---- Chapter 10 Caryl Carlson POV: | lay in the dark, my brother' s rejection echoing in my ears. Sister. He had called me his sister. The word was a slap in the face. | hated Farah Moore. | had hated her from the moment | first saw her. She was laughing, her head thrown back, her hand resting on Brandon' s arm. And he was smiling at her. A real, genuine smile. The kind he never gave me. He was supposed to be mine. | had been by his side my whole life. | had carefully cultivated his dependence on me, his guilt, his sense of responsibility. | was the fragile one, the broken one who needed his protection. Farah, with her easy confidence and bright laughter, had ruined everything. So | had orchestrated the accident. | had created the perfect tragedy to bind him to me forever. And it had worked. He had married me. But it wasn't enough. As long as Farah was alive, she was a threat. | wouldn't let her destroy my plans. Not now. | picked up my burner phone and made a call. "| need you to ---- get me something," | said, my voice low and urgent. "And bring it to the mansion tonight. Use the back entrance." Later that evening, | poured a glass of water from the carafe on Brandon's bedside table. | carefully opened the small packet my associate had delivered and tipped the fine white powder into the glass, stirring it until it dissolved completely. | carried the glass to his study. He was on the phone, his back to me. "..the project in the southern district. It was Farah's idea. | want it fast-tracked. Spare no expense." My hand tightened on the glass. Even now, he was thinking of her. | placed the water on his desk. "Brother, you've been working so hard. You should rest." He waved a dismissive hand, still focused on his call. | retreated to the doorway, watching, waiting. After a few minutes, he hung up, picked up the glass, and drained it in one gulp. A triumphant smile touched my lips. | went back to my room and changed into a sheer, silk nightgown, then returned to the study. | found him standing by the window, his shoulders tense. "Brother," | whispered, letting the nightgown slip from one shoulder. ---- He turned, his eyes briefly flicking over my exposed skin before he looked away. He grabbed a cashmere throw from the armchair and draped it over my shoulders. "Go back to your room, Caryl." "| don't want to," | pouted. "Let me stay with you." He sighed, a sound of weary resignation. "One hour. Then you go to bed." | curled up on the sofa, watching him, waiting for the drug to take effect. My eyes landed on a small, velvet box on his desk. | opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of black satin, was a stunning diamond ring. It was a custom piece, a cascade of emerald-cut diamonds that glittered under the lamplight. It was for me. It had to be. He was going to propose to me properly, now that Farah was out of the way. "That's not for you," he said, his voice suddenly harsh. He snatched the box from my hands and put it in his pocket. Just then, he swayed, his hand flying to his forehead. He looked flushed, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. The drug was working. "Brandon, are you alright?" | asked, rushing to his side. He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing ragged. He was fighting it. ---- "Go," he gritted out. In his clouded mind, | knew he wasn't seeing me. He was seeing her. He was seeing Farah. "No," | said, my voice a seductive whisper. | let the blanket drop to the floor and pressed my body against his. "I'm right here." He shuddered, his body tense with a desire he was desperately trying to suppress. He was a man of iron control, but | knew | could break him. He groaned, his head falling forward. For a second, | thought he was going to kiss me. But then he shoved me away, his hands on my shoulders, pushing me back with a force that sent me stumbling. "Get out!" he roared, his voice raw. "Why?" | screamed, my frustration and humiliation boiling over. "Why won't you touch me? Is it because of her? Is it because you've fallen in love with that murderer?" His head snapped up. The drug-induced haze in his eyes cleared, replaced by a shocking, terrifying clarity. He was looking at me, really looking at me, and for the first time, he saw the truth. "You remember," he said, his voice a deadly whisper. "You remember everything." +