Tangled With The Other Brother

Elena's Point Of View 

I stared at him like I didn’t understand English. Like the air around me had collapsed into silence, and I had no oxygen left to breathe.

The dining room was quiet. Too quiet. The type of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful, but surgical. Like the kind of silence you’d hear just before the first incision of a knife.

The walls were white. The table was glass. And my husband… Graham Sinclair sat across from me in his three-piece suit like we were discussing stock options, not the destruction of our marriage.

And then he said it. Again.

“It’s an open marriage, Elena. It’s the only solution that makes sense.”

I blinked slowly, my spine rigid in the sleek gray chair, arms folded on my lap like I was back in boarding school, being punished for speaking too loud.

My lips parted, a soft exhale leaving me, but the words didn’t come. I couldn’t find them. Because what do you even say when the man you’ve been married to for five years calmly, coolly tells you he wants to sleep with other women?

Wants you to sleep with other men. Wants to share your marriage bed with the entire goddamn world.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked, finally. “What did you just say?”

He didn’t even flinch. His eyes were as cold as ever, those perfect, storm-cloud gray eyes that once made me fall so stupidly in love. Back when I thought I mattered to him. Before the ring. Before the tests. Before the cruel quiet began.

“You heard me,” he said simply, swirling the wine in his glass like this was casual. Like we were just chatting over dinner. “It’s either this… or we file for divorce.”

My stomach dropped. Hard.

“But… Graham…” My voice cracked, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest. “The last doctor we went to said there’s a solution. That I can get pregnant. We just need more time. You promised…”

He cut me off with a flick of his hand, calm and uninterested. “I’m not asking, Elena,” he said sharply. “I’m just letting you know.” I sat there frozen, eyes burning. “So you’ve made the decision already.”

He raised a brow. “I’ve made the decision to stop wasting both our time. We’ve tried. We’ve waited. Five years of failure is enough. And I want a child, Elena. Not when you’re forty. Now.”

His words hit harder than any slap. “Failure…” I repeated, stunned. “Is that what I am to you?”

Graham leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. His fingers tapped lazily against the stem of his wine glass.

“Emotionally? No. Biologically? Yes.” I choked on my breath. “You arrogant, heartless…”

“Don’t,” he said, his voice suddenly razor-sharp. “Don’t make this emotional. It’s not. This is about logic. About legacy. I need an heir. I need someone who can carry the Sinclair name. You can’t, so I’m adjusting.”

Adjusting.

Like I was