I thought I was waking up in the arms of Arthur, the man I loved. But as the morning light hit the Hamptons estate, the man buttoning his cuffs by the window turned around with eyes like chips of ice. It was Augustus Riddle, Arthur’s cruel younger brother, and I had just spent the night whispering confessions of love into the wrong man’s ear.
The night I thought was a beautiful beginning turned into a devastating nightmare. Instead of comfort, Gus treated me like a stain on his expensive carpet, scribbling a check for “services rendered” before shoving me into a dark service corridor to hide my existence from his brother.
“How much does it cost to buy your silence?”
He sneered, before leaving me barefoot in a torrential downpour while he drove away in a luxury Cadillac. Four years later, I am a struggling actress in Los Angeles, working double shifts as a barista just to keep the lights on. My life was finally stable until my roommate dragged me to a high-end dinner to meet her new “influential” boyfriend. The man sitting at the table, looking more arrogant and lethal than ever, was Augustus.
He spent the entire night humiliating me, calling me a pathetic amateur and a social climber in front of my only friends. When I fled into the rain and collapsed on the sidewalk, skinning my knee until I bled, he watched from his car. He saw me clutching a plastic baggie containing the taped-together pieces of that four-year-old check—the only proof of my shame. He looked at me like roadkill, rolled up his window, and drove off into the dark.
I couldn’t understand why he was doing this. Why did he hate me enough to crush me, yet remember that I couldn’t handle the smell of cigarette smoke? Why did he leave me bleeding in the street, only to send expensive medical supplies and coffee to my door the very next morning?
“I’m moving out.”
I told my roommates, realizing that Gus Riddle didn’t just want to destroy me; he wanted to haunt me. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out with eighty dollars to my name, finally ready to disappear into the city before he could burn the rest of my life to the ground.
One Night With The Wrong Brother Chapter 1
“Arthur?”
The name scraped against Katherine’s dry throat. It was a whisper, fragile and hopeful, born from the haze of a hangover that felt like a hammer inside her skull. Her vision was swimming, the edges of the room blurring into dark, indistinct shapes. The drink from last night-or whatever had been slipped into it-still clouded her mind with a heavy, narcotic fog.
The sunlight slicing through the gaps in the heavy curtains was too bright. It burned. But not as much as the sudden, freezing stillness of the man standing by the window.
He was buttoning his cuff. His back was to her. Broad shoulders, the taper of a waist she had clung to only hours ago. The skin of his back was tanned, smooth, and familiar. Or so she desperately wanted to believe. Her brain, desperate for the fairy tale, automatically filled in the blanks with the gentle warmth of the man she had been longing for.
At the sound of the name, his hands stopped. He didn’t turn around immediately. The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating, swallowing the sound of the distant Hamptons surf.
Katherine pulled the silk sheet up to her chin. “Last night…” she murmured, lost in a haze of manufactured happiness. “I knew you’d come back for me.”
He turned.
Katherine blinked hard, trying to force her eyes to focus. The face was blurry, but the silhouette was so familiar. Her mind instantly overlaid Arthur’s kind smile onto the shadowy features.
But then the fog parted just enough.
The breath left Katherine’s lungs in a sharp, painful gasp.
It wasn’t Arthur.
The jaw was harder. The eyes were darker, devoid of the gentle warmth she had fallen in love with over the summer. There was no kindness in the set of his mouth, only a cruel, twisting line of disdain.
Agustus Riddle.
Arthur’s younger brother.
The room spun. The memories of the previous night-the yacht party, the endless champagne, the fireworks, the warm body she had stumbled into in the dark-crashed into the reality of the morning. She had whispered confessions of love. She had cried in his arms. She had given him everything she had been saving for Arthur.
“Gus?” Her voice trembled, breaking on the single syllable. “I thought… I thought last night…”
Gus stared at her. His eyes were like chips of ice. He didn’t look like a man who had just spent the night with a woman. He looked like a man looking at a stain on his expensive carpet.
“You thought what?” His voice was low, rough with sleep but sharp with mockery. He walked toward the bed, his steps deliberate and predatory.
Katherine shrank back against the headboard. “I… I felt…”
“You felt?” Gus cut her off. He stopped at the edge of the bed, his shadow falling over her, blocking out the sun. “You mean you felt the alcohol? Or did you feel the opportunity to get one step closer to the real prize?”
The accusation hit her like a physical blow. Her stomach churned, bile rising in her throat. “No. That’s not… I was drunk. I thought you were him.”
Gus laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound that made her flinch. He leaned down, placing a hand on the mattress on either side of her hips, trapping her.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Woodward,” he spat. “You were drunk enough to be loose, but sober enough to scream my brother’s name.”
Tears pricked her eyes, hot and humiliating. “Please. Stop.”
“Stop?” His face was inches from hers now. She could smell the lingering scent of whiskey and the expensive soap he used. “You didn’t want me to stop last night when you were crying about how much you loved him.”
Katherine squeezed her eyes shut. Shame, hot and viscous, flooded her veins. She wanted to die. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Heavy, purposeful steps.
“Gus? Are you in there?”
Arthur’s voice.
Katherine’s eyes snapped open. Panic seized her chest, tightening around her lungs until she couldn’t breathe. If Arthur saw her here… in Gus’s bed…
Gus’s expression shifted instantly. The mockery vanished, replaced by a sharp, alert tension. He looked at the door, then back at her. For a second, just a split second, there was something else in his eyes. Something that looked like panic.
He grabbed her arm. His grip was hard, bruising.
“Get up,” he hissed.
“My clothes…”
“Now!”
He yanked her out of bed. Katherine stumbled, her legs weak, clutching the sheet around her naked body. Gus didn’t wait. He dragged her across the plush carpet toward a panel in the wall that blended seamlessly with the wainscoting.
He pressed a hidden latch. The panel clicked and swung open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit service corridor.
“Gus?” Arthur’s voice was closer now. The doorknob to the bedroom rattled.
Gus shoved her into the darkness. Katherine tripped, her bare shoulder scraping against the rough plaster of the inner wall.
He followed her in, pulling the door shut behind them. The click of the lock was the loudest sound in the world.
They were plunged into semi-darkness, the only light coming from a faint green emergency exit sign down the hall. The space was tight. Gus was pressed against her, his chest heaving against her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Gus didn’t answer. He slammed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. He leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers. In the gloom, his eyes were black pits.
“Listen to me,” he whispered, his voice a venomous hiss. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone… especially Arthur… I will destroy you.”
Katherine trembled. The cold from the wall seeped into her skin, contrasting violently with the heat radiating from his body.
“Why are you doing this?” she sobbed quietly.
“Because,” Gus said, his voice devoid of any emotion, “Arthur’s already on a plane to London. You missed your chance. And you are a mistake. A messy, pathetic mistake that I need to clean up.”
One Night With The Wrong Brother Chapter 2
The silence in the narrow corridor was heavy, broken only by Katherine’s ragged breathing. Gus didn’t move. He kept her pinned, his body a solid wall of heat and hostility.
He stared at her tear-streaked face. He watched a single tear track down her cheek and drip onto her collarbone. His jaw clenched. A muscle feathered in his cheek.
Slowly, deliberately, he removed one hand from the wall. He reached into the pocket of his dress pants and pulled out a slim, leather checkbook.
He slapped it against the wall beside her head. The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot.
Katherine flinched, her eyes widening in horror. She looked at the checkbook, then back at his face. “What is that?”
Gus used his teeth to pull the cap off a silver pen. He spat the cap into his hand. “Compensation.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple math, Kat.” He used the nickname she hated, the one only he used when he wanted to be condescending. “Services rendered. How much is a night of pretending I’m him worth to you?”
Katherine felt the blood drain from her face. Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall an inch before catching herself. “I don’t want your money.”
“Don’t want money?” Gus let out a short, sharp laugh. “What do you want then? A ring? The Riddle name?”
“Stop it,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Stop pretending,” he snapped. He pressed the tip of the pen to the paper. “Five thousand? Ten? How much does it cost to buy your silence?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He scribbled a number. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper was violent, aggressive. He ripped the check out. The tearing sound vibrated through Katherine’s bones.
He grabbed her hand. His fingers were cold. He jammed the piece of paper into her palm and curled her fingers around it.
“Take it,” he ordered.
Katherine opened her hand. The check fluttered to the dirty carpet of the service hallway.
Gus looked down at it. “Not enough? That’s more than your father makes in a year.”
Something inside Katherine snapped. The fear, the shame, the confusion-it all coalesced into a blinding, white-hot anger. She wasn’t a whore. She wasn’t a social climber. She was a girl who had made a mistake because she was in love.
She dropped to her knees.
Gus watched her, his lip curling. “Finally showing your true colors? Picking it up?”
Katherine grabbed the check. She stood up, her legs shaking but holding her weight. She looked him dead in the eye.
“You are disgusting,” she said. Her voice was quiet, steady.
She tore the check in half. Then in half again.
The pieces fell like confetti between them.
Gus didn’t blink. He stared at the torn paper on the floor. For a second, his mask slipped. His eyes widened, and there was a flicker of something that looked like… regret? Pain?
But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that impregnable wall of ice.
He stepped back, smoothing the front of his shirt. He adjusted his cuff, regaining his composure, regaining his control.
“Very noble,” he drawled. “I hope that nobility pays your tuition next semester.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, down the dark corridor toward the exit.
“Last night wasn’t a transaction!” Katherine screamed at his back. “I thought… I thought you cared!”
Gus stopped. He didn’t turn around. His shoulders were rigid, the muscles of his back tense under the fine fabric of his shirt.
“Whatever you thought,” he said, his voice low and final, “forget it. It never happened.”
He pushed the door open. A blade of harsh daylight cut into the corridor, blinding Katherine for a moment. Then the door slammed shut.
Katherine slid down the wall until she hit the floor. She pulled the sheet tighter around herself, burying her face in her knees. Her hand found a piece of the torn check on the carpet. She clutched it until the sharp edge of the paper cut into her palm.
One Night With The Wrong Brother Chapter 3
Katherine dried her face with the corner of the sheet. It smelled like him. She hated it.
She found her dress-a crumpled heap of blue chiffon near the door where Gus had dragged her in. She put it on with trembling hands, her fingers fumbling with the zipper. She didn’t have her shoes. They were probably still in his bedroom.
She couldn’t go back there.
She pushed open the heavy fire door at the end of the corridor.
The weather had turned. The sunny morning had collapsed into a violent summer storm. Rain lashed against the pavement, turning the gravel driveway of the estate into a river of mud.
Katherine stepped out. The water soaked her instantly. Her dress clung to her legs, heavy and cold. The gravel dug into the soles of her bare feet.
She started walking toward the main gate. She had no phone. No purse. Just herself and the humiliation burning under her skin.
A black Cadillac Escalade rolled down the driveway, its tires crunching on the stones. It slowed as it approached her.
Katherine stopped. Her heart leaped into her throat. Maybe… maybe he was coming back. Maybe he realized he had been cruel.
The tinted rear window rolled down halfway.
Gus sat in the back seat. He was wearing a suit jacket now, looking every inch the corporate heir. He held an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
He looked at her.
Rain dripped from Katherine’s hair, running into her eyes, blurring her vision. She shivered, hugging herself.
Gus didn’t say a word. He didn’t offer a ride. He didn’t offer an umbrella. He just looked at her with eyes that were completely dead.
Then, he made a small motion with his hand.
The window rolled up.
The Cadillac accelerated, spraying a wave of muddy water over her legs. Katherine stood there, watching the red taillights fade into the gray mist of the storm.
She looked down at her feet, bleeding slightly on the sharp rocks.
Never again, she thought. The vow was a cold, hard stone in her stomach. I will never let Agustus Riddle look at me like that again.
Four Years Later
The alarm clock screamed.
Katherine jolted upright, gasping for air. Her hand flew to her chest. Her heart was racing. For a second, she could still feel the cold rain on her skin, smell the exhaust of the Cadillac.
She blinked. The Hamptons estate dissolved.
She was in Los Angeles. West Hollywood.
The sunlight filtering through the cheap, bent plastic blinds was dusty and yellow. The room was stiflingly hot. The air conditioner was broken again.
She rubbed her face. It was just a dream. The same dream.
She swung her legs out of bed. The carpet here wasn’t plush wool; it was thin, beige synthetic that smelled faintly of old dog.
Katherine walked to the mirror. The face staring back was older. The baby fat was gone from her cheeks, leaving her cheekbones sharper, her eyes hollower.
She wasn’t the heiress-adjacent girl anymore. She was Katherine Woodward, a ghost haunting the edges of an industry that had once promised her everything. A star who had fallen, now working as a full-time barista to pay for the privilege of failure.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up. An email from her agent.
Passed on the indie film role. The director felt your ‘essence’ was too tragic for the part.
Katherine let out a dry laugh. Tragic. She hadn’t felt anything but tragic in four years.
She walked out into the living room. It was a war zone of clothes, makeup, and takeout boxes.
“You have that nightmare again?” Kylie asked, not looking up from her phone. “The one where you look like a drowned rat? So dreary.”
Kylie Barker stood in the center of the room, holding up a lime green dress against her body. Kylie was everything Katherine wasn’t-loud, vibrant, and relentlessly ambitious. She was an Instagram influencer with 90,000 followers and an ego to match.
“Does this make my ass look famous?” Kylie asked, twirling.
“It makes you look visible from space,” Katherine muttered, opening the fridge. Empty. Just a jar of pickles and a bottle of vodka.
“Don’t be a hater, Kat,” Kylie chirped. “You need to get ready. Tonight is the night.”
Katherine paused, a water bottle halfway to her lips. “Night for what?”
“Dinner! The roommate dinner? I’ve been talking about it all week.” Kylie rolled her eyes. “My treat. I’m celebrating hitting 100k followers. Well, I’m at 99.8k, but I’m manifesting it.”
“I can’t,” Katherine said. “I have to prep for a callback tomorrow. It’s just an understudy role for an off-Broadway play, but it’s something.”
“Boring,” Kylie sang. “Beth is coming. Trixie is coming. You are coming. You need to get out of this apartment. You smell like depression and old coffee beans.”
Beth, their third roommate, poked her head out of her room. “Come on, Kat. Kylie says she’s taking us to Catch. We’ll never get in there otherwise.”
Katherine looked at them. She looked at the stack of unpaid bills on the counter. She looked at the rejection email on her phone.
She was tired. She was so tired of the grind. Maybe one night of expensive food and pretending to be someone else wouldn’t hurt.
“Fine,” Katherine sighed. “I’ll go.”
She didn’t know it then. She didn’t know that saying “yes” was the mistake that would drag her back into hell.