Chapter 15 The ride to Matt's house was silent, smooth, and far too long for comfort. I sat in the back of the black car he'd sent, the windows tinted and leather soft, every inch of it expensive and impersonal, and tried to convince myself that this wasn't a mistake. I wasn't going over to see him. I was going to hear him out. Closure. That was it. The truth about Ryan, the inheritance, the tangled history between two brothers who somehow managed to destroy everything in their goddamn path, including me. Curiosity was the only thing that drove me. Had to be. But that wasn't the whole truth. I knew that. I could have said no. I could've blocked his number, ignored the offer, slammed the door on whatever this had turned into, and lived my life one hundred thousand dollars richer. But I hadn't. I'd gotten in the car. Not for closure, not entirely. Because of him. Because I still remembered the way he'd looked at me in the dark, like I was one of the only real things in his life. Because I still felt the warmth of his hands on my skin, still heard the softness in his voice when he'd asked me if I was okay. Because despite him giving me every reason not to, part of me still wanted to believe in him. The gate opened without a sound after the driver punched in a code, the car gliding onto the property with ease. His house was all dark stone and glass, two stories, modern and clean, if it weren't for the toys on the front porch. Every other part of it was intimidating and imposing, like him. I stepped out of the car with my pulse thudding hard, already rehearsing exit lines in my head in case this went sideways. But it would be fine. It had to be. Margot would be here, and Zach. We had buffers, reasons not to say something stupid, reasons not to scream at each other. The door opened before I could knock. Matt stood there, his hair styled but his clothes casual-just a t-shirt and jeans, barefoot-like he'd come home from work and immediately changed out of whatever he wore to the office. His stubble was longer, his eyes tired, his face unreadable. My throat closed. "Where's-" "They're not home," he said, his voice like gravel. He stepped to the side, motioning for me to come in. "Margot took him to the aquarium. He wanted to see the tiger sharks." I didn't know why that hit me so hard. I blinked too quickly, looking away, my jaw steeling. I should've gotten back in the car. I should have turned and walked⁠- "He's been asking about you." I froze. That wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't, knew he was hitting on a nerve, knew damn well without even asking that I'd grown a soft spot for Zach. I swallowed down the lump forming in my throat and shouldered past him, stepping inside. The house smelled like cedar, laundry, and him. Dark floors and slightly lighter walls, everything in its place as I stepped into the living room. Expensive leather furniture and trinkets up on the shelves beside the massive television, a gold airplane that looked like some kind of award next to an Atlanta Fire hockey stick and a framed stick figure drawing in crayon. Lived in, but not quite homey. He came up beside me, gesturing toward the doorway to the kitchen on the other side of the living room, walking in front of me with an expectation that I would follow. And I did. Warily. "I told you I'd explain," he said, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of white wine like this was some kind of date night. He plucked two glasses from a cabinet and set them down in front of me on the marble island, a piece of printer paper at one end with scattered crayons that Zach had abandoned. "You've got five minutes," I said, willing my voice to sound cold. He didn't flinch, didn't even rush as he pulled a corkscrew from a drawer and worked at the top of the wine. "My parents were old money," he said, the words calm and collected. "Like, Vanderbilt old. No love, really, just legacy. I'm sure you've seen if you've googled my last name." I hadn't. I never saw the need to when I was with Ryan, didn't see the need to now. "My mother thought affection was undignified, as she'd called it. My father only paid attention when you disappointed him," he continued, and I blinked at him, not having fully expected that. "Ryan was the golden child. He was charming, loud, wild. They loved that. Thought he'd bring the Strathmore's into today's era, thought he'd turn into someone that would give us relevance again." He poured out a glass and pushed it across the counter to me, not quite meeting my eyes. "I'm fine," I said. "Have a fucking drink with me, Sienna." My eyes met his instantly. There was a bite there, irritation behind his words, and I stared at him, not quite sure whether I needed to go or if the anger simmering behind his eyes was about me at all. "Sorry," he sighed after a moment, pouring himself a glass and downing nearly half of it like that was a completely fine societal norm. "This isn't... It's not easy for me to talk about my family. You don't have to drink it if you don't want to." My fingers closed hesitantly around the stem. He took a deep breath and pushed his free hand through his hair, clutching at the strands briefly before letting go. "Ryan got everything. Every cent he asked for, every ounce of approval. They didn't even try to hide it. I mean, for fucks sake, I was around for twelve years before they had him, and it was like I didn't exist. Like didn't have a son until they had him." Matt's jaw worked as he leaned forward onto the kitchen island. "I was just the spare. The one who worked. The one who tried to build things honestly. Ryan was the one who got rewarded for doing nothing but spending, for going out and getting drunk on the weekends, for wrecking Dad's Aston Martin when he was fifteen and decided to go on a joy ride. I had nothing handed to me, which is saying a lot when you grow up in a family as wealthy as mine was." I took a hesitant sip of my wine. "Why didn't you fight them on it?" His brows furrowed as his gaze snapped to mine. "I did," he huffed. "You think I didn't fight? You think I didn't argue, beg-beg, Sienna, for the seed money to start StrathOne? I had to sit there while they handed Ryan a condo in St. Lucia and a Porsche before he even had a job, and I had to pitch to them like I was a CEO looking for an investment from people I didn't know." Matt started pacing, his glass clutched in his hand, his eyes everywhere but me - or maybe nowhere. "They didn't believe in me," he continued, taking another gulp of wine. "Not really, at least. They humored me, gave me a tenth of how much they'd easily spent on Ryan by the time I'd turned twenty-eight. And you know what? I made it work. I built the airline. I earned every dollar I have now. And you know what they said when I started to turn a profit? He stopped, his gaze cutting across to me, a fire behind his eyes. "They told me not to be smug about it. Told me not to tell Ryan because he was still 'finding his path.' Told me to keep it all to myself, not to tell family." My eyes widened for a split second. "Christ." He went silent for a moment, his tongue raking over his teeth, his breathing loud enough to hear. He set his glass down on the counter as he stopped, watching me carefully. "They left everything to him," he said quietly. "That part of what he told you was true. But they left me as a trustee. Nothing in my name except a responsibility." I blinked at him in confusion. They left nothing to Matt? "I can show you the will if you don't believe me, if it matters," he huffed. "But I never stole his inheritance. Everything was in his name, that wouldn't-I couldn't do that if I wanted to. But I did cut him off." I sucked in a breath. "So, you did⁠-" "I didn't do it lightly," he explained, his fingers rapping against the countertop. "Fuck, I didn't want to do it at all. He was supposed to have to go through me when he wanted to remove money, at least until he was fifty. Those were the rules on the account. Our parents were smart enough not to give him full access. But they failed to consider how sneaky Ryan could be." "What do you mean?" "I mean that a few months after everything was in place, he snuck into my fucking house and found the log in details for everything." My throat closed. "He what?" "He started making withdrawals without needing my approval, scrubbed the notifications. Was blowing the money on anything and everything, Sienna. Cars, vacations, cruises, throwing massive fucking parties in our parents' estate. All the while, occasionally asking me to release ten grand here or there to keep up the act. I wasn't looking at the balance, I wasn't paying attention until it was almost too late-until I authorized a seventy grand request so he could put a down payment on a house, and it came back with transaction declined." I blinked at him in horror. I didn't know how much money the Strathmore's had when they left it all, but it was certainly in the millions. "How had he...?" He shook his head, his lips going thin. "I don't know. I don't know half the things he was spending it on. All I know is that almost all of it was gone," he rasped, pouring himself another glass. "I could have called the police for it, could have put him away from fraud, maybe I should have-but I couldn't. I didn't want to make it worse, not when he was already furious." "He was furious?" "I told him I couldn't approve the transaction because there wasn't enough in the account, told him I knew what he'd been doing, and he didn't apologize. Just tried to convince me to sell the house, to sell the liquid assets instead, to keep funding him. I told him no, and he lost his mind." I took a deep breath, and then another, trying to make sense of it all. Ryan hadn't seemed wealthy when I dated him. He seemed somewhat well off, would take me to nice dinners, and had bought us that trip to the Amalfi coast, but that was as far as it ever went. He never drove a fancy car or had a nice house, he'd lived in an apartment. "That's not-I hate him, but that's not the Ryan I knew." "He sold what he'd accumulated," he said simply. "About four years ago. I told him I wouldn't give him money until he got rid of the things he didn't need, and even then, what I've given him has come out of my accounts, not from the trust. I had to change all the passwords, had to talk to the bank and set up a PIN that they'd ask me for if I called to discuss anything so they wouldn't accidentally think Ryan was me if he got through." He huffed a dry, irritated laugh. "Used Zach's birthday. Ryan never cared enough to know it." A breath punched out of me at that. Somehow, I wasn't surprised, not after what he'd said when I was leaving the villa. The kid. Magpie. Ryan didn't seem interested in Matt's life at all. "So even after all of that, you still give him money," I said, taking a sip of my wine. "You paid for his wedding." Matt's jaw tightened. "Because I promised my parents before they died," he muttered. "And because it was one of the things the trust was meant to cover." I nodded, more to myself than anything, the pieces clicking into place. "And Ryan knew that. He used it to his advantage." "Yes, he used it," Matt said, irritation bleeding into his tone. "Guilt tripped me over it. Used it to get what he wanted. Used you, too, the last couple of years. 'I need to take my girlfriend out to dinner.' Or, 'I need to pay the bills, so she doesn't think I'm broke.' It pissed me off. He was more than capable of getting a job, but he used you to make me feel bad about it⁠-" "Don't." The word came out harsher than I'd anticipated. "Don't do that. Don't act like you cared about me back then. You didn't even know me. We'd never met. And you were more than happy to use me, too." He flinched, but he said nothing. The room-the massive kitchen, the massive house-felt too small, too hot. My skin flushed, and I didn't know if it was my anger simmering beneath the surface or my shame or both, rubbing together like flint and iron. "He told me you ruined his life," I swallowed. "That you turned your parents against him before they died, convinced them to cut him out of everything, and made yourself look like a victim." Matt laughed, then, bitter, and flat like a stale beer. "Of course he did," he scoffed. "Because God forbid Ryan be responsible for his own mess. He ran his inheritance into the ground, Sienna. Almost all of it." I swallowed down another sip of wine, and then another, wishing it was stronger, wishing it burned. "Why didn't you tell me all of this from the start? Why let me hang in limbo thinking there was a chance Ryan was better?" Matt's expression darkened as he stared straight at me. "Because you'd already decided I was worse. I wanted to prove you otherwise without completely throwing him under the bus. He's still my fucking brother, even if I can't stand him." My jaw clenched tight. He wasn't wrong - Ryan had painted such a clear picture for me of a cruel, cold older brother with a bank account for a heart. "You were doing a great job of making me believe you were better than him," I said slowly, heart pounding in my chest. "And then you threw it all away. For what? For what?" Matt looked down at his glass, completely silent. "Jesus fucking Christ, Matthew," I snapped, setting my glass down on the counter a little too hard, a little too antagonistic. He stilled. Completely and utterly stilled. A haunting quiet creeped over us, thick and angry. His jaw twitched first. His posture shifted, his gaze locked on the counter. "You don't get to call me that," he rasped, his voice low, gravelly. I blinked at him. "What?" "That name. Matthew. You don't get to use it. That's not what you call me." His tone was sharp enough to cut diamonds. "That's his name for me. My parents' name for me. I let it slide with Ryan because it's always been like that, but not from you." Shit. "I didn't mean-fuck, Matt, I didn't even realize⁠-" He shook his head, knocking back the entirety of his glass of wine. "It's fine," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just don't." My stomach twisted. I hadn't meant to be cruel, and from the look of horror that was lingering beneath his irritated exterior, I'd done just that. "No, I'm-I'm sorry," I insisted. "I wasn't trying to throw it in your face. Genuinely. I didn't even notice I'd said⁠-" "I know," he clipped. "That's the worst part." That shut me up. He let out a breath, slow, tired, and exasperated. "I didn't want to use you. Not like he did. Not like that. I just-" He cut himself off, his throat working, the words either lost or like he was weighing up whether he wanted to say them at all. "I know you're upset that I left." "No shit," I breathed. "I told you I don't let people in. I don't do relationships." He swallowed. "If I'd stayed, I would've told you more. Would've told you everything. Not just about Ryan, or the inheritance, or how much of a leech he is, but the parts I don't say out loud. Like how I stopped believing in family when my parents handed him everything with a smile and told me to be the bigger man, like my success without help was a reward for being forgotten. Like how I'm doing everything in my goddamn power to make sure Zach never feels like that in his life. Like how I can't fucking breathe when I think about him ever having to look at someone and feel like he's not enough." The silence felt too loud. He hadn't moved. Neither had I, but it felt like everything had shifted. My chest tightened, cracking. I didn't know how to respond to that, didn't know how to handle it, and part of me wanted to accept that he just wasn't capable of anything past what we'd done, but the other part had seen the way he'd looked at me, the way he'd held me, and knew that he was. And it still hurt. He'd still chosen to hurt me instead of being honest, still made me feel used and stupid. "You made me feel like an idiot," I said, my voice far smaller than I wanted it to sound. He hesitated. "I know. I know. I fucked that up." "You think?" "I panicked." I laughed, then, the sound punching out of me ugly and sharp. "Panicked?" I croaked. "You could have stayed, you could have woken me up and told me that was it and it wasn't going further, you could have apologized. Or was I that terrible in bed that you had to run?" "Don't," he bit out, taking a step toward me. "Don't do that." "What, make jokes before I cry? Sorry, forgot I was supposed to be the stable one right now," I snapped, my eyes burning, my chest aching. "Fuck." "I freaked out," he insisted, his voice rising, another step taken toward me. "I don't-I don't sleep in the same bed as anyone. It's a line I draw. That partition came back up on the flight, you know that. Not since I made that call for myself, since⁠-" "Since you became too emotionally unavailable to function like a human being?" He flinched. "I sleep alone," he said, his jaw clenching. "I always sleep alone. Except when Zach climbs in after a nightmare or because he's lonely. That's it. He's the only exception. And then you..." He stopped, breathing hard, pushing a hand into his hair. "You were still there." His voice was quieter, a little broken. "Still fucking there when I opened my eyes. I didn't mean to fall asleep beside you, I didn't mean to feel⁠-" He looked at me like he wasn't sure if he should finish that sentence or if I already knew what he meant without me saying it. "I didn't know what to do. So yeah, Sienna, I fucked it. I left." My throat closed. "You could've said something." "I know." "You could've woken me up." "I know." "You let me feel like a fucking one-night stand when you know me now. You let me feel like I got paid for sex⁠-" "That's not what it was," he insisted. "Then what the fuck was it?" The words came out loud, angry, broken as the dam started to leak. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like I was just a warm body in a pretty dress you could use to piss off your brother and get your dick wet! It feels like I'm insane, Matt⁠-" "You really think that's all you were to me?" he asked, his face twisting like I'd slapped him. "I don't know what I was to you! That's the whole fucking point!" My voice broke, the tears hitting, hot, fast, and furious. I tried to blink them back, wipe them away, but it was too late. "I let myself believe for one goddamn night that maybe there was something there. That maybe it wasn't fake. You said-You said. Fuck." "Sienna." "No," I croaked, shaking my head, taking a step back. "I'm so goddamn stupid. I let myself feel something for someone who disappeared the second things got real. This is... This is worse, Matt. I can't do this." I turned, my heart hammering in my chest, pulse loud in my ears, hands shaking as I moved toward the door. I needed to get out. I needed air, needed to go home, needed to be as far away from him as possible. I didn't get far. His hand closed around my wrist, not painful or rough but firm, and in a single breath, he spun me back toward him. I didn't have a second to react before his mouth crashed into mine. Hard. Angry. Desperate, like he needed it to breathe. I didn't move - just froze, stunned, tears still hot on my face, but his hands cupped my cheeks, holding me to him, warm and stupidly regretful and everything I didn't want to want from him. Then he pulled back. Just barely, just an inch between us, his breathing ragged, hovering over my lips like he didn't dare take more until I gave him permission. I looked up at him. My chest heaved, my throat closed - and fuck, his eyes burned into mine with a thousand apologies I didn't want to accept. But something in me snapped. My fingers knotted in the front of his shirt, and I yanked, pulling him back down to me. He groaned against my mouth like it was splitting him open, but I didn't care. My back hit the wall a second later, his hands cradling my jaw like he didn't know how to be gentle right now but couldn't help trying. I pushed mine into his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, his breath hard against my lips, his body pressing into mine like he was trying to anchor himself here. His mouth moved against mine with need, no control, no restraint. And mine answered with fury, with anger, with an ache he'd put there in the two weeks I'd tried to bury him. I kissed him like I hated him. I kissed him like I missed him. I wasn't sure when his hands had moved to my waist or how we'd moved from anger to something rougher, darker, hotter. But he kissed me like he'd been starving, like he'd been holding back every second he'd known me, and it was all snapping at once, and I met him right there in the goddamn wreckage. His fingers dug in like he needed proof I was still here and real and didn't hate him enough to stop. His knee nudged between my thighs, pinning me in place. I was already shaking, already wet, already too far gone to talk sense into myself and walk out the door. And he kissed me like there were a thousand unsaid things caught in his throat. "Upstairs," he rasped, his voice broken, destroyed. "Now." He bent, hands firm on the back of my thighs, and lifted me in one motion like I weighed nothing, like he needed me locked around him. Quick and uneven, he carried me up the stairs, the soft thud of each step lost between our breaths. I wasn't thinking. Couldn't if I wanted to. I hated him, I wanted him, and I didn't know where one ended and the other began. At the top of the stairs, he paused just long enough to press me against the wall again, kissing me like he couldn't even bear the space between rooms. My head dropped back with a soft thud against the drywall when his lips found my neck, my jaw, my collarbone, desperate and unrestrained. "Was it worth it?" I breathed, my head spinning. He didn't stop. But the tension shifted, walls half-erected around me. "You got what you wanted," I whispered. "The deal. The show, the revenge. And you ended up hurting me in the process." He exhaled heavy, his forehead coming up to rest against mine, his throat almost wheezing from how hard he breathed. "Was it worth it?" I asked again. "I would change what I did if I could," he said, his voice broken. "I'm sorry. I should have said it before." I went still. "I shouldn't have left like that. I didn't know how to stay. And I know that doesn't make it right." I didn't forgive him, not yet, but when his lips met mine again, I didn't push him away. This wasn't clarity. This wasn't a fix. It was a fire, sparking and burning and destructive, and I shouldn't have let it burn, but God, I didn't know what else to do.