Page 21 of Falling For My Best Friend's Brother

There was a pause, and then Knox stepped closer, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “You’re more in control than you think.” And there was something in his voice that made me believe he meant it.

I blinked, surprised by the softness in his tone. For once, he wasn’t teasing or mocking. He was just… honest.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Maybe not. But it’s better than the alternative.”

I didn’t know what to say. Knox wasn’t one to offer comfort or reassurance. Definitely not to me. But here he was, trying—really trying—to give me something I could hold on to. And maybe that was enough.

“Are you planning on selling it?”

I snorted. “Yeah, but I’m doubtful that I’ll get a buyer. Lindsay thinks I should ask my parents for help, but I don’t want to.”

Knox didn’t reply for a few seconds. When he did, it was with a slight tilt to his head, his expression curious but guarded. “Why not?”

I stole a quick glance at him, my mind racing. He already saw me as a spoiled, clueless princess. No doubt he was pondering why I didn’t want my parents’ help so he could use it against me. Make it seem like I was some damsel in distress, pathetically refusing help for no reason other than wanting attention. Well, I would not give him the satisfaction.

“No reason.” I forced a shrug, turning my face back to the canvas, a silent turmoil growing inside me. Why did I want him to see me differently? Why was I eager to please him?

The man hated me. A few kind words weren’t enough to change that. His idea of me was shrewd and he’d made it more than clear that nothing I did or said would change that. So why the fuck did I keep wishing that his perception of me would transform into something more meaningful?

Anger simmered beneath my skin, growing darker by the second. Knox judged me from the first day he met me. Not one conversation had passed between us, nor had he responded to any of my greetings for all the time I’d known him as a teenager. So who the hell did he think he was to judge me so cruelly?

He didn’t know me. He never gave me the time of day and even when he moved in here some weeks ago, he’d been nothing but rude and disrespectful. My attempts at civility were met with harshness and hostility. His mind was made up before I ever had a chance.

There was no difference between him and all the people who had ever approached me with ulterior motives. They all shared the same flaw—seeing only what they wanted to see and making superficial judgments and preconceived notions about my character as a person.

I suddenly wanted him out of my room. Out of my fucking space, out of my head. I wanted him far away from me. Somehow, he’d gotten under my skin—the very thing I was worried about. His assumptions about me hurt way more than they should, especially since those assumptions he hung over my head were the very things I’d been trying to run away from my entire life.

Hoping he’d get the memo and leave, I picked up my brush and turned back to the painting. If Knox noticed my sudden change in mood, he didn’t comment. Instead, he watched me for a few more seconds, then quietly walked out of the room, thankfully closing the door behind him.

Alone, I let out the breath I was holding, as well as the tears that had gathered in my eyes. Looking at it now through blurry eyes, the painting made little sense to me anymore. It felt like I’d done a three-sixty and ended up right where I began.

Everything mixed together—pain, anxiety, fear and the feeling of inadequacy. Knox said he would understand, but he didn’t. He just didn’t get it.

No one understood that in the end. A golden cage was still a cage.

Chapter nine

Nina

By the next morning, I felt a little better. It was kinda my thing, having a high rebound rate. I tried not to dwell on the gloom for too long, and a good night’s sleep was usually enough to snap me back into a pleasant mood.

Unfortunately, I didn’t finish my painting yesterday. I ended up crying for a bit after Knox left and then I’d spent the rest of the day scrolling through Pinterest on my iPad and drawing inspiration from the world.

The crazy thing was, I never knew when my paintings were finished; I usually just felt like it. I’d take one look at my work, nod and say, “Yup, that’s done. I have nothing left to give,” and that would be it.

It was almost eight in the morning, which meant Knox had yet to leave for work. Since he’d been here, I’d figured out his schedule.He only went to the office three days a week, and on Wednesdays and Fridays, he worked from home.

Even though I was in a better mood, I wanted to avoid him if I could. Though not for too long. I’d woken up to an invitation from an upstairs neighbor who was throwing a welcome party this weekend for the newcomers in the building. I didn’t know if Knox would be open to attending, but I planned to tell him since he was a “newcomer” too.

I was thinking about how I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee and maybe a quick sandwich. But as I trudged into the kitchen, I froze, staring in disbelief at the giant whiteboard that now dominated the wall next to the fridge.

“What the actual fuck?” I breathed.

The whiteboard was filled with neat, color-coded lists: daily chores, weekly tasks, meal planning, and—was that a schedule forbathroom use?

“Knox!”.

---