The temptation of my brother-in-law-Chapter 127 - One Hundred and Twenty-seven

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-seven

Alicia’s POV

I was in my room going over some contracts when Travis knocked.

Actually knocked. He never knocked. Usually just barged in like he owned the place. Which technically he did. This was his room too. Even if he rarely slept in it anymore.

"Come in," I said.

He opened the door. Stood there. Sober. Clearheaded. Looking more like the man I’d married than he had in years.

"Can we talk?"

"About what?"

"About us. About whatever this is." He gestured between us. "Or whatever this isn’t."

I set down my laptop. My body tensed automatically. Years of conditioning. Years of not knowing which Travis would walk through that door. The drunk one. The angry one. The one with fists.

"Okay. Talk."

He came in. Closed the door. Sat on the edge of the bed. Far enough away to give me space. Like he knew. Like he remembered what he’d done and was trying not to scare me.

Too late for that.

"You’ve been different," he said. "Since we got back from the Maldives. Actually, before that. But it’s gotten worse."

"Different how?"

"Distant. Cold. Like you can’t stand to be in the same room as me."

"Can you blame me?"

The words came out sharp. Cutting. Years of suppressed anger bleeding through.

He flinched. "No. I can’t. I know what I did. What I put you through."

"Do you? Do you really? Because I’m not sure you do."

"I hit you. Multiple times over three years. I was drunk. Angry. Taking out my problems on you. I know what I did."

Hearing him say it out loud made something twist in my chest. Acknowledgment. Finally. After all this time.

"And now what?" I asked. "Now you’re sober and everything’s supposed to be fine? I’m supposed to forget?"

"No. I don’t expect you to forget. But I’m asking you to let me try. To make things right."

"You can’t make things right, Travis. You can’t undo what you did. Can’t erase the fear. The pain. The years I spent walking on eggshells wondering which version of you would come home."

"I know. But I’m getting help. Going to meetings. Working on my anger. I’m not that person anymore."

"You’ve been sober for what? A few weeks? And you expect me to believe you’ve changed?"

"I’ve been sober for two months. And yes. I have changed."

I laughed. Bitter. Cold. "Two months. That’s nothing. You were drunk for years, Travis. Years. Why should I believe this is any different?"

"Because I mean it this time."

"You meant it every other time too. Every time you promised to stop. Every time you swore you’d change. Then you’d drink again and I’d end up with bruises."

His jaw clenched. "I’m sorry. For all of it. I know sorry doesn’t fix anything but I am."

"Sorry doesn’t heal broken ribs. Sorry doesn’t make me trust you again."

"Then what will? What do I have to do to prove I’ve changed?"

"I don’t know if you can."

He stood up. Started pacing. That old restlessness coming back. The one that used to precede his explosions.

I tensed. Ready to run if I needed to.

He noticed. Stopped. "I’m not going to hit you."

"You say that now."

"I mean it. I’m not that person anymore."

"So you keep saying."

"Alicia. Please. I’m trying here. Can you at least meet me halfway?"

"Meet you halfway? You beat me for three years and now you want me to meet you halfway?"

"I was sick. Addicted. Not thinking clearly."

"And I was your wife. Your wife, Travis. Not your punching bag."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because it didn’t seem like you knew it when you shoved me into walls. When you grabbed my arm so hard it bruised. When you made me afraid in my own home."

Guilt flashed across his face. Real guilt. Not the performative kind he used to show when he was drunk and apologizing.

"I hate what I did to you," he said quietly. "I hate who I was. And I understand if you can’t forgive me. But I need to know. Is there any chance? Any possibility that we can fix this?"

I looked at him. Really looked at him. Saw the sincerity. The desperation. The man who seemed genuinely remorseful.

And all I felt was conflicted. Because part of me wanted to believe him. Wanted to think people could change. That he could become someone different.

But another part. The part that had survived three years of abuse. That part knew better. Knew that promises meant nothing. That change was hard. That relapse was always possible.

And there was the guilt. The crushing guilt of what I’d done with Malachi. Of what I was still doing. Of the fact that I’d already betrayed him even if he’d deserved it.

"I don’t know," I said finally. "I don’t know if there’s anything left to fix."

"So that’s it? You’ve already decided?"

"I’ve decided that I’m tired. Tired of hoping. Tired of being disappointed. Tired of pretending this marriage is something it’s not."

"Which is what?"

"Real. It was never real, Travis. We both know that. I married you to escape my father. You married me because Pa Wood told you to. There was never love. Never partnership. Just. Obligation."

"That’s not true."

"Isn’t it? Tell me honestly. Did you ever love me? Or did you just love the idea of having a wife? Someone to control when you were drunk?"

His face went red. "That’s not fair."

"Nothing about this marriage has been fair."

"So what? You want a divorce? Is that what you’re saying?"

The word hung in the air. Divorce. Freedom. The end of this nightmare.

"I don’t know what I want," I admitted. "But I know I can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

"Is there someone else?" he asked. Voice quiet. Dangerous.

My heart stopped. "What?"

"You heard me. Is there someone else? Because that would explain a lot."

"There’s no one."

The lie tasted bitter. But necessary.

"You sure about that? Because you seem different. Distracted. Like your mind is somewhere else. With someone else."

"You’re imagining things."

"Am I? Because I’ve seen the way you look sometimes. Like you’re thinking about something. Someone. And it’s not me."

"Travis."

"Just tell me the truth. Are you seeing someone?"

"No."

Another lie. Easier this time.

He stared at me. Trying to decide if I was telling the truth. If he should push harder.

"Fine," he said finally. "But Alicia? If I find out you’re lying. If I find out there’s someone else. I won’t be understanding."

The threat was subtle. Veiled. But I heard it. Heard the old Travis underneath the sober facade.

And I realized. He hadn’t changed. Not really. He’d just gotten better at hiding it.

"Get out," I said.

"What?"

"Get out of my room. Now."

"This is my room too."

"I don’t care. Get out. I can’t. I can’t do this right now."

He looked like he wanted to argue. To push back. To assert his dominance the way he used to.

But something stopped him. Maybe the look on my face. Maybe the knowledge that he was on thin ice. That one wrong move would shatter whatever fragile peace we’d managed.

"Fine. But this conversation isn’t over."

"Yes. It is."

He left. Closed the door behind him. Not slamming it. But not gentle either.

I sat there. Shaking. Heart pounding. Adrenaline coursing through me.

Two months sober and he was already threatening me. Already showing signs of the man he used to be.

He hadn’t changed. Not really. And I’d been a fool to think he might.

But the guilt remained. Because even though he’d been terrible. Even though he’d hurt me. I’d still betrayed him. Still crossed a line I could never uncross.

And if he ever found out about Malachi. If he ever discovered what I’d done.

I didn’t want to think about what would happen.

Didn’t want to imagine his reaction. His rage. His violence.

I pulled out my phone. Looked at Malachi’s contact. Wanted to call him. Tell him what happened. Hear his voice.

But I couldn’t.