Ruined By The Voss Brothers

Lucas didn’t even look guilty when he said it.

“I don’t want a one-on-one relationship anymore, Sarah.”

The words landed softly, almost politely, like he was discussing a change in office policy instead of dismantling our marriage. He leaned back against the dresser, arms folded, perfectly calm.

“I want us to be open.”

For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. The room felt too quiet and normal for something like that to be said out loud.

“Open?” I repeated. My voice sounded strange to my own ears.

He sighed, already bored. “You’ve heard the rumors. I don’t see the point in pretending anymore.”

Rumors.

For weeks, whispers had followed me through the office—lingering looks, hushed laughter, my name paired with his in conversations that stopped when I walked by. They said my fiancé was sleeping with half the company.

I hadn’t believed it. I loved him. I trusted him.

Apparently, that made me stupid.

“I don’t want an open marriage, Lucas,” I said, my chest tight. “I want a divorce.”

He laughed.

Actually laughed, he threw his head back, eyes bright with amusement, like I’d just told him the best joke of the night.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I dare you.”

My stomach dropped.

“You walk away, and I’ll burn the company to the ground. I’ll ruin everything your brother built. And I can’t wait to see his face when he finds out his precious baby sister couldn’t even keep her husband satisfied.”

The threat settled into my bones.

Then I noticed her.

My manager.

Sitting on my bed.

On my side of the mattress.

Wearing one of Lucas’s shirts.

The betrayal hit harder than his words. I’d trusted her with my business. With my life. With my home.

She didn’t even look ashamed.

Lucas crossed the room, cupped her face, and kissed her slowly—deliberately—right in front of me.

“Go do something useful with your sorry ass,” he said when he pulled away.

I turned before they could see me break.

I didn’t cry. Not then. I swallowed it down, every burning emotion clawing its way up my throat, and walked out of the house before I did something that would land me in prison.

I needed noise. Darkness. Somewhere I couldn’t think.

The club.

I stood in my closet, my hands were shaking, and I grabbed the first thing that wasn’t giving innocent, A short nude dress with a slit up the front, sequined just enough to catch the light. Heels. Jewelry.

No man will look at you, Lucas’s voice echoed in my head.

I shoved the thought away.

An hour later, I barely recognized the woman in the mirror. The deep V exposed my cleavage, the fabric hugged my curves, my hair falling loose down my back.

I looked hot.

Not hot enough to keep my husband—but hot enough to remind myself I still existed.

The drive took thirty minutes.

Lucien’s.

That was the name of the club whispered about in boardrooms and back alleys. A place for the one percent of the one percent. If I was going to make a mistake, it might as well be somewhere unforgettable.

I slid onto a barstool, ordered something strong, and tried to disappear into the music.

That’s when I noticed the stares.

Women smiling at me. Winking and Watching.

I frowned, checking my reflection in my phone, convinced I’d smeared my makeup or looked ridiculous.

I hadn’t.

So I turned.

And everything inside me went still.

Three men sat in the VIP booth—relaxed, powerful, surrounded by untouched drinks and the quiet kind of authority money and violence bring. The first one wore a black tailored jacket over a dark shirt, sleeves rolled to reveal a watch that probably cost more than my car. His posture was controlled, predatory.

Electric blue eyes met mine.

My breath caught painfully in my throat.

He lifted a brow, recognition flickering instantly.

The second man leaned back beside him, dressed in a sharp gray suit, open collar, smile lazy and dangerous. When he noticed me staring, he lifted his glass in a mock salute and waved.

My heart stuttered.

The third lounged forward, dark clothes, easy grin, eyes too sharp for how relaxed he looked—like a man who enjoyed watching chaos unfold.

Lucien.

Vincent.

Zane.

The Voss brothers.

My brother’s best friends.

The most brutal, feared businessmen in New York.

Heat rushed to my cheeks when Lucien’s lips curved—like a smirk.

Fuck.

When did they get this hot?

And worse—

When did they start looking at me like that?