I Made the Wrong Brother Pay Me Back

I made Sebastian Grant my boyfriend for a whole year by holding a debt over his head: I'd saved his life.

He couldn't stand me, so I tugged at his clothes and used every trick I had to get close to him.

When his friends insulted me, I left his neck covered in marks and made him go out that way.

Then an anonymous number texted me.

[The person you saved that day was me, not Sebastian.]

The attached photo from the scene drained the blood from my face.

From the kitchen came the sound of Sebastian chopping vegetables—steady, unbothered, unaware. I had to get him out before whoever sent this decided to tell him first.

I rushed into the kitchen where Sebastian was plating the dinner I'd demanded. "Forget dinner. Aren't you meeting Julia?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you up to now?"

Chicken, roasted vegetables, and pasta were already on the table. I forced an awkward smile.

"Nothing. I don't want you to be late. You should go."

I pushed him toward the door. He stopped in his tracks. "You're serious?"

"Yes. Hurry, or Julia will have to wait."

His deep eyes searched my face for a trap. There wasn't one.

For once, I meant every word.

Sebastian took off his apron and went straight into the bedroom.

When he came back, he wore a turtleneck that covered the hickeys scattered across his neck.

The night before, Julia had posted a photo of him asleep in profile on her social feed.

Rage and jealousy had twisted in my chest until I couldn't breathe.

I spent that same night kissing and biting at his neck while he slept, marking what I thought was mine.

When he stirred, his hands came up to push me away, but I pinned them to the mattress. His breath caught. I straddled him in the dark, feeling his body tense beneath me.

"Molly—" he started, voice rough with sleep.

"Shut up," I whispered against his throat, and bit down harder.

He breathed hard, eyes bloodshot when they finally opened. He tried to sit up and roll me beneath him, but I dug my nails into his shoulders.

"Molly, what is wrong with you tonight?" he asked, his hot breath against my face.

I bit his neck again, furious and close to tears. "I can't play the piano anymore because I saved you! And you're still all over Julia! You're not seeing her again!"

My hands moved lower. His jaw clenched, but his body betrayed him.

We'd fought over Julia more times than I could count. It never changed a thing. I didn't even know why I kept trying.

Now, standing by the front door, Sebastian put on his shoes. "I'll be home on time tonight."

Normally, I demanded he be home by a specific time, and my relentless policing left him little choice but to follow it.

This time I smiled. "Come back whenever. It doesn't matter."

He stopped mid-motion, shoe half on.

Then he looked me over again, confusion flickering across his face. He still couldn't see what had changed.

How could he? A year ago, I'd pulled someone I thought was Sebastian out of the sea. I'd dragged over 160 pounds of dead weight all the way to shore.

Before I got there, my arm crashed into a reef. Even now, my hand shook when I put too much weight on it.

From then on, "I saved your life" became the one line I could use to get anything out of Sebastian. I'd said it so often I could almost hear it in my sleep.

Everyone said the poor man was doomed once I'd latched on to him. Without that obligation, an ordinary woman like me would never have crossed paths with the Grant family.

Sebastian opened the door. A red mark still showed above his collar.

My stomach turned.

After everything I'd done to him, I didn't dare imagine what he'd do once he learned the truth.

Julia sent me a message not long after he left.

[How long do you think you can keep something you stole?]

Her photo was taken at a café. Only a hand was visible, veins standing out on the back of it.

Sebastian's hand.

I knew the feel of that palm against my body, the pressure of every finger.

When I complained that his friends had been nasty to me, he'd take my trembling hand and say, in that low voice of his, "I know."

I hated that answer.

I'd kick away the leg he wrapped around mine. He'd get angry when I defied him; his eyes would darken, and he'd pin my wrists, press his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

Neither of us willing to give in first. Then he'd hold me harder, and I'd curl into him anyway, hating how much I needed it.

Before today, I would've marched straight to that café. I'd call Julia shameless, accuse Sebastian of having no boundaries, then, once I ran out of insults, curl up in his arms and fall asleep as if I'd done nothing wrong.

But this time Julia was right.

I'd taken him from someone else—and I didn't even have the excuse I thought I had.

My fingers trembled as I texted the anonymous number. [Does anyone else know?]