I didn't open the envelope again.
I didn't need to.
Those photos were branded into my mind, angles I didn't know were possible. Moments of me Noah and Rhyland looking… real.
Like we were living a life that was ours.
Like it wasn't built on a lie.
I should've told Rhyland.
But I didn't.
Not yet.
Because this felt so much more real, I feared it might break that much easier.
Rhyland found me in the hallway sitting.
Noah was asleep. It was quiet in the apartment. And I was on the floor like I was expecting the past to come visit.
"You okay?" he asked.
I nodded.
He didn't buy it.
"You've been quiet."
"I have a lot on my mind."
He sat down next to me, his legs stretching out, his arms resting on his knees.
"Wanna share with the class?"
"I'm scared," I said.
His head turned slowly. "Of what?"
"That this is going to go too far. That someone's going to get hurt. That I am."
He didn't say anything for a long beat.
"I'm scared too," he said.
That surprised me.
"You are?"
"Terrified."
"Of what?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That you're the first thing in a long time that feels real. And I don't know what to do with that."
I looked at him.
"I was the charismatic liar," he went on. "The egotistical playboy with a pitch deck and a pretty face. This was not part of the pitch."
"You weren't supposed to care."
"Exactly."
He leaned his head back against the wall.
"I think I like the person I am when I'm with you better."
That broke something inside me.
And maybe build something new.
That afternoon, the doorbell buzzed.
Rhyland checked the screen.
He stiffened.
"What?" I said.
"It's your brother."
I leapt up so fast I knocked over a cup of juice.
"What?! He's in Dubai."
"Not anymore."
I grabbed the nearest throw blanket and started mopping up as my mind short-circuited.
"He can't know."
Rhyland blinked. "He thinks we're engaged, Em."
"He'll see right through it. He always does. He's going to kill you."
"Only if you flinch."
I gave him a look that could have melted rock.
"Okay, okay," he said, pulling me upright. "Deep breaths. We've survived worse."
"You haven't met Furious Big Brother Mode."
He grinned. "I've survived being tackled by three linebackers in college. I'll manage."
I didn't share his optimism.
The moment my brother walked in, it felt like someone dropped a thundercloud in the living room.
He looked older than I remembered—exhausted, suntanned, more gaunt. He dropped his bag and crossed the room in three long strides.
Spoke to me first, but he did not.
He hugged Noah.
"Hey, little guy," he whispered. "Miss me?"
Noah screamed and pinched his nose.
Then my brother stood up.
Faced me.
Then Rhyland.
"Engaged, huh?" he said, voice low in a way that churned my stomach.
Rhyland held out a hand. "Good to see you, man."
My brother ignored him.
"You're marrying my sister."
"Yes."
"And that's your kid?"
Silence.
Then I nodded. "Yes."
My brother turned to me. "Can I talk to you?"
I gave Rhyland a look that said run if you want to live.
We stepped out onto the balcony.
He didn't waste any time.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Not long."
He crossed his arms. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want to complicate things. Or explain something I wasn't ready to."
"Is he serious about you?"
I hesitated.
"That's not an answer."
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I think he might be."
His jaw tightened. "You think. Meanwhile, you've got a baby, a history of chaos, and a guy who's allergic to commitment."
"He's been there for me."
"He's playing you."
"No. Not this time."
My brother studied me. "You believe that?"
I didn't say anything.
But I suppose my silence was answer enough.
Later that night, I stood at the window while Rhyland poured two glasses of wine.
"Your brother hates me."
"Pretty sure he already did before this."
"I mean now he hates me."
I took the wine, hand and a sip.
"He'll come around," I said. "Maybe."
Rhyland laughed. "That's optimistic."
I leaned against the window. "He's protective. And stubborn."
"Wonder where you get that from."
I smiled.
He stepped closer.
And this time there was no baby monitor, no wailing toddler, no timed interruption.
"Is this still fake?" he whispered.
My breath caught.
"I don't know anymore," I whispered back.
He took the glass from my hand and sanded it down.
Stepped into my space.
"I'm going to kiss you now."
I didn't stop him.
I couldn't.
His mouth found mine—slow, warm, nothing like the flashy ones we'd pretended before.
This was something else.
Something that had me wanting to stay in this lie a little while longer.
When he stepped back, he didn't speak.
Neither did I.
Because sometimes silence could say more than words ever would.
My brother came to find me in the hall an hour later.
His face was impassive.
He passed me his phone.
"Got a call from a blocked number. They said you're lying. That the engagement is fake. That you're just a prop in his investor pitch."
The air
left my lungs.
"And then they sent this."
On the screen was a photo.
Me. Alone.
Sitting on the balcony with a note in my hand.
A photo that hadn't been taken by anyone inside.
Someone had been watching again.
Only this time, they were talking.