Mated To My Ex's Ruthless Brother

The vibration of the phone against the hard wood of the desk sounded like a drill in the silence of the room.

Zoe Vance stared at the screen. 3:12 AM.

Outside the window of her dorm at Columbia, the wind was already howling, battering the glass with the first hard pellets of the predicted blizzard. But the cold that seized her chest had nothing to do with the weather.

Liam Sterling.

The name flashed on the screen, illuminating the dark room. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm. Liam never called personally at this hour. Usually, it was his assistant, Marcus, handling the logistics or relaying changes in plans. He was supposed to be in London for a business trip, or at least that's what he had told her three days ago when he blew off their dinner plans. She pushed down the rising bile of suspicion. He had to be in London. He wouldn't lie about that. Maybe something was wrong with the time difference.

She swiped right, her fingers trembling slightly. "Liam?"

"Is this Ms. Vance?"

The voice was not Liam's. It was heavy, flat, and reeked of authority and exhaustion.

"Yes," Zoe whispered, sitting up straighter, clutching her cardigan around her pajamas. "Who is this?"

"Officer Miller, NYPD 19th Precinct. We have a Liam Sterling in custody. He's asking for you."

The air left Zoe's lungs. Custody. The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"Is he hurt?" Her voice cracked. "What happened?"

"Altercation at a bar downtown. Look, Ms. Vance, he needs bail posted. He refused to call his family lawyer. He gave us your number."

Of course he did.

Zoe was already moving. She pinned the phone between her ear and shoulder, grabbing her purse, her ID, and the thick wool coat hanging by the door. "I'm coming. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

She hung up and moved with the frantic efficiency of a soldier drilled for this exact scenario. Liam needed her. That was the only thought allowed to exist in her brain. Not the fact that he had lied about being in London. Not the fact that she had a final paper due at 8 AM.

He needs me.

Getting a ride was a nightmare. The Uber app showed surge prices that would make a banker weep, and wait times that stretched into infinity. Zoe ran out to Broadway, the wind biting at her exposed face, stinging her eyes. She practically threw herself in front of a yellow cab.

The ride to the Upper East Side precinct was a blur of neon lights smearing against wet glass. Zoe sat in the back, her stomach twisting into tight, painful knots. She played out scenarios in her head. Maybe someone had insulted the Sterling name. Maybe he had been mugged. Liam was impulsive, yes, but he wasn't violent. Not without cause.

The precinct smelled of stale coffee, floor wax, and misery. The fluorescent lights hummed with a headache-inducing buzz.

Zoe walked to the desk, her boots squeaking on the linoleum. She felt small here, out of place in her frantic state among the tired officers and the drunk tank regulars.

"I'm here for Liam Sterling," she told the desk sergeant.

The man looked up, his eyes scanning her face, then her coat. He smirked, a small, unpleasant curling of his lip. "Ah. The girlfriend."

Zoe didn't correct him. She never did. "What's the bail?"

"Five grand. Cash or certified check. Or credit, with a fee."

Zoe pulled out the black Amex her father had given her for 'emergencies.' A cold sweat broke out on her neck. She knew the Vance family accounts were currently overleveraged, teetering on the brink. If this card declined here, in front of these officers, the humiliation would be absolute. She held her breath as she swiped the chip.

The machine whirred for an agonizing ten seconds before spitting out a receipt. Approved. Zoe let out a shaky exhale.

"Here are his personal effects." The officer slid a clear plastic bag across the counter.

Zoe took it. Inside, she saw Liam's platinum watch, his wallet, his phone.

And a tube of lipstick.

Zoe froze. It was wedged between his wallet and the watch face. A dark, vampy shade of red. Chanel. Not her shade. Never her shade. Why was this in his personal effects bag? Unless it had been in his pocket when they patted him down.

She stared at the object, her mind racing to find a logical explanation. Maybe he picked it up by mistake. Maybe it belonged to a cousin. Maybe...

The heavy metal door buzzes, interrupting her spiral.

Liam walked out.

He looked like a fallen angel who had landed face-first. His lip was split, a jagged line of red against his pale skin. His white dress shirt was torn at the collar, buttons missing. His hair, usually gelled to perfection, was a chaotic mess.

"Liam!" Zoe stepped forward, her hands reaching out instinctively to steady him.

He flinched.

He didn't look at her. His eyes darted right past her shoulder, focused intensely on the door he had just exited.

"Is she coming?" Liam barked at the officer, ignoring Zoe's outstretched hands.

Zoe's hands dropped to her sides. "She?"

Before the officer could answer, a girl stepped out from the holding area.

She was everything Zoe was not.

She had pink hair that looked like cotton candy dipped in acid. She wore a leather jacket that had seen better decades, ripped fishnets, and combat boots. Her eyeliner was smeared, and she was nursing her left wrist, cradling it against her chest.

"Jade," Liam breathed.

He rushed past Zoe. He didn't just walk past her; he moved as if she were a piece of furniture, an obstacle to be navigated. He went straight to the girl.

"Let me see," Liam said, his voice dropping to a tender, frantic whisper that Zoe had never heard directed at herself. He took the girl's hand, inspecting the wrist with the care of a surgeon. "Does it hurt? Did those bastards hurt you?"

Jade looked up. Her eyes were dark, rimmed with defiance and pain. She looked at Liam, then her gaze slid over his shoulder and locked onto Zoe.

There was no gratitude in that look. Only a sharp, predatory amusement.

"I'm fine, Lee," Jade said, her voice raspy, like she'd been screaming. "Who's the prep school princess?"

Zoe felt the blood drain from her face. She stood there, clutching the bag of Liam's belongings, feeling the cold plastic bite into her palm.

The desk sergeant chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Mr. Sterling here put two guys in the hospital because they spilled a drink on his lady friend. True romance, huh?"

Zoe looked at Liam, waiting. Waiting for him to laugh it off. To say, No, Zoe is my girl. This is just a friend.

Liam didn't even look up. He was too busy wrapping his own suit jacket around Jade's shoulders.

"We need to get you ice," Liam muttered to Jade. Then, finally, he seemed to remember Zoe existed.

He turned his head. His eyes were glazed, adrenaline and alcohol still swimming in them. He didn't look sorry. He looked annoyed.

"Do you have a car?" he asked.

Not Thank you. Not Are you okay? Just a demand for resources.

Zoe felt a stinging sensation behind her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat, tasting bile. "I... I took a cab. It's waiting outside."

"Good." Liam wrapped his arm around Jade's waist, supporting her weight. "Let's go."

He guided Jade toward the exit, the two of them moving as a single unit. Zoe stood alone in the middle of the precinct, the fluorescent lights buzzing louder than ever.

She forced her legs to move. She followed them out into the biting cold, the wind whipping her hair across her face.

Liam opened the back door of the taxi. He ushered Jade inside, tucking the hem of her skirt in so it wouldn't get caught. He climbed in after her.

Zoe stood on the curb, the snow beginning to fall harder now, dusting her shoulders in white.

"Zoe!" Liam called out from the back seat, impatient. "Get in the front. It's freezing."

Zoe opened the passenger door and slid onto the cracked vinyl seat. The heat in the car was blasted too high, suffocatingly hot.

She glanced in the rearview mirror.

Liam was pulling Jade into his lap. He brushed a strand of pink hair away from her forehead and pressed his lips there. It wasn't a quick peck. It was a lingering, desperate kiss, full of a hunger that made Zoe want to vomit.

Zoe looked away, staring out at the blurred city streets. She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to manually force her heart to slow down.

She was the one who answered the phone. She was the one who paid the money.

But in the backseat of this cab, she was nothing more than a ghost.

The taxi screeched to a halt under the awning of the Four Seasons on 57th Street. The doorman, bundled in a heavy coat, sprang into action before the wheels had even stopped rolling.

"Mr. Sterling," the doorman said, opening the back door. His professional mask didn't slip, but Zoe saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes at the sight of Jade's combat boots hitting the pristine pavement.

Liam practically carried Jade out of the car. "Easy, easy," he murmured, shielding her from the wind with his body.

Zoe sat in the front seat, the meter ticking loudly. The driver turned to her, eyebrows raised. "That'll be forty-five," the driver said. "Hazard pay. Plus we had to circle three avenues to avoid the plows and road closures."

Zoe blinked, snapping back to reality. Liam hadn't even looked at the meter. He hadn't looked at her. He was already halfway to the revolving doors.

She fumbled with her purse, her fingers numb and clumsy. She shoved cash at the driver-too much, she knew, but she didn't care about the change. She scrambled out of the car, the wind immediately assaulting her.

She had to jog to catch up. The revolving door spun, and she narrowly missed getting her coat caught in the mechanism. She stumbled into the lobby, breathless.

The warmth of the hotel hit her like a physical blow. The scent of expensive lilies and polished mahogany filled her nose, a stark contrast to the sterile bleach of the police station.

Liam was already at the front desk. The night manager was handing him a key card with both hands, bowing slightly.

"Penthouse suite, Mr. Sterling. As usual."

As usual.

The words echoed in Zoe's head. How many times had he been here? And with whom?

Zoe trailed behind them to the elevators. She felt like an intruder in her own life. A shadow.

Inside the elevator, the silence was deafening. Jade leaned her head on Liam's shoulder, letting out a small, theatrical groan. "Everything is spinning, Lee."

"I've got you," Liam said, his voice thick with concern. He tightened his grip around her waist.

Zoe stood in the corner, pressing her back against the cold metal wall. She caught her reflection in the mirrored doors. She looked washed out, her eyes wide and fearful, her expensive coat hanging limp on her frame. She looked pathetic.

The elevator dinged at the top floor.

The suite was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the Manhattan skyline, now obscured by the swirling white vortex of the blizzard. It was beautiful and terrifying.

Liam helped Jade sit on the velvet sofa. "Zoe," he said, not turning around. "Get some water. Ice. Now."

The command was automatic. It was the tone he used with his assistant, or the housekeepers at the Sterling estate.

Zoe stood frozen for a second. A spark of indignation flared in her chest, hot and sharp. I am not your servant.

But then Liam turned, his brow furrowed. "Zoe? Did you hear me?"

The habit of obedience was a deep groove in her brain. Years of covering for him, of helping him, of being the 'good friend.' She bit her lip until she tasted copper, and walked to the wet bar.

She filled two crystal glasses with water and ice. Her hands were shaking so bad the ice clinked against the glass like wind chimes.

She walked back to the sofa. Jade was watching her. The girl's eyes were clear now, the pain seemingly forgotten. There was a challenge in her gaze.

Zoe extended a glass toward her.

Jade reached out. As her fingers brushed the glass, she jerked her hand.

"Oops," Jade said.

The water splashed all over Zoe. It soaked the front of her cashmere sweater, drenching her coat, running cold down her stomach.

Zoe gasped, jumping back, water dripping from her chin.

"My hand just... spasmed," Jade said, her voice flat. There was the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Jesus, Zoe!" Liam snapped.

Zoe looked at him, eyes wide with shock. "She... she threw it at me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Liam scowled, grabbing a napkin from the table. He didn't hand it to Zoe. He began dabbing at a tiny drop of water that had landed on Jade's leather jacket. "Her wrist is sprained. She can barely hold anything. Why are you so clumsy?"

The injustice of it punched the air out of Zoe's lungs. "Liam, look at me. I'm soaked."

"It's just water," he dismissed, tossing the napkin on the table. "Stop making this about you."

He turned his back on her, focusing entirely on Jade. "Come on, let's get you to bed. You need to rest."

Jade stood up, shooting Zoe one last look over Liam's shoulder. It was a look of pure victory.

They moved toward the bedroom.

"Liam," Zoe said. Her voice was small, trembling.

He stopped at the bedroom door, his hand on the frame. He looked back, impatience etched into every line of his face.

"What now, Zoe?"

"Who is she?" Zoe asked. She needed to hear him say it. She needed him to destroy the last shred of hope she was clinging to.

"She's a friend," Liam said. The lie was so lazy it was insulting.

From inside the bedroom, Jade's voice drifted out, sugary and low. "Lee... I can't get my boots off. Help me?"

Liam's eyes darkened. A raw, hungry look crossed his face that Zoe had never seen directed at her in twenty years of knowing him.

He started to step into the room.

Zoe surged forward, grabbing his sleeve. "Liam, please. You can't just... leave me out here. Talk to me."

He ripped his arm away. The violence of the motion made Zoe stumble back.

"Zoe, stop," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't overstep. You are my best friend. You are like a sister to me. Don't make this weird."

Sister.

The word was a slap. It was a wall. It was a weapon. By calling her a sister, he stripped her of the right to be jealous. He made her feelings perverse.

"Go home, Zoe," Liam said coldly. "And not a word of this to my parents. Or yours."

He stepped into the bedroom and slammed the door.

The click of the lock was the loudest sound Zoe had ever heard.

She stood alone in the sprawling suite. The silence rushed back in, heavy and suffocating. From behind the door, she heard a giggle, then the murmur of Liam's voice, low and soothing. Then the sound of a zipper being pulled down.

Zoe felt bile rise in her throat. She looked down at herself. Her coat was heavy with water, darkening the fabric. She was shivering, but she couldn't tell if it was from the cold or the shock.

She looked at the foyer. Liam's dress shoes were kicked off haphazardly next to Jade's combat boots. They lay there, touching, intimate in a way that made Zoe's chest ache.

She couldn't breathe in here. The air felt thin, tainted.

She turned and ran.

She sprinted out of the suite, down the hallway, her wet heels slipping on the carpet. She jammed the elevator button, hitting it over and over as tears finally blurred her vision.

She had to get out. She had to get away from him, from them, from the fool she had been.

The elevator doors opened, and she practically fell inside. She rode it down to the lobby, ignoring the curious stares of a couple in evening wear.

She burst through the revolving doors and out into the night.

The wind hit Zoe like a physical assault.

It wasn't just snowing anymore; it was a whiteout. The city had disappeared behind a curtain of aggressive, swirling ice. The wind howled down 57th Street, tunneling between the skyscrapers with a ferocity that stole the breath from her lungs.

Zoe stumbled onto the sidewalk. The temperature had dropped ten degrees in the last hour. Her coat, soaked from Jade's "accident," began to freeze almost instantly. The wet cashmere turned into a stiff, icy shell against her skin. Her teeth started to chatter, a violent, uncontrollable rattling.

She fumbled for her phone. Her fingers were red and stiff, barely responsive on the screen.

Uber: No cars available.

Lyft: Wait time 55 minutes.

She looked up, desperate. The street was eerily empty. A few yellow cabs sped by, their "Off Duty" lights glowing like mocking eyes in the gloom. They didn't even slow down as she waved her arm, her movements jerky and pathetic.

"Please," she whispered, the wind snatching the word away.

She took a step toward the corner, hoping for better luck on Park Avenue. A gust of wind, stronger than the rest, slammed into her.

Her heel caught on a patch of black ice hidden beneath the fresh powder.

Zoe went down hard.

She landed on the concrete with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in her right ankle-a sharp, white-hot bolt of lightning that shot up her leg.

"Ah!" She cried out, clutching her knee.

She tried to stand, but her ankle buckled immediately, unable to bear even an ounce of weight. She collapsed back into the snow, the cold seeping through her jeans, biting into her skin.

She sat there, on the frozen sidewalk of one of the richest streets in the world, and felt utterly, completely abandoned. Her phone battery icon turned red. 10%.

She was going to freeze to death here. She was going to be a headline in tomorrow's Post. Socialite Found Frozen on Fifth Avenue.

Suddenly, a pair of headlights cut through the white darkness.

A car was moving slowly down the street, prowling like a sleek black beast. It wasn't a taxi. It was a Maybach, entirely blacked out, moving with a silence that was unnerving.

It slowed as it approached her. Zoe shrank back, fear spiking. She was helpless, sitting in the snow.

The car stopped right in front of her. The back window rolled down with a smooth, electric hum.

A face appeared in the gap.

Zoe stopped breathing.

It was a face constructed of sharp angles and shadows. Dark hair, eyes that looked like shattered obsidian, and a mouth set in a permanent line of indifference.

Julian Sterling.

Liam's half-brother. The illegitimate son. The "Black Sheep" of the Sterling family.

Zoe instinctively recoiled. Liam had told her stories about Julian for years-how he was twisted, jealous, dangerous. How he hated everyone in the main family.

Julian didn't open the door. He just looked at her, his gaze sweeping over her wet coat, her twisted ankle, her tear-streaked face. There was no pity in his eyes. Just a cold, calculating assessment.

"Get in," he said. His voice was deep, resonant, barely raised above the sound of the wind.

Zoe shook her head, her teeth chattering so hard she could barely speak. "I... I'm fine."

Julian raised an eyebrow. It was a gesture of supreme arrogance. "You're sitting in a slush puddle in a blizzard, Zoe. You're not fine."

"I'm waiting for a cab," she lied, hugging herself.

"There are no cabs," Julian said flatly. "The Mayor just declared a state of emergency. Roads are closing. You want to freeze to death to prove a point, or do you want to live?"

Another gust of wind tore through the street, throwing a handful of ice pellets into Zoe's face. She gasped, the pain in her ankle throbbing in time with her heart.

She looked at the dark, warm interior of the car. Then at the empty, frozen street.

Pride was a luxury she couldn't afford.

"Okay," she whispered.

She tried to stand, wincing. Before she could fall again, the driver's door opened. A large man in a suit stepped out, marched over, and offered her a hand. He helped her hobble to the car, opening the heavy back door.

Zoe collapsed onto the leather seat.

The door thudded shut, sealing out the world.

The silence inside was absolute. The chaos of the storm was instantly replaced by the smell of expensive leather and a faint, woodsy scent-cedar and something sharper, like cold air.

Julian sat on the other side of the seat, pressing a button to roll the window back up. He didn't look at her. He was typing on his phone.

Zoe huddled in the corner, trying not to let her wet coat touch the pristine upholstery. She was shivering violently now, her body convulsing in aftershocks.

Without looking up from his phone, Julian reached to his side. He grabbed a folded cashmere blanket and tossed it across the seat.

It landed squarely in Zoe's lap.

She stared at it, then at him. "Thank you," she managed to stutter.

Julian didn't respond.

Zoe unfolded the blanket. It was thick and warm. She wrapped it around herself, burying her face in the fabric. It smelled like him. That cedar scent. It was overwhelming.

The car began to move. Smooth, steady.

"Where... where are we going?" Zoe asked, her voice raspy. "I need to get to Columbia."

Julian finally looked at her. His eyes were dark pools, unreadable. "Not happening. The West Side Highway is shut down. Bridges are closing."

"Then where?"

"My place," he said. "It's three blocks away."

Panic flared in Zoe's chest. "I can't. Liam said..."

Julian let out a short, harsh laugh. It wasn't a happy sound. "Liam left you on the sidewalk, Zoe. I don't think he gets a vote right now."

The truth of his words struck her harder than the cold. She sank back into the seat, defeated.

She watched out the window as the car turned into an underground garage. The massive steel gate rattled upward, then clanged shut behind them with a finality that made Zoe's stomach drop.

She was trapped. Trapped with the one person she had been warned to fear.