In revenge, I became his brother's secret lover. Until his out-of-control kiss...-7
A dinner photo appeared in their close-knit group chat—Jason’s post. Warm lighting, unreal filter. Jason’s arm rested casually behind my chair, fingers grazing my shoulder. I smiled freely—a forgotten ease absent around David. Jason captioned lightly, like a poisoned feather: "Sarah had fun tonight, drank a bit.
Safely home. @David Keep crushing it!" That "crushing it" held a dangerous ambiguity. Watching "Sent" appear, my blood ran cold. Every word crafted: painting me as the carefree one needing help, him the reliable brother, subtly isolating the "busy" David. David didn’t reply. The chat hung silent, the message a lone serpent. Its glow reflected on my face. Things had shifted. The seed of doubt, planted without reply, would fester. This was no joke; it was a silent, mutual test.
Truth in the Car
Another ride. Night thick, the car a floating box, neon streaks outside. Darkness offered courage; pent-up emotion found a crack. Staring out, I whispered:" David last ate here... the third." A hollow laugh. "I made his steamed fish. It went cold. Poured it out. "At a red light, Jason tapped the steering wheel. "He’s... you know. Obsessed with work." His tone lacked conviction.
"Right?" I turned to his shadowed profile. "Guess 'obsessed' beats family." Self-mockery pricked the fragile calm. Deep silence, thick as dust. Then, resolve hardening, he spoke low: "The 'Windsong' deal... know why it died? They backed out last minute. Later... I found out David... my *brother*... undercut them. "He paused, knuckles white. "Almost closed the studio. Lost two designers who'd stuck with me." Only the AC hissed. An unexpected feeling spread—not planned alliance, but shared wounds. Standing on common ruins, bonded by more than cold revenge.
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