Page 170 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
Owen is in the kitchen. I can hear him scraping burnt toast, the sound rhythmic and domestic, totally at odds with the tightness in my airway.
He sent the text fifteen minutes ago.
Get to Tessa’s apartment. Now.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. It’s a notification from the app.
System Reboot Successful. Services Restored.
Asher fixed it. Of course he did. He initiated a vapor lock to sever the database and kill the breach, but he brought the system back to life. He fixes things. He sees the world as a series of broken circuits that just need the right bridge to work again.
But he can’t fix this.
I slide my hand under the blanket and rest it on my stomach. It’s flat. Unchanged. There’s no physical evidence yet of the cataclysm happening inside me, but I can feel it. A hum. A heaviness. A biological truth that overrides every contract, every NDA, and every strategic plan I’ve ever written.
“Eat,” Owen walks into the living room.
He places a plate of dry toast and sliced apples on the coffee table. He moves the stack of brand-strategy binders I dragged home, the ones I was supposed to be working on, to make room for the food.
The symbolism isn’t lost on me. Work aside. Life first.
“I can’t,” I whisper. My stomach rolls at the smell of the toast.
“Two bites,” Owen negotiates, sitting next to me. He’s solid and warm, a human anchor in a room feeling like it’s spinning. He puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “You need the fuel. You’re building a human. That’s exhausting work.”
I lean into him, squeezing my eyes shut. “They’re going to hate me, Owen. We just survived a hack. And now I’m dropping a nuclear bomb in the middle of the living room.”
“They love you,” Owen says simply. “That’s the variable that doesn’t change.”
“Love doesn’t pay the investors,” I argue, my voice thin. “Love doesn’t stop Markus Vance from tearing us apart. If this gets out… if Nebula finds out…”
“Markus isn’t going to find out,” Owen says, his voice hardening. “Because we’re going to lock this down. We’re going to protect you.”
Before I can argue, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Three rapid raps.
My heart hammers against my ribs, so hard I feel like it might bruise from the inside. I instinctively curl tighter into Owen.
“It’s open,” Owen calls out, his voice steady.
The door swings open.
Ethan strides in first, bringing the storm with him. His suit jacket is gone, sleeves rolled up, revealing the tension in his forearms, tie hanging loose around his neck. His eyes scan the room instantly, assessing threats and checking exits before landing on me like a laser.
Asher follows him, closing the door quietly and locking the deadbolt. He looks calmer, but his eyes are sharp, analytical. He’s carrying his laptop bag, because of course he is. Even in a crisis, Asher brings his tools.
“Is she hurt?” Ethan demands, closing the distance between us. He stops in front of the coffee table, looming over us. “You said ‘situation.’ Is it Nebula? Did Markus send someone here? Did Greg leak her address?”
“I’m fine, Ethan,” I say, my voice trembling. I try to stand, out of habit and respect, but my legs feel like jelly.
Owen keeps a steady hand on my back, anchoring me to the couch.
“She’s not hurt,” Owen says calmly. “Sit down, guys.”
“I don’t want to sit,” Ethan snaps, vibrating with adrenaline. “I want to know why my Brand Strategist is MIA, and why my brother is sending me cryptic texts while I’m trying to keep Sterling from pulling our funding.”
He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect style. He looks exhausted. He looks terrified.
“We handled the breach,” Ethan continues, pacing the small rug. “We spun the shutdown as a ‘security upgrade.’ The users are buying it for now. But if Markus Vance decides to leak whatever he has…” He stops, pinning me with his gaze. “Tessa, did he contact you? Is that what this is? Did he threaten you personally?”
