The temptation of my brother-in-law-Chapter 139 - One Hundred and Thirty-Nine

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Nine

Alicia’s POV

I was reviewing contracts in my office when my phone rang. Unknown number. My stomach dropped the way it always did now when I saw those words on my screen, but I answered anyway because ignoring them never helped.

"Alicia Blackwood?" A woman’s voice, professional and brisk.

"Yes?"

"This is Miranda Chen from Apex Modeling Agency. We’re doing a campaign for a luxury brand and your profile came across my desk. We’d love to have you come in for a casting call this Friday at two."

I blinked. "I’m sorry, what?"

"A casting call. For modeling. You have exactly the look we’re going for. Unique features, striking presence. The pay is excellent and the exposure would be significant."

"I don’t model. I work in corporate management."

"Many of our models have other careers. This would just be a side project. One campaign, very well compensated. Will you at least come in and hear our pitch?"

"I don’t think so. Thank you, but—"

"Just think about it. I’ll email you the details. No pressure."

She hung up before I could refuse again.

I stared at my phone, trying to process what just happened. Modeling? Me? It seemed absurd. I was almost thirty, I worked in an office, I had no experience with that world.

The email came through minutes later with details about the casting call, the brand, the compensation. The money was ridiculous. More than I made in three months at the company. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

I deleted the email. Went back to work. Tried to focus.

But my mind kept wandering to Sasha. I’d seen her twice this week leaving the mansion late at night, dressed in dark clothes, moving like she was trying not to be noticed. She was up to something, something beyond just the club meetings I’d witnessed. Every time I tried to talk to her, she’d snap at me or disappear.

Whatever trouble she was in, it was getting worse. I could see it in the way she jumped at loud noises, the way she constantly checked her phone, the way she’d lost weight and had dark circles under her eyes.

I should tell someone. Malachi or Pa Wood or someone who could actually help. But Sasha would never forgive me for that. And maybe she didn’t want help. Maybe she was handling it her own way.

I was still thinking about it when I got home that evening. The mansion was quieter than usual. Most of the family was out or occupied with their own drama.

I found Sophie in her room, sprawled on her bed with her guitar, actually smiling as she played some song I didn’t recognize.

"You look happy," I said from the doorway.

She looked up, and the smile didn’t fade. That was new. Usually she’d school her expression into teenage indifference the moment someone interrupted her.

"Charlotte taught me this song. It’s harder than it looks."

"How are you feeling? Better than yesterday?"

"Yeah. The cramps are mostly gone." She set the guitar aside. "Charlotte and Cameron are the best. They just showed up and took care of everything without making it weird."

I felt a rush of gratitude toward these twins I barely knew. Sophie had been so isolated since coming here, so alone despite being surrounded by family. Seeing her with actual friends, seeing her genuinely happy, it eased something in my chest I hadn’t realized was tight.

"I’m glad you have them," I said.

"Me too." She paused, then added, "I was worried, you know. That I was broken or something. That I couldn’t make friends because there was something wrong with me."

"Sophie, there’s nothing wrong with you."

"I thought maybe I was autistic or had some kind of social disorder. Because everyone at my old school avoided me and I couldn’t figure out why."

"That wasn’t about you. That was about them not understanding what you’d been through."

She shrugged. "Maybe. But it felt like my fault. Like I was the problem." She looked at me directly. "Do you think I’m weird?"

"I think you’re perfect exactly as you are."

"That’s such a mom answer."

"I’m your sister, not your mom."

"Sometimes you feel like both." She said it matter-of-factly, without resentment. "Not that I’m complaining. You saved me. You got me out of there. I just mean you do the mom stuff too."

My throat got tight. "Someone had to."

"Yeah." She picked at her guitar strings absently. "Speaking of mom. I want to visit her grave."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Our mother’s grave. In Dark City. Where she’d been buried next to the son she’d died trying to bring into the world.

"Alicia? Did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

"When’s the last time you went?"

"Not since I left Dark City. Not since..." I couldn’t finish the sentence. Not since Robert sold me to the Blackwoods for money, desperate to pay off gambling debts, not caring what happened to his daughter as long as he got paid.

"It’s been years then."

"Almost four years."

Sophie nodded slowly. "I was thinking we could go together. Maybe this weekend? I know it’s far but we could make a day trip."

The thought of going back to Dark City made my skin crawl. All those memories, all that pain, all the versions of myself I’d tried so hard to leave behind.

But Sophie wanted to visit our mother. And I’d promised myself I’d give her whatever she needed.

"Okay," I said. "We’ll go. This weekend."

"Really?"

"Really. I promise."

She smiled, and it was worth it. Worth facing Dark City and Robert’s ghost and all the painful memories if it meant Sophie got to say goodbye properly to the mother she’d lost so young.

"Thank you." She hesitated. "Also, there’s something else."

"What?"

"That modeling thing. The email you got."

I stared at her. "How do you know about that?"

"I might have seen it on your laptop when you left it open in the living room. Not snooping, just happened to see it."

"Sophie."

"Whatever. Point is, you should do it."

"I’m not doing a modeling campaign. That’s ridiculous."

"Why is it ridiculous? You’re beautiful. You have that whole mysterious silver-haired thing going on. And the money is insane. You could use that money for yourself instead of just working constantly."

"I don’t need the money."

"Everyone needs money. And you never do anything for yourself. You work and take care of me and deal with this family’s drama and you never just do something because it might be fun or interesting."

"Modeling isn’t fun. It’s standing around while people tell you how to pose."

"You don’t know that. You’ve never tried." She leaned forward. "Just go to the casting call. See what it’s about. If you hate it, you can leave. But at least you’ll know instead of just assuming."

"When did you become so pushy?"

"I learned from the best." She grinned. "Come on. Do it. For me. Consider it payment for agreeing to visit mom’s grave."

"That’s manipulation."

"That’s negotiation."

I sighed. She was right and she knew it. I never did anything for myself. Never took risks or tried new things or stepped outside the careful life I’d built.

"Fine. I’ll go to the casting call. But I’m not promising anything beyond that."

"Fair enough."

She went back to her guitar and I went to my room, thinking about Dark City and our mother and all the things I’d tried to bury.

Our mother had been buried in a small cemetery on the edge of the city. I remembered the funeral. Robert drunk and angry that he had to pay for it. Me holding five-year-old Sophie’s hand, trying to keep her quiet while Robert raged. The tiny coffin next to our mother’s, the son Robert had always wanted, the baby boy who’d been stillborn.

That’s what had killed her. The difficult pregnancy, the complications, the baby that never took a breath. She’d died trying to give Robert the son he’d demanded, and all it had done was drive him madder than he already was.

He’d blamed her for dying. Blamed the dead baby for not surviving. Blamed Sophie and me for being girls instead of the sons he wanted. His grief had twisted into rage and that rage had twisted into cruelty that lasted years.

I’d protected Sophie from as much of his hatred as I could. But I hadn’t been able to protect her from everything. Hadn’t been able to stop him from eventually trying to sell her too, once I was gone.

That’s when I’d made my deal with the Blackwoods. Married Travis in exchange for getting Sophie away from Robert, for giving her safety and security and a chance at a normal life.

It had seemed worth it at the time. It still seemed worth it when I looked at Sophie smiling and playing guitar and talking about her friends.

Even if my own life was a mess of complicated feelings and forbidden attraction and a marriage that felt more like a prison than a partnership.

My phone buzzed. Text from that modeling agency with appointment details for Friday.

I saved the information and tried not to think about how ridiculous this all was.

Then another text came through. Unknown number.

Dark City remembers you, Alicia. Do you remember it?

My hands started shaking. Someone knew I was planning to go back. Someone was watching close enough to know about conversations in my own home.

Another text.

Say hello to your mother for me. And to the brother who never got to live.

I dropped my phone like it had burned me.

How did they know? How could they possibly know about Sophie wanting to visit? About the grave? About my stillborn brother?

Unless they’d been listening. Unless they had access to the mansion somehow. Unless the threat was closer than I’d realized.

I picked up my phone with trembling hands and texted back for the first time.

Who are you?

The response came immediately.

Someone who knows all your secrets. Someone who was there when you thought you were alone. Someone who’s been waiting a very long time for you to come home.