I Slept with My Dead Fiancé’s Brother

On the night of the charity gallery opening, I caught Lucas and Lila tangled together in the storage closet.

He pulled the girl tight against his chest and sneered, “Stella, you’re eight whole years older than me. You’ve controlled my life for five years—when are you gonna realize you can never hold onto me?”

Lila giggled, snuggling deeper into his arms. “You’re past your prime, ma’am. Why cling to someone who was never yours to begin with?”

Snickers and mocking laughter rippled through the onlookers.

I gave a slow smile.

For five years, I single-handedly kept Scott Enterprises afloat, mopped up every mess he made, and buried every scandal spawned by his endless string of flings.

Still, he hopped from one girl to the next to mock and hurt me, over and over again.

Then he shoved me hard. I crumpled to the floor in a pool of my own blood, watching him bolt out with another woman in his arms.

I knew right then the baby was gone.

Everyone whispered how pathetically I’d bent over backward for love.

No one ever learned the truth: I endured everything only because his face mirrored my late fiancé, Elias.

The door of the backstage storage room was not locked. 

Before my hand even touched the brass handle, the unmistakable sounds of wet kisses, skin slapping against skin, and breathless giggles leaked into the hallway. 

I pushed the door open.

The harsh fluorescent light flickered, illuminating the tangled mess on the vintage leather sofa. 

Lucas was half-undressed. His crisp white dress shirt—the one I had personally ordered from Milan for tonight’s charity gala—was violently unbuttoned. 

Straddling his lap was Lila Marlow, a freshman from the painting department, her hands buried deep in his messy, dark hair. 

Three other art students lounged against the stacked canvases nearby, passing around a vape pen. 

"Lucas."

The kissing stopped abruptly. 

Lila let out a pathetic little shriek, hastily clutching Lucas’s ruined shirt to cover her exposed shoulders. She buried her face into his chest. 

Lucas slowly turned his head. Those striking gray eyes locked onto mine. He didn't push Lila away. Instead, his large hand slid down, wrapping tighter around her waist. A lazy, wicked smirk spread across his lips. 

"Well, well. If it isn't my beloved babysitter," Lucas drawled. "Did you lose your way from the VIP lounge, Miss Brooks?"

I stood in the doorway, my posture perfectly straight in my tailored black Tom Ford suit. "I m not your babysitter, your guardian-appointed executive. I was just told the updated auction list were in here."

"And you came to fetch it yourself?" Lucas let out a dry, harsh laugh. "Miss Brooks is really too free. A woman your age, twenty-nine, chasing a twenty-one-year-old around a college campus every single night. What’s the matter? So terrified you won't be able to guard our family's vault?"

Lila peeked out from his embrace. "Don't be so mean to her, Luke," she murmured, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Sister Brooks doesn't have it easy. After all, besides her job and managing you... she really doesn't have anything else to keep a man around, does she?"

The snickers turned into outright laughter. 

I kept my eyes fixed on Lucas. 

He was staring back, his jaw tight, muscles ticking in his neck. He was waiting. He wanted to shatter my perfect, icy facade and see some twisted proof that I cared.

I didn't give him the satisfaction. 

"The Scott family name is on the massive banner outside," I said. "This entire gallery is funded by your family trust. You have exactly five minutes to zip up your pants, wipe that cheap lip gloss off your neck, and get out to the main hall."

Lucas’s smirk faltered. A flash of dark, raw anger crossed his handsome face. 

"If you want to play the trashy playboy, do it on your own dime," I continued, turning on my heel. "Don't embarrass your family on my time."

I walked out, letting the heavy door slam shut behind me. 

For the next two hours, I shook hands with the Dean, smiled warmly at the wealthy Manhattan donors, and gracefully accepted compliments on behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Scott, who were currently 'grieving' in Geneva. 

When Lucas finally emerged from the back, Lila clinging to his arm like a leech, I didn't spare them a single glance. I simply signed the two-million-dollar donation check, handed it to the Dean with a professional smile, and walked out into the biting New York night.

The moment the heavy door of my chauffeured town car clicked shut, the invisible strings holding me up finally snapped.

I sank into the cold leather seat, watching the blurry Manhattan neon bleed across the tinted glass.

By the time I unlocked the front door, the Scott mansion on the Upper East Side was tomb-silent.

I slowly made my way down the hall to the study. 

The room was exactly as he had left it five years ago. I walked over to the desk and picked up the silver-framed photograph. 

Elias. 

His gentle smile, his warm, intelligent eyes. 

I traced the cold glass over Elias’s face. My vision blurred with unshed, exhausted tears. 

"Five years, Elias," I whispered to the shadows. "I'm guarding your company. I'm guarding your home."