Page 72 of The Wrong Brother

His silence is deafening. I pull on my dress hastily, my hands shaking so much that the fabric slips through my fingers. He watches me, his gaze unyielding, as though daring me to break under the weight of his presence. But I won’t. Not this time.

As I reach for my shoes, he finally speaks, his voice steady but devoid of any warmth. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I’ve already arranged a first-class ticket to Paris. It will be sent to your room.”

I freeze mid-motion, my hands stilling as his words pierce through the silence. He doesn’t stop, as if he’s rehearsed this, as if delivering this blow with precision will somehow make it easier.

“There’s more,” he continues, his tone clinical. “I’ll transfer a substantial sum into your account. Enough to give you freedom, independence. You won’t have to worry about rent, bills, or anything else. There’s a portfolio too…stocks and bonds. Solid investments. They’ll give you long-term security.”

I slowly straighten, the weight of his words crashing over me like a tidal wave. “You’ve really thought this through,” I say, my voice hollow.

“I wanted to make sure you’d have everything you need,” he says. His hands are tucked into his pockets now, his posture stiff.

“This isn’t about me, Jenny. It’s about you.”

“About me?” I repeat, my voice breaking with disbelief. “You think throwing money and stocks at me will make this right? That it’ll erase the fact that you lied to me? That you—” My throat tightens, choking off the rest of the sentence.

I stare at him, the man I thought I knew, and feel my heart fracture into pieces I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put back together. “Clean,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Efficient. That’s how you see this?”

His jaw tightens, a flicker of something…regret? pain?...crossing his face. But he doesn’t answer. He just stands there, unyielding, as if willing himself not to break.

“Do you even hear yourself?” I demand, stepping closer. “This isn’t a business deal, Zack. This is my life. My heart. And you’re standing there, calculating what you think it’s worth in stocks and bonds.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. My hands tremble as I grab my coat and bag, each movement heavy with the finality of what’s happening. I look at him one last time, searching for something…anything…that might tell me this isn’t real. That this isn’t the end.

But his face is a mask of restraint, his eyes shadowed with the weight of words he refuses to say.

“I don’t want your money, Zack,” I say, my voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “I don’t want your stocks or your bonds or your carefully planned escape route. I just wanted you. But clearly, that was too much to ask.”

He doesn’t stop me as I walk to the door. He doesn’t call out or try to explain. He just stands there, letting me go as if I was never his to keep.

Chapter

Forty

ZACK

The door to the car slams shut behind me as I step onto the sidewalk outside Brett’s Manhattan apartment.

It’s an absurd hour of the morning, and the city is draped in that quiet lull just before the chaos begins. My coat is thrown hastily over my shoulders, the dress shirt I grabbed…the one Jenny wore around my suite…still unbuttoned at the collar. The fabric smells faintly of her, and the scent feels like a taunt, a ghost I’ll never exercise.

I grip the ticket in my hand as if it’s a lifeline. It was meant to be mine. I’d bought it myself for the first time rather than having my assistant do it, excited despite my doubts, and in the end, I hurt both her and myself irrevocably.

I’d planned everything. I would have gone with her to Paris. We’d build our own life there for a little while. But when I woke up this morning, that familiar weight crushed me. The reality that I might ruin her all over again. I couldn’t bear to take the leap, and now it’s too late. She’s gone.

And yet, it’s not her absence that breaks me. It’s her final look, the devastation in her eyes, the way she held herself as if bracing for impact. She didn’t crumble. She didn’t cry. She just walked away with all the dignity I didn’t deserve. Her words echo in my mind, cutting deeper than I thought possible.

You didn’t even try.

I should have. God, I should have. I truly do not deserve to have her.

My knuckles rap against Brett’s door before I can second-guess myself. The moments stretch, and I hear muffled movement on the other side. When the door creaks open, Brett stands there, disheveled and half-asleep, his shirt tugged over his head at an awkward angle. His face contorts with confusion when he sees me.

“Zack?” He rubs his eyes, his usual smug grin nowhere in sight. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s—” he glances at the clock on the wall. “—seven in the goddamn morning.”

“I need to talk to you,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. The words feel foreign, as if someone else is speaking for me. “Now.”

He blinks at me, his brow furrowing. “Uh, sure. Come in, I guess.”

I step inside, the plush carpet muffling my movements as I pace the living room. My thoughts race, colliding into each other like freight trains, and I feel his gaze on me, curious and concerned.

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