I Slept with My Husband's Brother

Aurora POV:

My head pounded, a sharp, rhythmic drumming against my skull. A groan escaped my lips as I tried to shift, but my body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Every muscle screamed in protest. The sheets beneath me were silk, cool against my skin, but they felt foreign.

The room smelled wrong. It wasn't the familiar scent of lavender and clean linen from my own bedroom. This was a mix of expensive cologne, something sharp and woodsy, and the faint, lingering trace of tobacco. A man's scent. Not my husband's.

My eyes fluttered open. The ceiling was high, unfamiliar. I was in a massive king-sized bed in a hotel suite I didn't recognize. Panic, cold and sharp, began to crawl up my throat.

I tried to sit up, but a tearing pain between my legs made me gasp and fall back against the pillows. It was a raw, stinging ache that radiated through my lower body.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

With a trembling hand, I lifted the heavy silk comforter. I was naked. And on the pale skin of my inner thighs, there were small, dark red specks. Dried blood. Like crushed winter berries scattered on snow.

My breath hitched. My mind was a fog, a blur of disjointed images.

Last night. Our wedding anniversary. My husband, Julian, handing me a glass of champagne. The bubbles tickling my nose. Then... a wave of dizziness. A searing heat spreading through my veins.

Then I was drifting, fading into some bed. A tall, broad-shouldered figure looming over me. The rasp of his heavy breathing in my ear. His burning Adam's apple brushed against my cheek. I instinctively tried to turn my face away in resistance, but under the drug's effect, I found myself clinging to him instead.

His firm muscles pressed against me, a heat I'd never felt before entering my body. As if responding to me, he pushed harder, like some kind of punitive release. The pain tore a sobbing cry from my lips.

It wasn't a dream.

I, Aurora Sweeney, a woman married for two years, had slept with someone else on my anniversary.

And the blood... the blood meant it was my first time. The virginity I had saved for Julian, for eight long years since we started dating, was gone. Given to a stranger in a haze of drugs and confusion.

I scrambled out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom. I collapsed in front of the toilet, my body heaving with violent, dry retches. Nothing came up but bitter acid.

My reflection in the vast mirror was a horror show. My hair was a tangled mess. My eyes were puffy. And scattered across my neck and collarbones were a series of dark, purplish bruises. Kiss marks. The brand of my sin.

Tears I didn't know I was holding back streamed silently down my face as I slid to the cold marble floor.

Where was Julian? Why wasn't he here? Did he just leave me?

A cold, hard knot of dread tightened in my chest. I forced myself to stand, to think. I needed to find answers.

My dress, a simple silk sheath, was torn at the shoulder and lay discarded on the plush carpet. My underwear was nowhere in sight.

My phone was on the nightstand. No missed calls from Julian. No texts. Just a few "Happy Anniversary" messages from friends. The irony was a physical blow.

My fingers shook as I dialed his number. It rang and rang, and just as I was about to hang up, he answered.

"Aurora? You're awake?" His voice was laced with impatience. In the background, I could hear a woman's light, flirtatious giggle.

"I had the bellhop take you up to the room. You had too much to drink," he continued, his tone dismissive. "I have a team emergency."

My blood ran cold. He was lying. That giggle wasn't a "team emergency."

I ended the call without another word.

My gaze swept the room. And then I saw it-lying on the carpet near the bed, glinting under the morning light. A cufflink. It wasn't Julian's. It was made of black obsidian, intricately carved into the shape of a hawk, wings poised to strike.

The emblem was so similar to the Chicago Blackhawks' logo. The memory of that solid, burning body from last night flashed through my mind, and I sucked in a breath.

I snatched it up, its cold weight solid and real in my trembling palm. This was my only clue.

I had to know what happened last night.

I pulled on my ruined dress and fled the hotel suite. The bright Chicago sun hit me like a physical assault, making my head spin.

I hailed a cab, giving the driver the address to my bakery, The Rolling Pin. It was the only sanctuary I had left.

Locking myself in my small office, I tried to force the memories to surface. But all I could conjure was a pair of deep, ice-blue eyes and a faint scar cutting through a man's left eyebrow.

Evander POV:

I sat in the back of my Bentley, my thumb tracing the edge of a simple platinum band. I'd found it tangled in the sheets that morning.

Fragments of the night surfaced, and my jaw tightened.

When I'd returned to my hotel room, I found a woman lying in my bed. Unconscious. Naked. Drugged, by the look of her.

I was the Chicago Blackhawks' superstar-women threw themselves at me constantly. But I had a condition. A severe aversion to physical contact with the opposite sex. The media had branded me the "Ice Prince"-cold, untouchable, allergic to women.

But this woman-something about her burned through me. An inexplicable pull I couldn't resist. I climbed into that bed.

The woman beneath me trembled, cried out-not in pleasure, but in pain. Her body was stiff, reluctant. And I realized too late. A virgin.

Then the light had hit her face just right.

Aurora Sweeney. My half-brother Julian Lowery's wife. Married two years and still a virgin. Julian really couldn't get the job done.

My grip on the ring tightened. This was a setup. A calculated trap aimed at me.

My eyes turned cold as ice. One suspect rose to the top of my list. I slipped the ring into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

"Dig into Julian Lowery," I said, my voice flat and cold. "Everything. The deals, the debts, the women. I want every piece of filth he's buried, and I want it by morning."

"Wait, and Aurora Sweeney..." At the thought of last night, a smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Aurora POV:

The hum of the ovens at The Rolling Pin was a familiar comfort, but today it did nothing to quiet the storm in my head. I spent the day locked in my office, calling the friend who had introduced me to Julian years ago.

"Drugged? Aurora, my God, no!" she'd shrieked, her voice thick with horror and concern. "I would never!"

I knew she was telling the truth. Which meant the person who did this to me was a stranger.

Or...

A sickening thought surfaced. Was it Julian? Why would he do that?

I couldn't hide anymore. I needed answers. I needed to see his face when I asked him.

I drove back to the townhouse in Lincoln Park, the one I'd once thought was my dream home. Now, the elegant brick facade felt like a prison.

The house was quiet when I pushed open the front door. Too quiet.

Then I heard it. A woman's laugh drifting down from the second floor. The same laugh I'd heard on the phone that morning.

My blood turned to ice.

My feet felt like lead as I climbed the stairs, each step a new form of torture. The door to our master bedroom was slightly ajar.

I didn't knock. I shoved it open.

The scene was ripped from a cheap drama. Julian, wearing nothing but a silk robe, held a glass of red wine. And lying on our bed-our marital bed-was a blonde with a surgically perfect body, wearing one of his white button-down shirts and nothing else.

I recognized her instantly. Sienna Sharpe. An Instagram model who clung to the fringes of the Chicago WAGs circle-the wives and girlfriends of professional athletes.

Julian's surprise lasted only a second before it hardened into annoyance. He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed or ask her to leave.

Sienna, however, looked directly at me. A triumphant, smug smile played on her lips as she casually placed a hand over her flat stomach.

"Aurora," Julian said, his brow furrowed. "You're back early. We were just discussing business."

A laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips. "Business? In our bed? While she's wearing your shirt?"

Sienna's voice was sickly sweet. "Oh, Aurora, don't be mad at Julian. It's my fault. I... I'm pregnant with his baby, and I wasn't feeling well. He was just taking care of me."

Pregnant.

The word exploded in my mind, shattering the last fragile pieces of my heart.

I stared at Julian, searching his face for any sign of denial. There was none. Only impatience. He looked at me as if I were an inconvenience.

Eight years of love. Two years of marriage. All of it turned to ash in that single, devastating moment.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling strength from a place I didn't know I had. My voice was steady, cold, and clear when I spoke.

"Julian Lowery, I want a divorce."

He froze. For the first time, he looked genuinely shocked, as if that possibility had never occurred to him. The shock quickly morphed into a condescending smirk.

"A divorce? Aurora, don't be ridiculous." He started towards me, reaching for my hand. "I know you're upset, but let's not play these games. You can still be my lawful wife."

I recoiled from his touch. "I'm not playing games. My lawyer will be in contact with you tomorrow."

I turned my back on them, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing my pain. As I walked away, I heard Sienna let out a soft, victorious laugh.

The moment I stepped out of that house, a massive weight lifted from my shoulders. There were no tears. Just a profound, hollow sense of relief.

It was over.

Aurora POV:

I spent the night on my best friend Paige's couch, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets that did little to warm the chill in my bones. The next morning, I officially hired a divorce lawyer. I wanted this over. I wanted Julian out of my life.

The lawyer called back that afternoon. "Ms. Sweeney, your husband is refusing to cooperate. He's claiming this is just a 'marital spat' and has implied that if you push for a divorce, he'll make sure you walk away with nothing."

Julian's arrogance was breathtaking. His threats only hardened my resolve. I needed to go back to the house. There were things I had to get, personal items, but most importantly, my mother's jewelry.

I waited until I knew he'd be at team practice, then drove back to the townhouse one last time.

I moved quickly, packing my clothes, my books. As I passed the study, I heard voices from inside. Julian's voice. He was home early. And he wasn't alone.

Instinct took over. I flattened myself against the wall beside the half-open door, holding my breath.

"Julian, is your wife really going to divorce you?" It was Sienna, her voice tight with anxiety. "How long can we keep up this fake pregnancy story?"

My whole body went rigid. Fake? It was all a lie.

"She's just throwing a tantrum. She'll come crawling back in a few days," Julian said, his voice dripping with contempt. "She's nothing without me. The more pressing issue is something else."

"What?" Sienna asked.

Julian's tone grew heavy. "Evander is back. He just took over KM Group's Chicago operations. It seems Grandfather is thinking of bringing him back into the family's core business."

Evander Lowery. The name echoed in my mind.

"Evander?" Sienna sounded wary. "I thought he was in Europe for good. What's he doing back?"

Julian let out a cold, bitter laugh. "Who knows what that bastard is planning, but his return is a threat to my position. I need to secure my hold on the inheritance before he gets his feet under him."

They went on, their words a venomous stream of plots and schemes, ways to impress their grandfather and undermine Evander. The sheer malice in their conversation made me sick.

I backed away silently, my hand clenched around the handle of my suitcase.

I had what I needed. More than I'd come for.

Not only was Sienna's pregnancy a lie, but I now had a name. Evander Lowery. Julian's enemy. A man who, for reasons I didn't understand, seemed to hold some power over my soon-to-be ex-husband.

As I left the house for the final time, the image of the stranger from the hotel room flashed in my mind again. His touch, his scent, the ice-blue eyes. A brand I couldn't scrub away.

I had to get this divorce. I had to fight for what was mine. But I was alone, and the path ahead was shrouded in fog.