Page 3 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

I thought he loved me enough to want to know my family too.

Another lie.

Anger sparks to life. The knots in my stomach, the pain in my chest, my mind poking holes in all our memories…I want to make Calvin hurt. I want him to know what this feels like.

I want revenge. I want to do something reckless. Calvin might not give a shit about me, but he cares about being embarrassed, and I can use that.

I sit up, wiping my tears. My breath is shaky, but determination fuels me. I rummage through my closet, pushing past the pastel frocks Brenna said would look good on camera, and grab the little black dress I bought on a whim.

It makes me look paler than usual, but I don’t think anyone will care. I wore it once to a fancy gala with Calvin, but he told me after that I looked “too voluptuous” in it, whatever that means. He wanted me in clothes that hid my body, but I’m done hiding.

Maybe I’m naive. Maybe I’ll get in over my head. But what’s the alternative? Stay here, in this hot house, crying in my pillow until the end of the month?

No, thank you.

A slash of red lipstick and a pair of ankle boots later, I exit the bedroom. I hear muffled voices in Cal’s office. He’s on a call. Part of me wants to fling the door open and snap a biting remark at him, but I don’t want him to know I’m leaving for the night. I want him to hear about it from someone else, and I have no doubt he will.

The city streets glimmer with headlights and streetlamps. My heart thumps like crazy. Maybe this is crazy, but I don’t care. Not now. The rideshare driver doesn’t say much, which is just fine by me. I’m in no mood for small talk.

We finally pull up to the building. It’s unmarked, a simple black door on a downtown street, but the line of people out front, dressed in all sorts of edgy, provocative attire, gives it away. I swallow my nerves, pay the driver, and step out. A cool breeze skims across my legs.

A large bouncer at the door glances at me, eyes flicking over my body. “No collar. Is your master here?”

“My what?”

He sighs. “Are you on the list?”

Oh hell. I hadn’t thought of that. “No, but?—”

He smirks. “That’s alright. You understand what kind of place this is, right?”

I swallow. “Yes.”

He chuckles under his breath. “They’re going to love you. Have fun in there. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I exhale in relief as he opens the door, letting me slip inside. Walking into Sins is like stepping into one of my fantasies. And I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

2

GAGE

Another night,another bout of boredom.

It’s not that I don’t love my life—I do. But sometimes, the predictability of it wears on me. I stand at the upstairs railing in Sins, leaning my forearms against the black metal as I observe the ebb and flow of the crowd.

From this vantage point, I can see everything—the red and purple lights rotating in hypnotic patterns across the dance floor, the clusters of guests mingling around dark velvet couches, the occasional hush of a negotiated scene behind gauzy curtains surrounding a semi-private booth. I built this balcony with my brothers so we could survey the club in comfort—plus, the vantage point is excellent for ensuring no one’s breaking our rules.

Rules are the only thing that separate us from the animals outside.

As Carvers, Hunter, Theo, and I were expected to play bytheirrules. The lying, cheating, cunning games of the upper crust never appealed to any of us, so we opted out. We own otherbusinesses that our mother can lord over her friends, bragging about her billionaire sons, but Sins is where we go to be ourselves.

Normally, it’s nights like this I live for. The music thrums in my bones, a steady heartbeat that reminds me I’m alive, that this club ismine. But tonight isn’t a normal night. I haven’t had a normal night in months.

That’s no one’s fault but your own.

The thought is partially true. But when I dig into it, I’m not sure. I don’t know how to blame myself for finding tedium in a world that most people wouldn’t dare step foot into.

Whips and chains are fun, but when you’ve done it all, what else is left?