Page 51

MARISELA

H e’s my brother. I didn’t know what to make of that.

They didn’t look alike, sound alike, or even move in the same circles.

Which wasn’t uncommon for half-siblings.

Especially when one of them was illegitimate.

Still, Adrian and Tate couldn’t be more different for two people who supposedly grew up in the same household.

Almost as if upstairs and downstairs were more than separate floors. They were separate planets.

Whereas Tate barely acknowledged me, I was Adrian’s entire world. Neither was healthy. But one was certainly much more appealing.

Even now, as my future husband and I were ushered around from place to place. Making all the last-minute arrangements for an event we were somehow equally blasé about attending, I could sense Adrian’s eyes on me while Tate’s were glued to Barbie’s ass. Our wedding planner .

That wasn’t the woman’s name. But I didn’t care to learn it. I didn’t care about any of it, if I were being honest. What I did care about was how bleak my future felt.

It was probably why I continued to let Adrian slip into my bed at night, why I didn’t push back when he said we weren’t done. It was the thrill of doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing that kept me from finding the highest point of this building and plunging off.

“What do you think, dear?” Tate turned to me, tugging my body closer to his side. One hand around my waist, the other gesturing to Barbie. Whose impatience—and annoyance—had her tapping a heeled foot on the tiled floor in front of us.

Tap, tap, tap. The woman was giving me a headache.

“Whatever you think, darling,” I replied through gritted teeth and a forced smile. Truth was, I didn’t even hear the question.

“That’s my girl.” Tate pinched my ass through my skirt before shoving me aside again.

And then he was following Barbie, practically salivating every time she flipped her hair over her shoulder and giggled in his direction.

They prattled on about color schemes and linen choices until their voices dropped off when they turned a corner.

He was going to fuck her. Right now. In some supply closet or prep room. Probably not for the first time. And all I could think was: Better her than me.

I rolled my eyes as I strolled towards the middle of the empty ballroom, my shoes clacking across the floor, as I tried to envision what this place would look like filled to the brim with hundreds of people I didn’t know.

Flowers in every corner and soft music playing in the background.

A fairy tale for most, a tragedy for some.

I didn’t make it more than a few feet before a palm was wrapping around my wrist and tugging me back.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, refusing to admit I knew he was watching us, long before he yanked me into a room off the hall.

Adrian locked the door behind him, his hands shoved into his pockets like they often were as he leaned against the frame. “What do you think?” He took two steps forward, expecting me to step back. I didn’t.

“I think you want to get caught.”

“By whom?” Adrian lifted a questioning brow before chucking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Him? Not worried about that. Fucker is already balls-deep in that blonde with the big tits.” He eyed me for a moment.

Waiting for some sort of reaction when I had none to give.

It was hard to be jealous over someone you didn’t give a shit about.

Then again, I didn’t think this was about me. It was about him. My shadow man and that ego of his again. His own jealousy and not mine. He wanted to see if it bothered me. The thought of my fiancé and someone else.

If my brain wasn’t sunny-side up, I would have played along.

Pretended to be disgusted, put on a good show and maybe even shed a few tears.

But I didn’t have it in me today. Most days.

I could feel that fire dying, almost as if some spark had been extinguished as I slowly became more and more like my mother.

And maybe that was the punishment I deserved for killing her…

I’d barely begun to wallow in my self-pity before Adrian popped up in front of me, his hand closing around the back of my head and tipping me forward as he dropped his mouth to mine.

I had to admit I did like kissing him. I liked the way it felt like he was devouring me.

And then he was yanking up my skirt and fumbling around with my underwear.

I knew what he was doing, at least what he was trying to do. I also knew he would fail again and I wasn’t interested in more disappointment. Not when I wanted some semblance of control.

I swatted his hand aside and shoved at his chest until I had him backed against the door.

He didn’t stop me. He could if he wanted to.

But this man enjoyed getting knocked around a bit.

I’d felt all the raised marks on his back, the healed scars, and the freshly broken skin.

He enjoyed a bit of pain. It was a need I recognized.

I waited until his spine grazed the handle, causing his eyebrows to knit, before I ripped his belt from his pants, grabbed his wrists and looped them together. Adrian didn’t say a word, just watched me and obeyed when I gestured to the little peg above his head.

“I’m at your mercy, princess.” He grinned as he hooked himself in place. Arms raised high and feet spread wide.

I didn’t reply. What was coming out of his mouth didn’t interest me. Not when I was more focused on what was straining between his legs. What I wanted to do to it, the way he whimpered at my touch, and how the sound of him begging for me made me feel when it was so hard to feel anything anymore.