CHAPTER THREE- My ex brother?

CHLOE POV

"What are you doing here? Get out now!!!!"

Julian’s voice boomed through the bedroom, sharp and full of rage.

I couldn't move. My feet were glued to the floor. I stared at Vivian, my stepmother, who was quickly pulling the silk sheets up to her chest. There was no shame in her eyes—only annoyance, as if I were an annoying fly that had ruined her evening.

"Get the hell out, Chloe!" Julian yelled again, his face turning red as he scrambled to grab his clothes.

The spell broke. A gasp finally escaped my throat, and I stumbled backward. The shoe box slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. The limited-edition sneakers—the ones that had cost me every single penny I owned—spilled out onto the carpet, completely ignored.

I turned and ran.

I didn't care about the rain. I didn't care about the storm. I burst through the front door of the penthouse, leaving it wide open, and ran straight for the elevator. My chest was burning, and my eyes were blurry with hot, stinging tears.

When I reached the street, the cold rain hit me like a physical slap. Within seconds, my clothes were soaked, clinging heavily to my skin. But the cold outside was nothing compared to the freezing numbness spreading through my chest.

How could they?

The question looped in my mind over and over again. Julian, the only person I thought belonged to me. Vivian, the woman who lived under the same roof as my father. Every sweet word Julian had ever said to me was a lie. Every time Vivian had mocked my weight, she had probably been laughing about this, too.

“That fat whale Chloe is probably crying into a tub of ice cream right now.”

His words echoed in my ears, louder than the thunder shaking the sky. I walked aimlessly through the downpour, my tears mixing with the rainwater running down my face. I couldn't go home. I couldn't face Vivian. I couldn't face my distant father.

I just wanted to disappear.

Eventually, the neon lights of a local bar caught my eye. The sign hummed softly in the dark, offering a temporary escape. I pushed the heavy glass door open and stepped inside. The air was warm, smelling of cheap whiskey and wood polish.

I walked straight to the bar and climbed onto a stool.

"Double shot of vodka," I told the bartender, my voice shaking. "And keep them coming."

I didn't count how many drinks I had. One glass turned into three, then four. The burning sensation in my throat was the only thing that made me feel alive. The alcohol quickly clouded my brain, turning the sharp edges of my pain into a dull, heavy ache.

"You look like you’re trying to drown some very dark ghosts," a smooth, deep voice said beside me.

I turned my head slowly, the room spinning slightly. Sitting on the stool next to me was a man. He was incredibly handsome, with sharp, chiseled features and dark hair that fell messy across his forehead. But it was his eyes that caught me—they were a deep, mesmerizing color, filled with an intense warmth that seemed to look straight into my soul.

"I don't have ghosts," I slurred, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "I just have a terrible life."

I don't know why, but the alcohol stripped away all my defenses. Before I knew it, the words were pouring out of me. I told this complete stranger everything. I told him about my mother in the coma, my stepmother’s cruelty, and how I had just caught the boy I loved in bed with the woman who was supposed to be my stepmother.

The stranger didn't interrupt me once. He just listened, his seductive eyes locked onto mine, filled with genuine interest and something that looked like deep, protective anger.

"He is a fool," the stranger whispered, his voice low and rich. He reached out, his warm thumb gently wiping a stray tear from my cheek. "You deserve to be worshipped, not hidden away."

His touch felt like electricity against my cold skin. For the first time in my life, someone was looking at me like I was the only person in the room. Like I was beautiful.

Without thinking, driven by a desperate need to feel wanted, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.

The kiss was instant fire. The stranger didn't pull away; instead, he growled softly, pulling me closer by the waist. His lips were warm and confident, parting mine with a gentle hunger that made my knees go weak.

Before I could fully process what was happening, we were upstairs in a dimly lit hotel room.

The door had barely clicked shut before his hands were on me. But there was no rush, no clumsy fumbling. He took off my wet clothes with a slow, deliberate reverence. I felt a sudden rush of insecurity about my body, but as soon as his eyes washed over me, the fear melted away.

"You are absolutely breathtaking," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

For the first time, sex wasn't something I did to please someone else. He worshipped my curves, his hands tracing every inch of my body as if I were made of gold. His kisses moved down my neck, over my collarbone, and down to my stomach, making me shiver with a pleasure I had never known existed.

When he finally came into me, I gasped, my fingers gripping his broad shoulders. He moved with a slow, powerful rhythm that drove me wild. I lost control completely, moaning loudly into the quiet room, completely unbothered by who might hear. The pain of the betrayal was entirely washed away, replaced by the sheer, overwhelming heat of his touch.

It was a night of pure, beautiful madness.

I woke up early the next day. The stranger was still asleep, his face peaceful in the morning light. Panic suddenly set in, and I quietly gathered my clothes and slipped out of the room before he could wake up.

A few hours later, I was walking through the main courtyard of my college campus. My head was pounding, and my body ached in places I didn't know could ache, but there was a new strength in my chest. I had survived last night.

As I walked toward the main building, I noticed a crowd of students gathering near the entrance. In the center of the crowd stood Julian, looking smug as usual, talking to a group of friends.

I tried to walk past quickly, hoping to avoid him. But before I could, Julian’s voice called out, loud and arrogant.

"Hey, everyone! Look who decided to show up," Julian mocked, stepping forward. "My fat, pathetic ex who doesn't know when to stop.”

A few people laughed, and my face burned with humiliation. But before I could speak, a tall figure stepped out from behind the campus administration building, walking toward Julian.

My heart stopped.

It was him. The stranger from the bar. The man who had held me, touched me, and made me scream with pleasure all night long. He was wearing our uniform.

"Julian," the stranger said, his voice cold and commanding. "Watch your mouth."

Julian’s arrogant smirk instantly vanished, replaced by a look of sheer shock and fear. He swallowed hard, stepping back.

"Ethan..." Julian stammered, his voice trembling. "What are you doing here?"

Ethan turned his head, his dark, seductive eyes locking onto mine with a look of intense recognition. A slow, knowing smirk played on his lips as he looked back at Julian.

"I came to see my little brother," Ethan said smoothly. "But it looks like I've already met your girlfriend.”