance firm. “We’re done here.”
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he lifts a manila envelope from beneath his coat, tapping it once against his palm like it’s an afterthought. “Not before she sees this.”
“We don’t need your trash,” I say, my voice hard and sharp like glass.
He slides out the top photo and holds it toward me, an offering laced with venom. “It’s not trash. It’s Jack.”
I glance down. The photo shows Jack outside a townhouse. A woman beside him, tall, brunette, laughing at something he said. His hand hovers behind her back. The gesture is too casual to explain, too intimate to ignore.
I don’t take the photo. “You’re desperate.”
“No,” Derek says, his eyes narrowing. “I’m done playing nice.”
He steps deliberately between us and the door. His movements are calm, even courteous, but the effect is chilling. He plants his feet like he’s decided this conversation ends on his terms. His height blocks the exit. His smile sharpens.
“You don’t want to do this,” Sienna says, her voice tight with warning.
“I’m not doing anything,” he says smoothly. “Just standing in my home. Having a final chat with the woman who ripped my future apart.”
“Move,” I say, my fists clenched around the tote’s strap.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he tilts his head like he’s studying me. “You used to love this place. Remember the night after your first show? Champagne on the balcony. You told me you finally felt invincible.”
“You made sure I wasn’t,” I snap.
His smile flickers. “Well. We all grow up.”
The pause stretches, thick and electric.
Then, softer, darker: “You think Jack can protect you? You think he’s clean? That you can run into his arms and everything else will vanish?”
I say nothing. The words sink like stones into my chest.
He leans closer, lowering his voice until it slices like a blade. “You want to be his shield, Ivy? You want to take the hit? Fine. But shields crack. And when he goes down, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Then his smile drops entirely.
“If I can’t have you,” he says, voice flat, “then nobody will.”
Time slows.
I hear the blood rushing in my ears before I hear Sienna move. She’s already stepped in front of me, one hand in her coat, the other curled into a fist.
Derek takes a step closer. Just one. Close enough that I can smell the faint trace of the cologne he always wore and it makes my stomach twist.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says softly. “I just wanted to make you see clearly.”
