[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 198: Old bruises

NOAH

"After being disowned, the desperation is almost sad. Claiming to work for a Wolfe? In a building full of people who actually do? It makes you look delusional, not important. Instead of embarrassing yourself and Dad, you should go wait outside until he’s done. Maybe then you can beg for forgiveness. Try to recover something from the wreckage you call a life."

Every word landed. Every single one. Not because I believed him... I knew I wasn’t a worm... but because Nick knew exactly where the old bruises were. He was pressing on the damage we shared, the trauma of our upbringing, and doing it with surgical precision.

My eyes stung. Not from weakness, but from the sheer, exhausting weight of still being hurt by someone I should have stopped expecting anything from years ago. I blinked hard, refusing to let a single tear fall. I would not give him that. I would not let him see me bleed.

"Nick, stop," I said. It wasn’t a plea. It was a command. I cut him off mid-sentence, my voice firm enough that he actually paused.

I took a breath, looking at him... really looking at him.

"If you’re so accomplished," I said, my voice trembling with a different kind of energy now. "If you’re so celebrated and loved and perfect... why do you look like that?"

Nick’s eyes narrowed. "Like what?"

"Like there’s nothing inside," I said, gesturing to his chest. "Like you’re hollow. Look at you. You’re in a five-thousand-dollar suit, you’re about to have dinner with the Governor, and you look like you’re waiting for a funeral. If your life is so great, why do you keep coming back to me? To the failure? To the worm?"

I paused, drawing in a breath. "You could have ignored me the moment you saw me—pretended I didn’t exist, like you always do. But instead, you came all the way over just to say this to me."

I stepped into his space, my voice a low, hot whisper. "Why bother, Nick? Why every single time we’re in a room together do you feel the need to grind me into the floor? Unless... my failure is the only thing that makes you feel like you’re winning. Is that it? Is that the only way you know you’re alive? By being ’better’ than me?"

The room went still between us. For a fraction of a second, Nick’s expression did something complicated. Something that wasn’t scorn. Something that looked almost like a crack in the porcelain. Then, the mask was back... faster than before, practiced and cold.

"Yes," Nick said. He said it without a shred of shame. He said it like honesty was just another tool in his kit. "You’re right, Noah. I do enjoy it. I enjoy the look on your face every time we’re both reminded which twin the family chose. It reminds me that I made the right decisions while you’re nothing but a goddamn loser."

The cruelty of It was breathtaking. Naming the thing didn’t make it better; it just made it more monstrous. He looked comfortable saying it.

"Nicholas."

Our father’s voice cut through the air. George Bennett had extricated himself from his conversation and was approaching us, his eyes moving between us like a surveyor assessing a property line. He looked at Nick with a glow of pride that could have heated a house, then he looked at me.

The light went out.

"Why hasn’t he been removed yet?" George asked, addressing Nick directly. He spoke as if I were a piece of furniture that had been delivered to the wrong address.

Him. Not my name. Not "your brother." Just him. The distance he built into that one pronoun felt like a canyon I’d never be able to cross.

"I can’t be removed," I said, my voice cracking before I caught it. "I have permission to be in this building."

My father didn’t even look at me. He kept his eyes on Nick. "Why would the building admit an uninvited guest? Was there a security lapse?"

"Maybe he sneaked in," Nick said, a small, ugly smirk playing on his lips. "He’s always been good at finding ways into places he doesn’t belong."

Finally, my father turned his head toward me. It wasn’t the warmth he saved for the donors. It wasn’t the professional mask. It was just flat, dead air.

"You’re not welcome here, Noah," he said. "Clearly, you haven’t learned your lesson. You continue to be an embarrassment to this family."

I opened my mouth, a hundred defenses bubbling up, but Nick was already glancing past me. Two security guards were patrolling the perimeter of the lobby. Nick raised a hand... easy, practiced, the gesture of a man who was used to being obeyed.

"Gentlemen," Nick said as they approached. "We have an intruder. He’s been bothering the guests."

The security guards paused. They were professionals. They looked at me, then at the man in the tuxedo whose face had been on the front page of the morning paper. They knew who Nick was. They didn’t know who I was. The calculation was visible in their eyes.

"Sir," one of them said, turning to me. "We’re going to need you to come with us."

"No," I said, standing my ground. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through. "I’m an employee. I’m waiting for my boss, Cassian Wolfe."

"Please come with us, sir," the other one said, reaching for my arm.

The scene was drawing eyes now. Guests in the periphery were slowing down, their conversations dipping as they watched the drama unfold. The "perfect" evening was getting a blemish, and I was the mark.

The guards moved In. I braced myself, my hands balling into fists, ready to be dragged out if that’s what it took.

"Go on. Lay a finger on my assistant. I’ve been looking for something to do tonight and I could use a reason. I haven’t had to bury anyone this week."

The voice didn’t scream. It didn’t need to. It arrived in the room like a cold front, sharp and carrying across the marble with a weight that made the air feel heavier. It was a voice designed to be heard and feared.

The security guards froze. Their hands stopped inches from my sleeves. They didn’t move forward; they didn’t move back. They just stood there, paralyzed by the sheer authority of the tone.

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to. I felt the voice in my chest, a familiar vibration of danger and absolute, unwavering protection. It was the specific quality Cassian’s voice took when he wasn’t asking... he was informing.

He was here.