She spent ten years chasing after the right brother, only to fall for the wrong one in one weekend. ~~~ Sloane Mercer has been hopelessly in love with her best friend, Finn Hartley, since college. For ten long years, she’s stood by him, stitching him back together every time Delilah Crestfield—his toxic on-and-off girlfriend—shattered his heart. But when Delilah gets engaged to another man, Sloane thinks this might finally be her chance to have Finn for herself. She couldn't be more wrong. Heartbroken and desperate, Finn decides to crash Delilah’s wedding and fight for her one last time. And he wants Sloane by his side. Reluctantly, Sloane follows him to Asheville, hoping that being close to Finn will somehow make him see her the way she’s always seen him. Everything changes when she meets Knox Hartley, Finn’s older brother—a man who couldn’t be more different from Finn. He's dangerously magnetic. Knox sees right through Sloane and makes it his mission to pull her into his world. What starts as a game—a twisted bet between them—soon turns into something deeper. Sloane is trapped between two brothers: one who’s always broken her heart and another who seems hell-bent on claiming it... no matter the cost. CONTENT WARNING: This story is strongly 18+. It delves into dark romance themes such as obsession and lust with morally complex characters. While this is a love story, reader discretion is advised.
View MoreI force myself to walk in a straight line. Back tall. Shoulders squared. Like I’m not being held hostage by a vibrator currently pulsing in-between my legs. It's only after reaching the foot of the stairs that I realize how stupid I’m being. There's literally an elevator leading to the top floor. I stare at it for a second, then turn, walk to it, and press the button. The doors slide open, and I can't say how grateful I am that no one’s inside. Once I’m in the elevator, I suck in air through my nose and hold it while the numbers climb. Each ding vibrates against my spine. I adjust the collar of my coat and try not to squirm, but the heat crawling between my thighs makes that a losing battle. The doors open. I don’t wait—I dart out, make a sharp right, and head toward the rooftop access. I come face-to-face with a bouncer standing by the heavy glass door, arms crossed, face set as stone. Now I feel self-conscious. Could he hear it? He squints at me. “This area is private, ma
My mind is numb. Everything around me is still spinning from what just happened. From the kiss. From the nerve. From the audacity. I don’t know how long Finn’s lips stayed on mine, or if they were even moving against mine, but the moment he let go of my coat, I knew it was over. Whatever moment he thought we were having—it had expired. He’s smiling. "You have very soft lips," he says. "What's that flavor? Strawberry?" My heart races with fury. I’m about to rain hellfire on him when someone clears their throat into the mic. The emcee. Standing with a grin that’s far too amused. All eyes are on us. Victoria Hartley, smiling like she’s just seen her fantasy come to life. Knox—expression unreadable. Hunter’s eyes are wide. And Delilah… frowning. “Looks like we’ve got a wedding rehearsal and a love story unfolding at the same time,” the emcee says, beaming. Laughter ripples through the crowd. Finn chuckles too. “I think that’s a sign of great things to come tomorrow,” the e
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** I’m trying so hard not to steal glances at Knox from across the room. At first, everything was a blur—Myopia doing what she does best. I eventually caved and put my glasses back on. Squinting wasn’t doing me any favors, and I need a clear view of my target. Knox is the only person not dressed like he’s about to attend a Gatsby-themed funeral. No tux. No tie. Just his signature black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, paired with black pants that somehow make him the sexiest man in the room. He’s lounging in his chair, and his fingers are idly stroking his neatly trimmed beard. The movement makes me remember how the strands felt on a very sensitive place, one that’s currently tingling in anticipation of him turning on the device between my legs. "She doesn’t look happy," Finn says beside me. I blink, forcing my eyes away from Knox. "What?" "Delilah. She doesn’t look happy. Which can only mean she doesn’t want to get married, and
I don’t smile. I can’t even bring myself to. Nothing would have pleased me more than to have Delilah this cornered. But when I think about the implications of Hunter’s statement, my lunch suddenly doesn’t sit right in my stomach. I never told him. How’s it possible that I never did? I walk across the hotel lobby without a word. Hunter says something behind me, but I keep going. I don’t want to see him or Delilah right now, though I can feel her gaze burning through my shoulder blades. She’s probably wondering when I plan to attack. This is not about you, Delilah. Chill. Once we’re outside, I cross to where my car is parked at the curb, open the driver’s door, slip into the seat, and turn just enough to toss a sharp look over my shoulder. “Let’s go, lovebirds,” I say, voice flat. They shuffle in, the two of them sliding into the backseat. As Hunter fusses with his coat, Delilah’s eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror. There’s a pleading expression there. I look away. Engine
*** ~~KNOX~~ *** It’s approximately twenty minutes before Hunter and Delilah’s rehearsal dinner. I’m in their hotel suite watching Delilah complain about her outfit to Hunter. “I look like a balloon in this dress,” she says, blinking so many times that you’d think actual tears would be falling by now. “Honey, you look as glamorous as ever. Absolutely breathtaking.” “You’re only saying that to make me happy. You know it’s not the truth.” This is me wondering why I ever agreed to drive them to the venue. Hunter and I had both shipped our cars here from New York last week—air-freighted. But Hunter, in all his matrimonial perfectionism, insists his car has to remain untouched until tomorrow. "Ceremonial reasons," he said. Whatever that means. So I’m the designated chauffeur. Which means I have to sit here, on this goddamn couch, watching Delilah glide out from behind the sliding bedroom door, then listen to her complain about her dress like I wouldn’t rather be driving my skull in
I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Victoria’s words are still echoing in my ears, heavy and unsettling. ‘You keep Finn for yourself.’ If you’d asked me two weeks ago, hell, even two days ago, if this was what I wanted, I’d jump at the idea. Finn’s own mother is hand-delivering the fantasy I’ve kept buried for years, telling me that Finn feels the same way I feel about him. But I’m not feeling thrilled. Not even close. I’m mad. It’s the kind of anger that burns beneath the skin, smoldering through every layer. I don’t even know why. Maybe because the offer feels transactional. Maybe because I’m tired of being everyone’s tool—Finn’s and now Victoria’s. Victoria is still watching me. Expectant. Calm. "I believe I’ve rendered you speechless," she says. "If this means you’re considering my offer, then by all means, be speechless." "You want me to make sure the wedding happens?" "The wedding’s already happening. I just need you to distract Finn from doing anything stupid." Th
“Another Delilah?” I ask. “You know,” she says, shifting uncomfortably. “The infamous Knox, Finn, and Delilah situation.” “The what now?” I ask, brows lifting. Victoria’s eyes are fixed on me. I watch her also, not wanting to miss any telltale sign on her face. She’s surprised. She tries to hide it, of course, quickly repairing her expression. But I catch it. She expected me to know what she's on about. And now I’m stuck trying to decide if I should let her off the hook or press for the story she clearly doesn’t want to tell. The thing is—I think I already know. Or at least I have a sinking, nauseating feeling clawing at my thoughts. But my mind refuses to wrap itself around what she might actually be implying. Knox. Finn. Delilah. There was a history between them, one messy enough to warrant a personal, cautionary visit from Finn’s mother. I’d like to know what the hell happened. Did Knox date her too? My chest tightens at the idea. I don’t want to believe that. Not just
I feel like I didn’t hear that correctly. Finn looks triumphant. Convinced. Like he’s cracked some sort of ancient brotherhood spy code to break Delilah’s icy, manipulative heart. “You want to kiss me at the rehearsal dinner?” I ask. “Yes, I do. You have kissed a man before, haven’t you?” I recoil. "Oh, right, you screwed my brother. How could I have forgotten? Unless, of course, you both were too busy doing other things and didn’t have the opportunity to kiss. Then I’d have to show you how, so it looks authentic at the event." I just stare at him, my anger simmering beneath the surface. I can't remember the last time I was this annoyed at someone. All the times I’ve mentioned the men I’ve made out with, gone on a date with, or actually started a short-term relationship with—though you couldn't exactly call it a relationship—he doesn’t remember? I’ve memorized everything about him. The date he kissed Delilah for the first time. The exact day they first had sex. Her favorite colo
I’m finding it difficult to believe he’d actually invade my privacy in such a manner. A part of me just wants to wait to see if he’d go through with it so I can bring down the sky on his head. But I know better. In his current state, all bets are off. I run, overtake him, and plant myself in front of the drawer just as he reaches it. “Did you not hear me say stop, Finn?” He glares at me. "Move aside, Sloane." "Are you being serious right now?" "Since you can’t think with anything other than your lady bits when it comes to my brother," he says, stepping closer, "I’m going to do the thinking for you. Whatever’s in that drawer is getting burned." My fists clench at my sides. The anger rises, quick and hot, like fire licking the inside of my ribs. "You will do no such thing." "Like hell I won’t. Move out of my way." I step into him. We’re toe-to-toe now. I’m looking up because he’s taller, but I refuse to shrink. "I said, you won’t touch or see whatever’s in that drawer." He s
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** I've been in love with my best friend, Finn Hartley, since we met in college ten years ago. It's not like I'll ever tell him I have feelings for him. I know he doesn't see me that way. He probably won't ever see me that way. Right now, we’re in his living room, and I’m holding him to my chest, listening to him sob. That damn girlfriend of his has broken his heart again, the third time this year. "I can't believe she did this to me, Sloane," Finn says. I run my fingers through his hair, trying to ignore how good it feels. "What exactly did she do?" I ask. "You still haven't told me." "I don't know how to say it." "Well, start from somewhere." My patience is wearing thin. I've been here for hours, sacrificing my Saturday to watch him disintegrate. I don't know why he bothers crying when he'll be back in her bed by next week anyway. They do this every damn time. I should be more sympathetic, I know. But ten years of watching him chase after the same to...
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