Craving The Wrong Brother (Sloane and Knox) novel Chapter 204

Chapter 204

Chapter 204

I’m at Ryan’s gate.

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I lean on the horn, letting the sound echo off the high walls. A place that used to be home. Used to be familiar. Used to be… safe. And now? Just a twisted reminder of everything I’d rather forget.

I’m still sitting there, waiting, when it hits me: the gate doesn’t automatically open. It’s the first time I’ve ever sat here without the smooth, silent glide of that gate making way for me, like it did every other time I’d pull up. Every time… before I left Ryan. Before I left all of this.

Of course, the electric tag needed for the gate to open is glued to my Bentley, the one I left with Ryan on my way out of his life. And the gate’s sensor doesn’t recognize Luke’s car.

I honk again.

A crackle fills the silence, and a muffled voice cuts through. “Hello? Could you… um, could you pull down the window, ma’am? Look into the camera?”

I tug the window down with a deliberate slowness, staring straight into the tiny, blinking camera above the intercom, daring it to deny me. I don’t say a word. Just a steely stare, lips pressed tight.

“Uh, Mrs. O’Brien?” The guard’s voice-Grant-softens, suddenly aware. “Sorry, Mrs. O’Brien! I didn’t recognize-well, I mean… I’m opening the gate now!”

With a loud click, the gates begin to part, and I feel a strange satisfaction watching them give way to me. I ease Luke’s Aston Martin forward, through the gates, up the long drive.

The house is as pristine as always. I park the car, and for a moment, I just sit there. My fingers drum the wheel, my heart hammering in my chest. It’s strange, feeling like a stranger in a place that was supposed to be mine. A place that is mine. But then I shake it off, step out of the car, and grab my bag. I’ve got a mission.

Inside, I’m hit by the too-familiar scent of everything expensive-polished wood, imported leather, and that damn cologne Ryan used to practically bathe in. I can almost taste the memories, some sweet and others… bitter.

My heels click on the marble floor as I head straight for the stairs, my eyes scanning everything, catching glimpses of things I once treasured, reminders of a life I’d left. But I’m not here to reminisce. Not really. I’m here for something else.

I reach the master bedroom.

I can still see them. In my mind, there’s Ryan with that smirk, his hands on Emily’s waist. I remember walking in on them— Emily’s triumphant sneer, Ryan’s stupidly smug look, like he’d done something clever. And me? Too shocked to move. And then, too angry to care.

I stand there, eyeing the bed with a look I’d probably reserve for roadkill. I want to strip every fiber of it, every single damn thread. I reach for the sheets, the ones tainted with their betrayal, and pull them off with a fierce yank.

“Disgusting,” I mutter, tossing them onto the floor. As if I want any reminder of what’s been happening in this room. I give the bed a hard stare. Though I do like this bed…

I laugh to myself, half-mad, shaking my head. “You idiots don’t deserve a Texas king, but I do.”

The bed stays. I’m reclaiming it.

One by one, I grab the pillows, the blankets, stripping the bed bare, tossing everything into the laundry basket. I imagine the satisfaction of hurling it all into a bonfire later, watching their memories turn to ash. And honestly? That thought keeps me

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