Page 62 of The Wrong Brother

I don’t look at her. “You were the one who suggested the arrangement in the first place. I have no complaints or preferences.”

I hear the rustle of fabric as she stands, and before I can stop her, she’s moved…standing before me, then straddling my lap. The sudden closeness steals my breath for a moment, but I don’t push her away. Her hands settle on my chest, her hazel eyes burning with an intensity I hadn’t expected.

“You don’t complain, but you’re cold,” she says, her voice trembling with the frustration she’s holding back. “Why are you suddenly so cold to me?”

I meet her gaze, my voice calm but firm. “I’m cold to everyone.”

“That’s not true,” she counters, leaning in, her voice lowering. “You weren’t cold to me at first. You were?—”

“Warm.”

I stare deep into her gorgeous hazel eyes. “Yes, I was. But knowing since then that our relationship would only be transactional, I didn’t see the need to put in the effort.”

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, she’s stunned silent. But I see the emotions flash in her eyes…shock, anger, and something I can’t quite name. “Well yeah, I guess.”

I sigh and react instinctively, instantly regretting it, but I can’t help myself. “Remember, Jenny, this is what you asked for, and I’m just honoring it.”

“Yeah,” she says again. “Right. Thank you.”

Then, slowly, she climbs off me and moves back to her seat, her shoulders rigid, her movements measured. I don’t watch her go, but I can feel the space between us growing colder with every passing second.

And yet, in the quiet that follows, I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to the night before. The way she’d looked at me in her bed, her expression open, vulnerable…something I hadn’t been prepared to see. I remember the way she’d trembled under my touch, how her body had softened against mine, and for once, I’d let myself slow down.

It hadn’t just been fucking. I’d taken my time, every movement deliberate, every kiss lingering. It had been something more…something I’d told myself I wasn’t capable of giving her.

And I hate that a part of me wonders if she noticed. Because I sure as hell did.

I’m glad, though, about the boundary she set. It keeps me in check. Keeps me from losing my mind because I know thatif she’d made this something sweeter, something that felt better than I ever expected, I would’ve completely lost myself in her.

And so now, I’m glad that I can return to New York with my mind intact. But as for the matter between her and Brett… it worries me. From the boundary she set between us, it’s clear she intends to go back to him. I tell myself I don’t care, but it bothers me deeply that I’m not exactly sure how I’d react if she didn’t.

Sighing again, I glance over at her, still sitting stiffly, her face turned away. The distance between us feels insurmountable now. And it’s for the best.

Chapter

Thirty-Five

JENNY

The car slows as it approaches the grand estate, the sight of the familiar Jackson mansion looming larger with every passing second. I can feel my pulse quicken as the iron gates swing open, their creak almost ceremonious. The driver pulls into the long driveway lined with perfectly manicured trees, and the sprawling estate comes into full view, every corner polished to its usual perfection.

As the car comes to a stop, the housekeeper, Mrs. Finnigan, rushes out with open arms, her face lit up with unrestrained joy. I barely manage to climb out before she pulls me into a hug, her embrace warm and filled with the kind of genuine affection that makes my chest ache.

“Jenny!” she exclaims, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! Look at you, you’re never here anymore. Always traveling in and out I’m so happy you’re back, again.”

I force a smile, but my eyes dart past her, searching for him.

Zack.

And there he is. Just a few steps away, standing tall and impassive as always, his dark hair catching the soft glow of the afternoon sun. The butler approaches him with a respectful bow of his head, immediately reaching for his luggage. Zack nods, murmuring something I can’t hear before turning toward the house, his stride, purposeful and unhurried.

I watch him disappear through the doors, his broad shoulders the last thing I see before he’s gone. A sharp, inexplicable pang cuts through me, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

Around me, the housekeeper is still speaking, but her words blur, the excitement of her welcome muted by the chaos in my chest.

Soon, more staff emerge from the house, their smiles warm, their voices full of curiosity and welcome. But I barely hear them. My father isn’t here, and I find myself thankful for that. The thought of facing him now, of pretending everything is fine when it feels like my insides are twisted into knots, is too much to bear.

I excuse myself as politely as I can, managing a few distracted words of thanks before making my way to the apartment above the garage. The staff’s chatter follows me for a few steps, their warmth lingering in the air even after I’ve left them behind.

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