Chapter 1 - And She Was My Sister First
Grant slapped his wife because her makeup had not hidden the mark on her cheek.
The living room was warm with dinner lamps, soft yellow light touching the neutral couch, the half-set dining table, and the little makeup box sitting open beside the mirror.
Megan stood near the chair in a gray cardigan over a plain white top, long brunette hair slightly messy around her tired face. She had spent twenty minutes trying to cover the swelling.
Foundation.
Powder.
A little concealer at the split in her lip.
Not enough.
Grant gripped her chin and turned her face toward the lamp.
His thumb pressed into the tender skin beneath her jaw.
Megan held her breath.
His eyes narrowed.
“You still look like hell.”
“I tried.”
That was the wrong answer.
His hand came up fast.
One sharp slap cracked across her face.
Her head turned with the force. Her hair swung over her cheek. Her shoulder recoiled, and she grabbed the back of the dining chair to keep from falling.
Grant leaned closer.
“Cover it properly. And smile.”
The doorbell rang.
Grant released her instantly.
He straightened his light blue dress shirt, smoothed his hair, and walked to the door like he had not just hit his wife thirty seconds before an important dinner.
When he opened it, his whole face changed.
Professional smile.
Polite shoulders.
Fake warmth.
“Mr. Cross, welcome.”
Julian Cross stepped inside holding a slim leather folder.
He was tall, sharply dressed in a navy business suit, dark hair touched with gray at the temples. His expression was calm, almost unreadable.
Then he saw Megan.
The polite mask disappeared.
Megan’s fingers tightened on the chair.
For one impossible second, brother and sister looked at each other across the living room.
She gave him the smallest frightened nod.
Please don’t make this worse.
Grant saw the glance.
His jaw tightened.
He grabbed Megan’s wrist and pulled her toward him.
“She’s always dramatic.”
Julian moved before Grant could finish the sentence.
He clamped one hand around Grant’s wrist, tore his grip away from Megan, and shifted his body between them.
Grant barely had time to blink.
Julian drove one compact, brutal punch into his jaw.
Grant recoiled and collapsed backward into the dining chair so heavily the legs scraped across the floor.
His face went slack with shock.
The man who had terrorized Megan in private suddenly looked very small sitting under the dinner lamps with one hand on his jaw.
Julian stood over him, shoulders rigid, voice low.
“Touch her again.”
Grant stared up at him.
Then his eyes moved from Julian to Megan.
He understood.
Not everything.
Not yet.
But enough to be afraid.
“You know him?” Grant whispered.
Megan’s cheek burned.
Her lip trembled.
Julian did not look away from Grant.
“She knows me better than you ever did.”
Grant’s face changed.
The confidence that had carried him through boardrooms, investor dinners, and his own marriage started to crack.
“Mr. Cross,” he said carefully, “this is a misunderstanding.”
Julian laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“I watched you grab her wrist.”
“She gets emotional.”
“I watched her flinch before you touched her.”
Grant swallowed.
“She’s my wife.”
Julian’s eyes went colder.
“And she was my sister first.”
The room went silent.
Megan closed her eyes.
Not because she was ashamed.
Because hearing it out loud felt like a locked door finally opening.
Sister.
She had not let herself be anyone’s sister for almost two years.
May you like
Not really.
Grant had made sure of that.
