Chapter 6 The Brother's Game
Brittany’s POV
Thomas stood in the doorway of my room, holding a glass of red wine in one hand, and my heart was pounding so hard I thought it would break through my chest. The look in his eyes was dark and hungry, like a wolf staring at a lamb, and I took a step back without thinking.
"I didn't mean to startle you," Thomas said, his voice smooth and calm, but there was something wrong underneath it, something that made my skin crawl. "I just wanted to bring you a welcome gift."
He held up the wine glass and smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile; it was the smile of a man who knew he had all the power in the room, and I had none.
"I don't want any wine," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Please leave."
Thomas laughed softly and stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click, and the sound of that door shutting felt like a trap snapping closed around me. I looked at the door, then back at him, my mind racing through options, but every escape route felt blocked.
"Come on, Brittany," he said, walking slowly toward me, his eyes never leaving my face. "I'm just trying to be friendly, I'm your brother-in-law now, aren't I? We're family."
"You're not my family," I said, backing up until my legs hit the edge of the bed.
Thomas tilted his head, still smiling, and took a slow sip of the wine, his eyes moving down my body in a way that made me feel sick and exposed, even though I was fully dressed in a long nightgown. The silk fabric suddenly felt too thin, too revealing, and I wrapped my arms around myself instinctively.
"You know," he said, setting the wine glass down on the dresser with a soft clink, "David is a very busy man, he spends all his time working, making deals, building his empire, and I can't help but wonder, what does a beautiful woman like you do all alone in this big house?"
I opened my mouth to tell him to get out, but no sound came, my throat felt tight and dry, and I realized with horror that I was trapped, the bed was behind me, Thomas was in front of me, and the door was too far away. The room that had seemed so luxurious just hours ago now felt like a cage.
"David is my husband," I said, forcing the words out. "You need to leave, now."
Thomas laughed again, and this time it was louder, crueler, and he took another step closer, so close now that I could smell the wine on his breath and the expensive cologne on his skin. It was a heavy, musky scent that made my stomach turn.
"Your husband," he repeated, like the word was funny, like it was some kind of joke only he understood. "Do you even know what kind of man you married, Brittany? Do you know what everyone says about him?"
I didn't answer, I just stared at him, my hands trembling at my sides, my fingers digging into the fabric of my nightgown. I wanted to scream, to run, to fight, but my body felt frozen, like I was stuck in a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
"They say he's broken," Thomas whispered, leaning in so close I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, could see the cruel amusement dancing there. "They say he can't perform, that he's impotent, useless in the bedroom, and I'm sure a woman like you must have needs, needs that David could never satisfy."
My stomach turned, and I felt anger rising through the fear, hot and sharp, burning away some of the ice that had frozen me in place.
"Get out," I said, my voice shaking but louder now.
Thomas didn't move; he just stood there staring at me, and then he reached out and touched my arm, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a chain, and I tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. His skin was warm, too warm, and the touch felt like poison spreading through my veins.
"I could help you," he said, his voice dropping lower, softer, like he was offering me a gift instead of an insult. "I could give you everything David can't, all you have to do is ask, and no one would ever have to know, it could be our little secret."
The way he said secret made me want to throw up, and I felt tears stinging my eyes, not from sadness but from pure rage and disgust. How dare he, how dare he come into my room, touch me, talk to me like I was some kind of object he could just take whenever he wanted.
"Let go of me," I said, my voice coming out stronger now, steadier, and I pulled against his grip with all my strength.
Thomas just smiled wider, like my resistance was entertaining to him, like he enjoyed watching me struggle, and he took another step closer, so close now that our bodies were almost touching. I could feel the heat coming off him, could see the sick desire in his eyes, and I knew with horrible certainty that he wasn't going to stop.
I opened my mouth to scream, to fight, to do anything.
And then a voice cut through the room like a knife.
"Leave. Now."
It was David's voice, deep and cold and filled with a fury that made the air in the room go still, but he wasn't in the room; the voice was coming from somewhere above us, from a small speaker I hadn't noticed before, hidden in the corner of the ceiling.
Thomas froze, his hand still on my wrist, and for just a moment I saw something flash across his face, something that might have been fear, but then it was gone, replaced by that slow, lazy smile again.
"Hello, brother," he said, looking up at the ceiling, his voice mocking and light, like this was all just a game.
"I said leave," David's voice repeated, and this time there was no warmth in it at all, just ice and danger and a promise of violence that made even Thomas hesitate.
The silence stretched out for a long moment, heavy and thick, and I could hear my own breathing, fast and shallow, could hear the sound of Thomas's fingers tapping against the wine glass he'd picked up again.
Thomas let go of my wrist slowly, deliberately, his fingers trailing across my skin in a way that made me shudder, and he stepped back, still smiling, still looking completely unbothered by the threat in David's voice.
"Of course," Thomas said, picking up his wine glass and taking another slow sip, like he had all the time in the world. "I was just leaving. I didn't mean to overstay my welcome."
He walked toward the door with slow, casual steps, like he was taking a pleasant evening stroll, and I wanted to scream at him, wanted to throw something at his back, but I couldn't move; I could only stand there and shake.
Thomas reached the door and put his hand on the handle, then stopped and turned back to look at me, and the smile on his face made my blood run cold. It was the smile of a predator who knew he would get another chance, who knew that sooner or later, I would be alone again.
"He's always watching, Brittany," Thomas whispered, just loud enough for me to hear but too quiet for the microphone to pick up. "But he can't always save you, and when he's not looking, I'll be waiting."
Then he left, closing the door softly behind him, and I heard his footsteps fading away down the hallway, slow and unhurried, and I stood there in the middle of the room, shaking and trying to breathe.
My wrist hurt where he had grabbed me, and I rubbed it absently, staring at the closed door, half expecting him to come back, to push it open again and finish what he'd started.
But the hallway stayed quiet.
I looked up at the ceiling, searching for the speaker whose voice had come from, and that's when I saw it.
A tiny red light, blinking slowly in the corner of the room, was half hidden in the shadow of the ceiling.
A camera.
David had been watching me this whole time, watching me change, watching me sleep, watching me cry, watching everything.
How much had he seen?