Page 19 of Claimed By The Other Brother

The shower in the marble bathroom is large enough for three people, with multiple jets and a rainfall head. I turn the water as hot as I can stand it and let the steam fill the space. The heat works out the tension in my shoulders from the flight, from the awkward conversation with Miles.

When I finally get out, I feel almost human again. I change into sweatpants and a t-shirt and open my laptop at the desk. The quarterly reports I abandoned on the flight are still waiting. I force myself to focus, working through the numbers methodically.

Revenue is up. Margins are healthy. The streaming service acquisition is performing better than projected. Everything is on track. I should feel satisfied. This is what I built. This is the empire I've spent ten years creating.

Instead, I feel nothing.

My phone rings.Mark.My best friend since Harvard, now one of my top executives.

"Hey," I answer.

"How's Chicago?" Mark's voice is warm with amusement.

"Met the future sister-in-law yet?"

"Tomorrow. Rehearsal dinner."

"And how's Miles? Still pretending he's not a Blackwell?"

I lean back in the chair.

"He's Miles. Nervous about the wedding. Still doing his journalism thing."

"You sound thrilled."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Mark laughs. "Barely. You're probably going to leave Sunday morning at the latest."

He's not wrong.

We talk for a while about work, about the company, about the deals in progress. This is comfortable. This I understand.

"Try to have some fun this weekend," Mark says before we hang up. "It's a wedding, not a board meeting."

"I'll keep that in mind."

After the call, I close my laptop and pour myself a nightcap. The suite is quiet. Too quiet. I'm used to the sounds of New York—traffic, sirens, the constant hum of a city that never sleeps.

Chicago feels too calm.

I stand at the window again, drink in hand, looking out at the skyline. Somewhere out there, Miles is with hisgroomsmen. Celebrating his last days of freedom. Getting ready to marry a woman I've only seen in a photograph.

The image of Scarlett flashes through my mind. Blonde hair, blue eyes, that smile. I push the thought away as quickly as it came. She's Miles's fiancée. In two days, she'll be Miles's wife.

I drain the rest of my drink and head to bed.

Chapter Three

Scarlett

Jane holds up a navy dress with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt.

"What about this one?" She says.

I'm standing in my bedroom in just my bra and underwear, surrounded by half my closet spread across the bed. The rehearsal dinner is in two hours, and I still haven't decided what to wear.

"Too formal," Sarah says from her perch on my dresser chair.