The temptation of my brother-in-law-Chapter 81 - Eighty One

Chapter Eighty-One

Alicia’s POV

I was woken up by a sharp knock on my door. The morning light was barely filtering through the curtains. Too early for anyone to need me.

"Miss Alicia?" A maid’s voice called through the door. "Mrs. Layla needs to see you downstairs."

I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head. What could Layla possibly want at this hour?

"Miss Alicia?"

"I’m coming," I called back, my voice muffled.

I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on my robe. Didn’t bother with makeup or doing anything with my hair. If Layla wanted me this early, she could deal with me looking like I’d just woken up.

Because I had.

I made my way downstairs, still half asleep. Found Layla in the sitting room looking far too energetic for whatever ungodly hour this was.

"Alicia! Finally. I was beginning to think you’d sleep all day."

I glanced at the clock. Seven AM. "What do you need?"

"The anniversary party is tomorrow. I’ve arranged for a dance tutor to come this morning. You and Travis need to practice your opening dance."

My brain slowly processed the words. Anniversary party. Tomorrow. Opening dance.

Oh god. I’d completely forgotten about the dance.

"Can’t we just skip the dance?" I asked hopefully.

"Absolutely not. It’s tradition. The eldest son and his wife open the celebration with a waltz. It’s expected." Layla looked at me critically. "Please tell me you know how to waltz."

"I can dance."

"That’s not what I asked."

Before I could respond, Travis stumbled into the room. He looked even worse than I felt. Bloodshot eyes. Rumpled clothes. The smell of alcohol coming off him in waves.

"Mother, it’s too early for this," he slurred.

"It’s seven in the morning and you’re still drunk from last night," Layla said sharply. "Go shower. The tutor will be here in thirty minutes."

We had to wait for Travis to make himself somewhat presentable. Which took over an hour. By the time he came back down, I’d had three cups of coffee and was more awake but no more enthusiastic about this.

The dance tutor was a stern older woman who looked like she’d been teaching proper ballroom technique since the Victorian era. She positioned us in the center of the room, Travis’s hand on my waist, mine on his shoulder.

"Now, on the count of three," she said. "One, two, three—"

Travis immediately stepped on my foot.

"Mr. Blackwood, you lead with your left foot. Left."

We tried again. He went right.

"Your other left."

This continued for what felt like hours. Travis kept doing it wrong. Either stepping on my feet, going the wrong direction, or losing count of the beat entirely.

I tried to be patient. Tried to follow his terrible leading. But it was like dancing with a drunk giraffe.

"Perhaps we should take a break," the tutor suggested, looking exhausted.

"No," Layla said from where she’d been watching. "They need to get this right. The whole family will be watching tomorrow."

We kept practicing. By the time we finally managed to get through the entire routine without Travis stepping on me, I was ready to collapse.

"Good enough," the tutor declared, though she didn’t look convinced. "Practice tonight before bed."

She left and I immediately moved away from Travis. My feet hurt. My patience was gone.

"Alicia," Layla called. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

I followed her reluctantly. She led me outside to where the party preparations were being set up. Tents. Tables. Elaborate floral arrangements. Everything coordinated and expensive.

"What do you think?" Layla asked, gesturing to it all.

I looked around. It was beautiful, objectively. The kind of party people would talk about for months.

"It’s impressive," I said honestly.

"I’ve been planning this for days now." Layla’s eyes were bright with excitement. "Everything has to be perfect."

I had never seen Layla this happy about something before. Usually she was composed. Critical. Focused on finding flaws.

But right now she looked almost girlish. Proud of what she’d created.

"It will be perfect," I assured her. "You’ve done an amazing job."

She smiled. Actually smiled at me. "Thank you, Alicia. I’m glad someone appreciates the effort."

We walked through the setup, Layla pointing out details. The lighting plan. The menu. The seating arrangements. She’d thought of everything.

I found myself genuinely impressed despite my general dislike of family events.

After the tour, I excused myself. My feet were still sore from dance practice and I wanted to find Malachi. Wanted to tell him about my morning. Wanted to see him.

But I knew he would’ve gone out already. Probably had meetings. Business to handle. The kind of things that kept him away most days.

I was heading back toward my room when Sasha appeared from around the corner.

"Well, well. Practicing your dance?" Her voice was sugary sweet. Fake.

"Yes. Is there something you need?"

"I just think it’s funny. All this celebration. All this fuss." She moved closer. "When really, there’s nothing worth celebrating at all."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, what’s the point of a big anniversary party? What’s the point of all this family legacy nonsense when the eldest son can’t even produce an heir?" Her eyes glittered with malice. "Three years, Alicia. Three years and not even a pregnancy scare. Makes you wonder who the problem really is."

The words hit exactly where she intended. Right at my deepest insecurity.

"Sasha—"

"I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. What’s the point of your marriage if you can’t do the one thing you were brought into this family to do?"

Something inside me snapped. I was tired. Sore. Emotionally exhausted. And I was done letting this spoiled brat speak to me like I was nothing.

"You want to know why there’s no child?" I said, my voice cold. "Because your precious uncle is too drunk every night to function. Because our marriage is a business arrangement neither of us wanted. Because maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to bring a child into this toxic family."

Sasha’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected me to fight back.

"How dare you—"

"No. How dare you." I stepped closer, not backing down. "You walk around this house acting like you’re better than everyone. Like you have any right to judge. But you’re just a spoiled child playing at being important."

"I’m a Blackwood—"

"So am I. By marriage, yes. But that still makes me family. Which means you don’t get to speak to me like I’m beneath you." My voice was steady now. Controlled. "And if you ever try to humiliate me again, I’ll make sure Pa Wood hears exactly how his precious granddaughter treats the people in this house."

Sasha’s face went pale. Pa Wood was the one person in this family she feared disappointing.

"You wouldn’t."

"Try me."

We stared at each other. A silent battle of wills. Finally, Sasha looked away first.

"This isn’t over," she muttered.

"Yes, it is."

She turned and walked away quickly. Almost running.

I stood there for a moment, my heart racing. I’d never stood up to her like that before. Never pushed back so directly.

It felt good. Empowering. Like I’d reclaimed something I’d let this family take from me.

My spine. My voice. My refusal to be small.