Discarded Girlfriend, Claimed By His Cousin

ndan, and his "family friend," Kasey, flaunt their affair, but my career as an even

planned. I saw a fresh hickey on Kasey's neck, a silent, scream

e down, calling me a "gold-digging whore" before dragging me back to our family. They threw

. My career was systematically d

. The weight of it all became too much, and I

endan's cousin, Graham-the quiet, powerful lawyer I'd shared

pte

an, and my stomach twisted. The sleek black car, already far too small for three people, now felt suffocating. We were suppos

nd" who had woven herself into every fabric of Brendan's life, leaving no space for me. I stood by the open passenger door, my overnight bag clu

up, too busy adjusting the rearview mirror. It was typical. He never saw th

There was barely room for one more, let alone two. B

d world, had taught me silence was often the most pragmatic choice. My career, my very livelihood a

ace. It felt like stretching old, stiff fabric. I opened the back door

m Odo

s eyes were closed, a pair of dark, framed glasses perched on his nose. A stack of legal documents r

ss, ran through me. Graham. Brendan' s older cousin. The stoic, impossibl

place. "Graham," I said, my voice carefully modulated, betrayin

tossed her hair, a golden curtain falling over the seat. "Oh, Alexia! Didn't Brendan tell you? Graham's driving with us. He's so sweet to tag along, is

t excuse to manipulate Brendan. It was always some delicate ailme

's not a big deal. Just get in." His voice was flat, dismissing my unspoken questions, dismissing Kasey's obvious play. It was the same tone he used when I

a lecture on being "understanding" and "generous," always for the sake of his public image. So I

ost. He was probably used to a slight sigh, a subtle eye-roll, some minute sign of my di

oulder. "Brendan, darling, could you put on my playlist? Something calming, please. My head is

dutiful puppy to her every command. My stomach churned. He always responded instantly to her

f malice shining through the innocent veneer. It was a silent 'I win,' a c

perfectly still beside me, a solid, unmoving presence. I tried to focus on the intricate stitching of the seat, on the faint

a whisper. "My throat is so dry. I wish I had a bottle of water. I'm so silly, I always f

ey-bear. I have some in here, just for you." He pulled out a chilled bottle of sparkling water. "

water bottle. My fingers fumbled, the bottle slipping from my

e you alright back there? You seem to be struggling." It wasn't a question of

him. Back to him, not to me. He took a long swig, his eyes still on the road. They shared the bottle, a silent intimacy t

My throat felt tight, my stomach churning. I closed my eyes, trying to block

was Graham. He silently retrieved my water bottle from under the seat, his

t, understated but undoubtedly expensive. His knuckles were slightly scarred, as if he had worked wi

indness, his silent intervention, had rattled me. I almost

t. It was a gentle, almost mournful tune, incongruous with the tension in the c

losing his eyes again. His face, in the fleeting sunlight, looked even more drawn, more we

ol liquid soothed my burning throat, but my mind was still racing. His touch, his si

coastal estate where the charity gala was to be held. A high-profile event, vital for my career.

table banter, their shared jokes, their easy inti

ch we were supposed to have alone. I had confronted him, my voice shaking with frustration. He had simply looked at me, bewildered, and said, "

avorite word for my pain. He had promised to talk to Kasey, to set boundaries. But his

dscape. Rolling hills, distant houses, the endless stretch

ing one. My body lurched sideways, and my shoulde

collar of Kasey' s shirt, where her neck met her shoulder. It was subtle, almost hidden, bu

a public display of affection, but now a blatant, physical mark. In my c

rk ignited within me. An act of defiance, small and private, but mine. I let my

n. His gaze, heavy-lidded and intense, met mine. A

lder pressed more firmly against his, a silent invitation, a silent act of rebellion. I felt the solid warmth of his