Page 43 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
The curtains in this borrowed house don’t quite shut, and the morning light cuts in with precision, carving out the edges of everything I’ve been trying to keep soft. I’m on the couch in a robe that isn’t mine, drinking coffee, staring at my phone like it’s a live wire ready to spark.
It doesn’t, not because the silence is comforting, but because what I’m afraid of can’t be delivered through a phone. It’s already here, under my skin, in every breath I take. The coffee is good, almost indulgent, and I let it ground me for a second. Still, the silence in the house presses against my ribs like something waiting to break. No matter how rich the taste, it can’t mask the tight, persistent dread knotting itself low in my gut.
I turned it off after I sent the note. Folded it once, left it just inside the door where I knew he’d find it. I didn’t write much, because if I let myself explain, I would’ve written myself into staying. All I said was the truth: it wasn’t safe. Not for him. Not for us. And that I loved him.
Sienna appears from the hallway, her hair in a bun, wearing a hoodie that says “Hell No.” She surveys the scene: me curledup on the couch like a woman who made the right decision and already regrets it.
“You look like guilt in an HBO drama.”
I glance up. “I’ll take that over ‘idiot in a soap opera.’”
She drops beside me, balancing her mug on her knee. “You know he’s not going to listen. You told Jack not to look for you. That’s basically a dare.”
“I know.” I exhale slowly. “But if he comes after me now, Derek wins.”
Her voice softens. “You think you scared him off?”
“No,” I say. “I think I just lit the match he’s going to use to set something on fire.”
We fall silent. The borrowed townhouse is sleek, anonymous, and a little too perfect, the kind of place that hides you in its symmetry. We’re north of the city, just far enough to be off anyone’s radar. My laptop is open on the coffee table. I’ve already sent out three emails, encrypted, flagged. One to a reporter I trust. One to a woman I interned for who now runs a private intel firm. One to a lobbyist I once threatened to expose and who now owes me his silence and cooperation.
I don’t want revenge. I want leverage, power that doesn’t come with Jack’s name on it. Power with my fingerprints on every inch of it.
Sienna watches me like she’s afraid I might float out the window. “So what exactly is the plan, Miss Bourne Identity?”
“Get ahead of the story. Get inside Derek’s network. Find out who he’s paying to bury Jack and me.”
“You think it goes that deep?”
“I think the man who just threatened to make someone disappear isn’t bluffing.”
Sienna presses her lips together. “If you die, I’m haunting him.”
“That seems fair.”
My phone buzzes. Not a text. An encrypted ping. I lean forward and open the message. The subject line reads:Thought you’d want to see this.
There’s one attachment. A security cam still: Derek. Standing in a luxury building lobby, next to my father.
My fingers go still. The mug slips in my hand and clinks against the table. My pulse hammers in my ears. I grip the edge of the couch, grounding myself with force, like if I hold on tight enough I won’t come apart.
Sienna leans over, catches sight of the screen. “What the hell?”
“They met yesterday.” I whisper it, like saying it louder might crack something open. “Derek went to him.”
My father and I haven’t spoken in what feels like a long time. The last real conversation was after I left Derek, when I told him why. That Derek had cheated, and I couldn’t stay in a life built on performance and lies. My father had surprised me then. Said he supported my choice. Said he respected me for it.
But I remember the shift that followed, subtle at first, less warmth in his voice, shorter replies, fewer calls returned. I remember being eight years old, watching him pull the art off my bedroom wall before a client dinner because it didn’t look “serious.” He’s always chosen the clean narrative over the messy truth. And this? This means he’s chosen again.
“Do you think your father knew what he was doing?”
I shake my head. “He knew. Even if Derek didn’t say it aloud.”
Sienna grabs her phone. “Then we need to move faster.”
“No,” I say. “We need to be smarter. Derek wants a reaction. We give him a strategy.”
My pulse is erratic now, buzzing in my wrists.
