Chapter 89: Broken Bro Code
The drive back to his parents’ house was the most peaceful Jake had ever experienced with Aliya. The city lights of Aurelia flickered past the Audi’s windows, but the sharp, frantic energy from the mall had settled into a soft, weary peace. When he pulled up to the curb, Aliya didn’t move for a moment. She just looked at the bags in the back seat and then at him.
"Thanks, Jake," she said, her voice small but steady. "For tonight. For... not making me talk about it."
"Whenever you need air, Aliya, just call. I don’t care what I’m doing."
He watched her walk to the front door, waiting until she was safely inside before he shifted the R8 back into gear. The "brother" mask didn’t slip until he was several blocks away. By the time he reached the Zenith, his face had hardened into a mask of granite.
He pulled into the private garage, the headlights sweeping over the sleek, aggressive lines of the RS 6. Catharine was home. A small part of him wanted to go upstairs, pull her into his arms, and forget the rest of the world existed. But as he stepped out of the car, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.
The caller ID was empty. He knew it was Adrian.
"Jake," Adrian’s voice was smooth, carrying that characteristic edge of someone who moves through the shadows of the city with ease. "I found the clinic."
Jake’s heart skipped a beat, a cold prickle of dread racing down his spine. He leaned against the hood of the R8, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the phone. "Where?"
"It’s a place called The Rosewood Retreat," Adrian said. "On the outskirts, near the forest reserve. They market themselves as a high-end holistic wellness center—yoga, detox, the usual fluff. But I had someone dig into their private, off-book billing. They handle ’delicate matters’ for people who can afford to keep their names off a government registry. You know that some procedures are illegal in the country... these people take care of that."
Jake’s breathing slowed. The world seemed to narrow down to the sound of Adrian’s voice. "Did you find a name?"
"I’m sending a secure file to your phone now," Adrian replied. "Look at the digital ledger for August 14th."
Jake pulled the phone from his ear and opened the encrypted attachment. His eyes locked onto a single line of text: Patient: A. Rivers. The date was a perfect match for the week Aliya had supposedly been ’away at a friend’s farm.’
"There’s more, Jake," Adrian continued, his voice unusually soft. "Look at the intake form. In the section for the emergency contact—the person the clinic was supposed to call if she didn’t wake up or if the payment bounced."
Jake scrolled down. He didn’t need any special ability to recognize the ten-digit number typed into that box. It was a number he had dialed a thousand times. A number he had saved under ’Brother’ in his old phone, back when they were just two guys with nothing but a dream.
It wasn’t his number. It wasn’t his father’s.
It was Alex’s.
The air in the garage felt like it had been sucked out of the room. Jake stared at the screen until the numbers blurred into a jagged, ugly mess. The stories Alex used to tell him over drinks—the ’messy’ situations he’d had to ’clean up’ in the past—weren’t just warnings or boasts. They were a blueprint. Alex hadn’t been a friend standing guard; he had been a predator in the one place Jake thought was safe.
"He was the one," Jake whispered, the words feeling like shards of glass in his throat. "He was with her."
A cold, murderous calm washed over him. The "boiling" rage that had been simmering in his chest for days reached a tipping point, but instead of exploding, it turned into a freezing, focused ice. He didn’t scream. He didn’t punch the wall. He just looked at the silent RS 6, his mind already beginning to map out a hundred different ways to destroy the man he had once called a brother.
"Jake? You still there?" Adrian asked.
"I’m here," Jake said, his voice eerily steady. "Thank you, Adrian. I won’t forget this."
"I know you won’t," Adrian replied, a hint of a smirk in his tone. "We’ll talk soon."
Jake ended the call and stood in the silence of the garage for a long time. Everything made sense now. The way Alex had been avoiding him. The way he’d been so secretive about "Lisa," never wanting Jake to meet her despite the constant bragging. The way Aliya’s voice had cracked with defensive terror when he’d asked if it was him. The pieces didn’t just fit; they locked together with a sickening click.
He walked to the elevator and ascended to the penthouse. The lights were dimmed, the only sound the soft hum of the climate control. He walked into the master bedroom and saw Catharine. She was curled on her side, her hair spilled across the white pillowcase, looking peaceful in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She stirred slightly, a small, sleepy smile touching her lips, but she didn’t wake.
Jake walked out of the room and headed to the kitchen. He didn’t turn on the lights. He reached into the cabinet, pulled out a bottle of McCallan, and poured himself a double, neat.
He sat at the marble island, the amber liquid glowing faintly in the moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in his chest.
Alex was out there right now, probably smiling, probably sleeping the sleep of a man who thought he’d gotten away with it. He thought the Livingston name and a new marriage would bury the truth.
Jake swirled the whiskey, watching the light dance in the glass. He didn’t need a gold chart to see the future of Alex Livingston. He was going to take everything Alex loved—his reputation, his family’s move to the first tier, his dignity—and he was going to burn it all down to the ground.
"You should have stayed away from my family, Alex," Jake whispered to the darkness.
---
Thursday morning.The digital clock on the bedside table flickered to 05:00. Catharine stirred, the habit of her high-pressure role at Johnson & Associates pulling her from sleep before the sun had even considered rising. She reached out across the expansive bed, but the sheets were cold.
She draped her silk robe over her shoulders and padded softly into the living area. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the Zenith showed a city draped in a pre-dawn violet haze. There, on the oversized leather sofa, was Jake. He was still in his clothes from the night before, his head tilted back, one arm hanging toward the floor. On the marble coaster nearby sat a glass with a single, melted ice cube and the ghost of a heavy peat whiskey.
A pang of sadness hit her chest. He looked younger when he was asleep—less like the "Golden Boy" taking over the city and more like the man who carried the weight of everyone he loved on his shoulders. She knew he was fighting a war she couldn’t see, and it hurt that she couldn’t shoulder the burden for him.
She moved with ghost-like silence, grabbing a plush cashmere throw and draping it over him. He let out a soft, subconscious sigh but didn’t wake. Catharine watched him for a moment longer before heading to the kitchen to start the one thing she ’could’ control: the morning.
---
By six-thirty , the penthouse smelled of roasted coffee beans and sourdough toast. Catharine walked back into the living room, now fully dressed for the office.
She was wearing a pair of high-waisted, tailored charcoal trousers paired with a cream silk blouse that caught the morning light. Her hair was pulled back into a sharp, professional low bun, anh her diamond watch—a gift from Jake—glinted on her wrist. She looked every bit the elite auditor ready to face the sharks.
She sat on the edge of the couch and ran a hand through Jake’s hair. "Hey. Time to join the living."
Jake groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He looked disoriented for a split second before his gaze landed on her. A slow, tired smile spread across his face. He sat up, the blanket sliding down his chest, and pulled her into a deep, grounding hug.
"You smell like breakfast," he muttered into her neck, his voice raspy from sleep. He pulled back just enough to pepper her face with kisses—forehead, cheeks, and finally, a lingering one on her lips. "And you look... wow. If I were the CEO of Johnson & Associates, I’d be worried you were coming for my job today."
Catharine laughed, adjusting his messy hair. "Only your job? I was thinking of taking over the whole building by lunch."
"You probably could," Jake said, his eyes tracing her face with genuine admiration. "Seriously, Cath. You’re the most stunning thing in this entire city."
She gave him a playful, skeptical look. "Is that the whiskey talking from last night, or are you just trying to butter me up so I don’t mention how much you’re drooling?"
Jake pulled back, his hand over his heart, feigning a look of deep, wounded betrayal. "Drooling? I was giving a masterclass in graceful slumber. And my compliments are a matter of public record, woman. I am deeply hurt. Wounded, even."
"Oh, stop it," she giggled, pulling him toward the kitchen. "Go wash your face. Your ’wounded’ ego can recover over eggs."
---
They sat at the breakfast island, the morning sun finally pouring into the room. Catharine had put together a spread of poached eggs over avocado toast, topped with chili flakes and microgreens, alongside a bowl of chilled dragon fruit and mango.
"How are you holding up?" Jake asked, wrapping his hands around a mug of black coffee. "The office still giving you a hard time?"
Catharine took a sip of her tea. She thought about the snide comments in the breakroom and the mounting pressure of the audit, but she looked at the lingering exhaustion in Jake’s eyes and the way he seemed to be bracing himself for the day.
She wasn’t going to bring up the hostility at work. And she certainly wasn’t going to mention Aliya. Not yet. He needed this hour to just be a man having breakfast with his girl.
"I’m fine," she said brightly, offering him a piece of her toast. "Just the usual corporate drama. I’ve got everything under control. I’m more worried about you—don’t let Alice work you to death today."
"Alice is the least of my concerns," Jake said, his gaze drifting toward the window for a fleeting second, his jaw tightening just enough for her to notice before he softened it again.
"Good," she said, standing up and smoothing out her trousers. She checked her watch. 07:15. "I have to run. I have an 08:00 sharp meeting with the senior partners, and I want to be in my seat before they even walk in."
Jake stood up and met her at the door, pulling her in for one last long hug. "Be careful out there."
"Always," she whispered. "See you tonight?"
"Count on it."
As the elevator doors closed, Catharine took a deep breath, switching her brain from "supportive partner" to "professional killer." Jake stood in the foyer, the silence of the Zenith returning.
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