Page 15 of The Wrong Brother

Chapter

Eleven

JENNY

Isit hunched over my bowl of oatmeal in the empty kitchen, stirring it mindlessly as I fight to keep my frustration in check. It’s well past breakfast, but I’d barely slept last night, tossing and turning, worrying about Brett and his condition. Was he better? Was he recovering at all? When I finally drifted off, it was already morning, and now here I am, late to start the day, feeling adrift and alone.

I glance around the room, taking in the stillness, the air thick with quiet that only serves to press on my nerves. I look up at Mrs. Finnigan, the housekeeper, hovering near the stove. “How’s Brett doing? Have you heard anything new?”

Mrs. Finnigan looks at me with sympathy, her hands busy with a cloth she’s folding and unfolding. “From what I know, he’s in his room. Just needs some stitches and needs to rest. That’s what his butler told me,” she says, her voice soft, as if trying not to upset me.

A wave of frustration crashes over me. Zack. I know he’s keeping Brett away from me, longer than necessary, just to keep us apart. My hands tighten around the bowl, and I feel the sting of unshed tears as anger burns hot in my chest. It’s so like him…always controlling, always scheming. I swallow back the tears, forcing myself to stay composed, but the bitterness lingers.

“I really can’t see him?” I ask. “Even if it’s for just a few minutes?”

Before Mrs. Finnigan can respond, my father strides into the kitchen, his expression hard as he catches the end of my question. He stands there for a moment, just watching me, and I feel his disappointment settling in the room like a heavy fog.

“Jenny,” he begins, a sharp edge in his voice that he seldom uses, “You're getting on my nerves. You're like a dog with a freaking bone.You’re still asking about Brett? Seriously? Do you even realize what you’re doing?” He pauses, his tone growing heavier. “It’s not just you who’ll face the consequences here. You’re putting both of us in jeopardy, you know that?”

The words sting, even though I know he’s trying to get through to me, to make me understand his fear of losing everything he’s built here. But it only makes the anger simmer hotter beneath my skin.

“So, that’s it?” I murmur, looking down, not wanting him to see how much it hurts. “Zack gets to control everything just because… because he’s Zack? Because he’s in charge?”

“You’re not seeing the bigger picture,” he says, his voice softening just a little, but the sternness remains. “Zack’s a good man. He knows how to handle things, how to make the right choices. He’s done well by us, Jenny, and you need to show him some respect.”

“Respect?” I echo, bitterness creeping into my voice. “You think it’s respectful to let him decide who I can see or where I can go? To keep me from seeing Brett like I don’t even matter?”

“You don’t matter,” my father replies. “Why don’t you get this? This is their world, and Brett is not powerless. If he wants to see you, he will send for you.”

His words cut deep, but I force myself to stay quiet, clenching my jaw as I stir my cold oatmeal. He is right, though. This is their world, and as long as I remain in it, I’ll never get what I want, and perhaps Brett won’t even get the chance to choose me if we are both under Zack’s thumb. I know my father cares about me, but he’ll always put this family’s needs and wishes first, even if it means dismissing mine.

Just as I put down my spoon, I hear the clattering of plates and hurried footsteps echoing through the kitchen. My stomach twists. This flurry of motion can only mean one thing…Zack has come down for breakfast.

I try to calm myself, focusing on the worn grain of the wooden table, but I’m aware of every movement, every quick step, every whispered instruction as the staff rushes to attend to him. Zack’s presence in the house is magnetic, powerful, as if every object or person shifts subtly to accommodate him. He’s been the head of the household for as long as I can remember, ever since his grandfather passed and his father started staying abroad. Zack took over everything, learned every aspect of the business with a ruthless determination that seemed bred into him. Now, the house is his dominion, his empire, and everyone…my father included…bends to his will.

I feel my pulse quicken, my heartbeat a relentless thud in my ears. I can’t stay here, pretending to be the dutiful, obedient daughter. Zack may hold the reins, but I still have a say in my own life. I swallow, feeling the weight of my decision settle, grounding me. I rise slowly, ignoring my father’s startled glance as I leave the kitchen and head towards the conservatory.

As I enter, the morning light filters through the glass panels, casting a warm glow over the room, illuminating the lushgreenery with a soft radiance. And there he is…Zack, seated at the table, his tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He’s dressed impeccably, of course, in a sharp, tailored suit that seems as much armor as attire. His head lifts as I clear my throat, and his gaze shifts to me, assessing, cold, unyielding.

For a fleeting second, my mind flashes back to last night, to the dream that had kept me up for hours. I was in this same conservatory, Brett’s hands sliding down my arms, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my neck as he whispered my name. My heart had raced with anticipation, his presence like fire against my skin. But then, in an instant, his features had blurred, morphed into Zack’s, his dark eyes burning into me with that familiar, calculating intensity. I’d woken drenched in sweat, breathless and disoriented, haunted by the vividness of it. And now, seeing him in front of me, my skin prickles, a reminder of how inescapable his presence is, even in my dreams.

I steady myself, taking a deep breath. “I’m moving out,” I announce, my voice wavering but resolute. “I think it’s high time that I make my own way, separate from your family.”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he places the cup down, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips as he studies me. “And where, exactly, are you going to go?”

“That’s my business,” I say, forcing myself to hold his gaze, even as my insides twist. “I’m an adult now, so… I’ll figure it out.”

A flicker of something…amusement, maybe…crosses his face, and he leans back, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. “An adult, you say?” he murmurs, the words laced with mockery. “Well, I guess you won’t need me to pull any strings for you? Because, if I’m not mistaken, I heard of an opportunity from Tod’s and wanted to arrange it for you. Glad to know now that I don’t need to bother.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Tod’s? What are you talking about?”

He chuckles, low and almost amused, as he watches my reaction. “It’s a modeling opportunity. You know, since you’re so eager to spread your wings and leave the nest.” He lets the words hang, his eyes glittering with an unreadable intensity. “I’m flying to Rome late this week, so you can hitch a ride if you want. They’re not paying for your transportation until you get there. When in Rome, Tod’s team will contact you with all the details.” He raises an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch, as if daring me to object or perhaps fall to my knees in gratitude. I hate it even more because I’m so suddenly excited that I’m considering it.

The floor seems to shift beneath me. “This week? Already? So… I just show up and they take it from there?” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

“That’s generally how these things work,” he replies smoothly, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving mine. “Or, you could choose to decline. You are an adult, after all.”

The last words are laced with sarcasm, his smirk deepening.

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