It Was My Fiancé’s Older Brother Who Fell For Me First

The door to Suite 402 stood cracked open just an inch.

I pushed it with one trembling finger, the silver keycard heavy in my palm. I had come to bring Nolan his cuff links for tomorrow’s rehearsal dinner.

Inside, shadows tangled against the floor-to-ceiling glass.

A woman in a slip dress leaned back against the mahogany desk, her fingers buried in Nolan’s dark hair. Nolan didn't hesitate. His mouth was crushed against hers, hungry and completely careless.

The breath trapped in my throat turned to glass.

"Nolan?"

My voice was barely a scrape of sound, but it cut through the room.

The woman gasped, pulling back, but Nolan didn't jump. He turned his head casually, his arm still wrapped tight around her waist. His hand didn't drop. He didn't even flinch.

"You should have texted before coming up, Clara," he said, wiping lipstick from his lower lip with the back of his thumb.

"Tomorrow is our wedding," I whispered, the words shaking as they left my lips. "We stand at an altar in less than twenty-four hours."

"And nothing has changed," Nolan replied smoothly. He released the girl's hip only to smooth the front of his unbuttoned shirt. "Eva was just leaving. Go on, Eva."

The girl snatched her clutch from the desk and slipped past me, keeping her eyes glued to the plush carpet.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving only the hum of the air conditioner between us.

"Are you insane?" The rage finally broke through my shock, hot and suffocating. "You're fucking another woman the night before you marry me!"

"Keep your voice down," Nolan snapped, stepping toward me with an irritated sigh. "Don't be naive. We both know what this marriage is. It’s an alliance between our families' logistics firms. It’s business."

"You swore to me—"

"I swore to be your husband," he cut in, his eyes hard and dismissive. "I will give you the ring. You will carry my name. You'll have an unlimited black card and a penthouse overlooking the harbor. But my private life is mine. We're still getting married. That hasn't changed."

"It's off," I choked out, tearing the engagement ring off my finger and hurling it at his chest. "I’m calling it off."

The diamond struck his lapel and bounced onto the carpet.

Nolan didn't even glance down at it. He just laughed—a dry, cruel bark.

"Go ahead and try, Clara. See what your father says."

Ten minutes later, I slammed open the double doors of my father’s private study at the estate.

My father, Arthur, sat behind his heavy oak desk, reviewing financial ledgers under the dim green glow of a banker’s lamp. He looked up, his brow furrowing at my disheveled hair and flushed face.

"What is the meaning of this racket?" he demanded.

"Call the caterers," I said, gripping the edge of his desk until my knuckles went white. "Call the venue. Call off the entire damn circus. I am not marrying Nolan."

Arthur set his fountain pen down with a sharp tap. "What did you say?"

"He’s cheating on me. I caught him ten minutes ago in a hotel suite with another woman. He told me to my face that he won't stop after the wedding." Tears threatened my eyes, but I forced them back. "I won't be humiliated like this. Call it off."

My father stood up.

The crack echoed across the wood-paneled room before I even registered the movement.

The force of his palm tore across my cheek, whipping my head sideways. Pain exploded behind my teeth, hot and blinding. I stumbled back against a bookshelf, my hand flying to my stinging face.

"Foolish girl," Arthur hissed, stepping around the desk, his face contorted in disgust. "You think this marriage is about your fragile little feelings?"

"He betrayed me!" I yelled through the metallic taste of blood inside my mouth.

"And you will smile and take his hand tomorrow at noon!" Arthur roared, pointing a trembling finger in my face. "Do you have any idea how much debt the shipping division is carrying? Nolan's father holds the refinancing notes. Without their capital injection on Monday morning, we file for bankruptcy! Our family will be on the street!"

"So you're selling me to a bastard who despises me?"

"I am saving this family!" Arthur grabbed my forearm, his grip bruising through my sleeve. "You will put on that white gown. You will walk down that aisle. If you dare run, Clara—if you utter one word to jeopardize this union—I will strip you of everything. Not a dime. Not a roof over your head. I'll make sure you're blacklisted from every firm in this city. You will have nothing."

He shoved me away toward the door.

"Now go to your room and ice that cheek before the makeup artist arrives."

I didn't go to my room.

I ran.

I ran until my lungs burned, tearing through the estate gates and out into the biting mist of the midnight streets. I didn't take my purse, my phone, or my coat. I just needed the air, but every breath felt like inhaling crushed glass.

My feet carried me instinctively toward the river crossing, the old suspension bridge arching high above the churning, black water.

Fog rolled over the iron girders. Down below, the currents smashed against the concrete pillars with a deafening roar.

I leaned against the icy metal railing, my chest heaving. The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my bruised cheek.

*Nothing.* My father's voice echoed in my head. *You will have nothing.*

Trapped between a father who viewed me as collateral and a fiancé who treated me like a decorative pet. Was there any way out that didn't destroy me?

I stared down into the swirling abyss, hypnotized by the dark foam. Just one step over the rail. One moment of falling, and the screaming inside my skull would finally stop.

I reached out, wrapping both hands around the top rail, shifting my weight onto my toes.

A sudden, iron grip locked onto the back of my jacket.

Before I could scream, I was jerked backward off the ledge with violent force. The momentum threw me into a broad, hard chest. Strong arms clamped around my waist like a vice, hauling me completely off the sidewalk.

"Let go of me!" I thrashed, kicking wildly. "Let me go!"

"Stop fighting, Clara," a deep, gravelly voice commanded in my ear.

The scent hit me first—cedarwood, black pepper, and expensive leather. It wasn't Nolan.

The man dragged me to the curb, hauling open the heavy passenger door of a sleek black sedan idling by the curb with its hazard lights blinking. He shoved me firmly into the heated leather seat, leaned over to yank the seatbelt across my chest, and clicked it into place before I could bolt.

He slammed the door shut, rounded the hood, and slid behind the steering wheel.

The interior light clicked off. In the dashboard's dim glow, I saw the sharp, carved jawline and piercing gray eyes of Nolan’s older brother.

Adrian.

He threw the car into drive, pulling smoothly away from the bridge. His knuckles were pale against the steering wheel.

"What were you doing out there?" Adrian demanded, his voice dangerously low. "Were you actually about to jump?"

I pressed my back hard against the seat, trembling from the cold and the adrenaline. "Why do you care? Did your family send you to make sure the merchandise didn't break before the wedding?"

Adrian slammed his foot on the brake, pulling the car onto an empty shoulder under the flicker of a broken streetlamp.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned toward me, his gaze sweeping over my face. When his eyes caught the angry red swelling on my cheek, his jaw tightened until a muscle jumped in his temple.

"Who hit you?" he asked, every syllable laced with murder.

"What does it matter?" I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "Ask your little brother. He was too busy burying his face in another woman’s neck at the Grand Hotel to notice."

Adrian didn't blink. "Nolan."

"Yes, Nolan! And when I told my father I wouldn't marry a cheating liar, he slapped me and promised to ruin me if I dared to walk away." My voice cracked, raw and feral. "I'm just a signature on a contract to all of you. An asset to trade."

Adrian stared at me. His gray eyes were dark pools under the amber streetlights, unreadable, intense, tracking the rise and fall of my chest.

"Nolan is a reckless idiot," Adrian said softly, reaching out. His thumb brushed just below the bruise on my cheek, surprisingly warm, surprisingly gentle. "He always takes what he has for granted."

I froze under his touch.

Nolan had ruined my life without a second thought. He expected me to walk down the aisle tomorrow, pure and obedient, playing the quiet little wife while he fucked whoever he wanted.

*Why should I?*

The thought hit me like a shot of pure adrenaline. Why should I keep myself sacred for a man who threw me away before the vows were even spoken?

I locked my eyes onto Adrian’s mouth.

"Clara," he warned, his voice dipping low, noticing the shift in my breathing. "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer.

I reached up, grabbed the lapels of his heavy wool coat, and pulled him fiercely down toward me, crashing my mouth directly onto his.