Page 7 of Billion Dollar Vow (The Lincoln Brothers #4)

Karley

Later that night, I step into the house I share with my brother, dragging my feet as I head toward the kitchen.

Everything about it screams Declan—glass, chrome, and cold, gray tones that look like they were pulled straight from a catalog.

I let my bag slide from my shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

The sound barely registers as I freeze in the doorway, my face tightening at the sight in front of me.

Declan and Armani making out on the sofa, completely oblivious to my presence.

A flush rises to my cheeks as I stand there, torn between slipping away and making my presence known. Clearing my throat, I say, “Hey.”

They pull apart and turn to face me. Armani’s face is beet red. “Hey.”

“How was work?” Declan asks, seeming completely unfazed as he straightens his shirt.

I shrug. “Alright.” Moving to the cupboard, I grab the pasta and a can of tomatoes. As I pull out a pot, my brother makes his way over to the kitchen and settles onto a stool at the counter. Armani hovers near the doorway, tucking her hair behind her ear as she glances at her phone.

“How was your day?” I ask, steering the conversation away from me.

“Busy. I got home five minutes before you,” he says, eyeing the bag of pasta.

“Want me to make you some dinner?” I offer, immediately regretting the words as they leave my mouth. Why do I always do this? Cook for him, clean up after him, when he’s capable of doing it himself.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” I pour double the amount, making sure there’s enough for him and Armani.

“I noticed you haven’t started packing,” he says.

Which is code for: he’s been snooping. One thing I hate about living with him is the lack of privacy. I desperately need my own space. Just a few more weeks of this , I remind myself.

“I don’t have much stuff. It won’t take long to pack.”

I can feel his eyes burning a hole in my head, and I already know the question before he asks, because he wants me to change my mind. “Have you decided if you’ll come to Florida with me?”

“You make it sound like you’re going alone.

Armani’s going to be there. You don’t need me,” I say, filling the pot with water and turning on the burner.

He makes no effort to get up and help, and I feel the pulse in my temple start to pound.

Part of me wants to escape apartment living, move somewhere warm with beaches.

But Florida means living under my brother’s roof again, watching him and Armani build their perfect life, while I hang around like a third wheel. Here, at least, I have independence.

“I don’t understand why you’d want to stay here,” he says.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the counter. “I like it here. Amber and Wren are here.”

“But don’t you want a fresh start?” His eyebrows lift slightly. He waves his hand, as if Amber and Wren are friends, not the lifeline parents they’ve been for me.

I uncross my arms and grab a pan, then reach for the tomatoes, garlic, onion, and a basil leaf. My childhood home is in another state, and New York is filled with great memories. “No. Why would I need a fresh start?”

“You’ve been here and unhappy for years.”

I laugh, but it turns into a sigh. “I’m not unhappy, and you know that. What’s really going on?”

He scratches his temple before clasping his hands on the counter, his eyes firmly on me. The smell of sauce fills the air, making my stomach growl again. “I can’t watch over you from Florida,” he admits.

A familiar mix of irritation and affection washes over me. Part of me is touched by his concern, but the bigger part hates being treated like a helpless child in need of supervision.

So that’s it. “I don’t need you to. I’m twenty-two.”

“I know...”

“I’m not irresponsible, either. If anything, I stay home more than you do.”

“I know. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I have friends here. I’ll be fine. Quit worrying about me.” A small part of me does worry what it’ll be like without him close. But I need to stand on my own, prove to myself that I can build a life that’s entirely mine.

He snorts, and I turn to stir the sauce, adding the pasta to the boiling water.

I know where this is coming from… He’s still haunted by not being able to help protect me when we were kids.

We were separated and fostered by different families.

He’s always felt responsible. It’s written all over his face.

I reach out to squeeze his arm. “If I hate it here, I’ll be on the first flight out. ”

“I’ll always make room for you,” he says softly.

I smile. “I know, and I love you for that.”

Do I think this is the end of the conversation? Not at all. He’ll keep trying until he leaves for Florida. He wants to erase the past, and while I understand that, those experiences made me who I am. I wouldn’t change that. My hardships gave me strength and independence. Those scars are part of me.

He wipes a hand down his face. “I still don’t like the idea of you struggling on your own.”

My muscles tighten. I hate that he sees me as weak just because I don’t have a fancy job like him. But he encouraged me to work at Tills’, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I’m not cut out for corporate life. “I’m not going to struggle. I also couldn’t find the art school like I have here.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he starts, and I raise an eyebrow, already disliking where this is going. “But do you want to follow art all your life?”

“Why does it matter to you?” I snap, stirring the sauce even though it doesn’t need it. Art is a part of me, my therapy. I could never give it up. I thought he knew and supported that.

“You’re so smart,” he says, and my nostrils flare as I try to take slow, calming breaths.

“Smart people work in many fields, not just corporate jobs,” I bite back, knuckles whitening around the wooden spoon.

He sighs. “I know, but I didn’t think you’d stay at Tills’ this long.”

“Let’s drop this topic right now.” My voice trembles with a mix of hurt and anger that threatens to spill over.

He tugs at his tie. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m messing this up.”

I move to check on the pasta, steam rising around my face. “I don’t think you are. You’ve mentioned my job more than once. I wish you’d support me.”

“I’m letting you stay here,” he says, and I freeze mid-motion.

“Letting me?” My voice turns to ice. “I pay bills and cook you dinner.”

Armani slides up beside him, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Drop it. She’s right. Let her live her life. She’s happy.”

I exhale shakily, grateful for her support. I’ve never had the urge to slap my brother before, but I’m dangerously close tonight. Armani must’ve sensed the extra tension in the room. “I’m moving, but I’m staying in New York.”

“I’m sorry. I just feel responsible,” he mutters as his eyes drop to the countertop.

“And I keep telling you not to. Now, sit and wait for your dinner.”

“I’m going to miss this,” he says with a smirk.

“Hey, I can cook. You just never give me the chance,” Armani teases, and they stare at each other with hearts in their eyes and a flicker of heat. I turn away, rolling my eyes despite the small pang in my chest.

Once the pasta is done, I assemble my bowl and head to my room. They get too touchy for me to hang around. “Help yourselves. There’s plenty for seconds,” I call out, though I’m not sure they heard me.

As I sit on my unmade bed, peace finally settles in my chest. My room is small, but it’s mine, walls filled with art, colorful pillows and blankets thrown across my sheets and comforter.

Art supplies cover every surface. I take a deep breath and dig my fork into the steaming pasta.

The first bite melts in my mouth. I close my eyes, shoulders relaxing for the first time today.

After this, I’ll just hide here for the rest of the night, sketching or watching something till I fall asleep.

I’m starting to feel like I can breathe again.

Until the doorbell rings.

Who could that be? I’m not expecting anyone, and Armani’s already here. I hope they stop making out to answer it.

“Hey, you’re just in time. Karley made pasta,” I hear my brother say loudly.

“Sweet, I haven’t eaten yet,” a deep, familiar voice replies. Oliver. He’s been stopping by more frequently since my brother's announcement of his move.

I have to force myself to stay put, resisting the urge to march out there and tell him not to touch anything I’ve cooked. But that would be childish, and it would mean facing him, which I’d rather avoid. I’ve had enough of people for tonight.

“Where is she?” he asks, and my heart skips a beat.

Why does my body have to react this way? I need to remember he’s a heartbreaker. His charm is designed to pull people in.

“She’s in her room. I think I upset her,” my brother replies.

“Think?” Armani adds sarcastically. I may not be a fan of their public displays of affection, but I like her. She’s always been supportive, like the sister I never had. “You definitely upset her.”

“What did I do?” he asks.

“You’re trying to dictate her life,” she replies.

“It’s my responsibility,” he counters.

Even as my blood boils, I understand why he feels this way. But his job is to be my brother, not my parent. “We’re moving, and I can’t watch over her,” he adds.

It kills him to feel like he’s losing control, like he did when we were kids. But things are different now. We’re adults. We make our own choices.

“I can help look after her,” Oliver jokes, and it makes my temperature rise. I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m a grown woman. Why do they treat my past like it’s still holding me down? I survived those years, Declan didn’t.

I don’t want Oliver’s help. I’d rather he just forget about me. Sure, I’m his best friend’s little sister, but once my brother leaves, there won't be any reason for Oliver to keep crossing my path. Unless he drops in at the school again…

“That would be amazing,” I hear my brother say.

No, it wouldn’t. My hands clench around the bowl. The last thing I need is for Oliver to be involved in my life in any way. Not after what happened last time. I can’t let him think I’d ever want that… Not again.

“This is some good fucking pasta,” Oliver comments, and I can’t help but feel a small flicker of pride.

My brother chuckles. “Slow down, or you’ll fucking choke.”

I smile to myself. I do love cooking, and I’ll miss it when they leave next month. I can’t believe it’s happening so soon, but maybe the distance will be good for them. It’ll give my brother space to focus on his relationship without worrying about me.

“I have a big mouth,” Oliver jokes.

“Speaking of, how’s that girl you were seeing?” my brother asks, and I straighten up, even though I shouldn't care who Oliver is hooking up with. Still, I stay quiet and listen.

“Fun,” Oliver says casually. I roll my eyes, wanting to not care, but I can’t stop the wave of jealousy that’s rising in my chest.

“But?” Declan pushes.

“She wants more.” Oliver exhales heavily.

“When are you going to settle down?” my brother asks.

“Soon,” Oliver replies, his voice light, almost dismissive.

My brother laughs. “You always say that, but trust me, this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Good answer,” Armani says.

“I’m focused on my career right now,” Oliver replies. “It’s just not a priority at the moment.”

At least he’s honest. I’ll give him that. I shake off any warm thoughts about him because I believe in artists, and he only believes in money…

“Maybe you need to find the right girl,” Armani says.

“Maybe… but I doubt it,” Oliver says.

They all laugh. Nothing will get Oliver to settle down. He’s been around for a while with no one permanent. Just like me. The thought knots my stomach. I’m not like him. I’m not someone who can just move on without a care, without wondering if I’ll ever find someone who stays.

“How’s the search for the blue lotus artist going?” Declan asks.

I freeze for a second, holding my breath.

“No luck so far,” Oliver replies. Then, an outburst— “What? That’s a penalty? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Their conversation veers into sports talk, and I quietly return to my pasta, chewing through the unease.

The talk about the latest football game adds to my already tired state.

With a full belly, drowsy, I put the bowl on the nightstand and lie back on my comfy mattress, letting their voices wash over me until I drift off into a restless sleep.

I wake in a cold sweat, haunted by the memory of that one time I tried to kiss Oliver, and he turned me down.