enjoyebooks CHAPTER 132
CHAPTER 132
POV: Adrian
I realize it when Mark laughs.
Not the loud, careless laugh he throws around like armor, but the quieter one—low, almost private. The kind he doesn’t mean to share.
We’re in the outer gardens, pretending this walk is about fresh air and not about avoiding each other. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting long shadows across the gravel paths. Lysa walks a few steps ahead of us, braid swinging gently against her back, humming to herself as if she belongs here.
She doesn’t.
And that’s exactly why she does.
Mark says something—some ridiculous comment about the ducks in the fountain—and she laughs. Really laughs. Turns to him with that open expression, eyes bright, unguarded.
Something twists sharply in my chest.
I slow my steps without meaning to.
I have been careful until now. Observant. Controlled. I told myself it was harmless curiosity, a passing interest. I told myself Mark was simply being Mark—reckless, loud, easily infatuated.
I lied.
Because the way he looks at her is not careless.
It’s focused. It’s wanting. And I recognize it because it mirrors something I have been trying very hard not to name inside myself.
“She likes you,” I say before I can stop myself.
Mark blinks, glancing back at me. “What?”
I gesture vaguely. “Her. Lysa.”
He scoffs. “She laughs at everyone.”
“She doesn’t look at everyone the way she looks at you,” I reply.
Lysa turns at the sound of her name. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” Mark says quickly. “Adrian’s just being dramatic.”
I straighten. “I’m being honest.”
She tilts her head. “About what?”
Mark shoots me a warning look.
I hesitate.
Say nothing, a voice in my head urges. This is where you retreat. This is where you choose peace.
But another voice—quieter, sharper—asks why peace always means silence.
“Nothing,” I say finally. “Forget it.”
She studies me for a moment, curiosity flickering. Then she shrugs and turns back toward the fountain.
Mark waits until she’s out of earshot. “What was that?”
“I was stating a fact,” I reply.
“You were accusing me,” he snaps.
“I wasn’t,” I say. “I was warning you.”
“About what?” he demands.
“About this,” I gesture between us. “About what happens when you don’t think things through.”
He laughs incredulously. “You mean when I live?”
I clench my jaw. “You don’t own every feeling in this family.”
He stiffens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” I say carefully, “that you’re not the only one allowed to feel something.”
Mark stares at me. And in that moment, I know. He knows too.
“You like her,” he says slowly.
I don’t answer.
His expression hardens. “You never said anything.”
“You never asked,” I reply.
“That’s because I didn’t think I had to,” he snaps. “You never want anything.”
“That’s not true,” I say quietly.
“Then why now?” he challenges. “Why her?”
The question feels unfair and unavoidable.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just—when she talks to me, she doesn’t expect anything. She doesn’t look at me like I’m already failing.”
Mark’s mouth tightens. “She doesn’t know you.”
“Neither do you,” I say before I can stop myself.
The words hang heavy between us.
Lysa returns then, unaware of the tension she’s walking into. “Are you two always like this?”
“No,” Mark says shortly.
“Yes,” I say at the same time.
She laughs awkwardly. “You’re very… intense.”
Mark forces a smile. “We’re fine.”
I nod. “Perfectly fine.”
She glances between us. “I think I should go help my mother.”
Mark opens his mouth. I close mine.
“Of course,” I say. “We’ll see you later.”
“Maybe,” she replies, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
She leaves. The silence she leaves behind is worse.
“You don’t get to do this,” Mark says finally.
“Do what?” I ask.
“Compete,” he replies. “You always let things go. You always step back.”
“I don’t want to this time,” I say.
“That’s selfish,” he snaps.
I look at him. “So is expecting me to.”
He turns away. “You’ll ruin it.”
“You already have,” I reply.
He spins back around. “You think I’m the problem?”
“I think we are,” I say. “And pretending otherwise won’t fix it.”
Mark laughs bitterly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I learned from the best,” I say softly.
He flinches. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask.
“Don’t turn into Father,” he says.
The accusation hits deeper than he knows.
“I’m trying not to,” I reply. “That’s why I’m saying this instead of swallowing it.”
He looks away, jaw tight. “I saw her first.”
“That doesn’t make her yours,” I say.
“She liked me,” he insists.
“She liked you laughing,” I counter. “That’s not the same thing.”
“You think you’re better for her?” he asks sharply.
“No,” I say honestly. “I think I’m worse. That’s why it scares me.”
The admission drains the fight out of me, leaving only truth behind.
Mark exhales slowly. “I don’t want to lose her.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” I reply.
He scoffs. “You won’t.”
“I might,” I say. “If we keep pretending this doesn’t matter.”
He studies me for a long moment, conflict warring across his face.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits finally.
“Neither do I,” I say.
We stand there, brothers separated by something neither of us meant to want.
Love shouldn’t feel like betrayal. And yet, standing in the fading light of the gardens, I feel the fracture forming inside me—between what I want, and what I owe.
Between being a brother. And being a boy who has fallen in love. And for the first time, I don’t know which part of me will win.