Bryce glanced back at the closet where I was bound. A smirk bloomed on his lips.
"You always find trouble, don't you?" Layla sighed, tapping his nose playfully. "Send everyone home. Brandon will be upset if he comes back to this mess."
Bryce wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck as he ordered the guests to leave. His hands didn't just hold her—they roamed, rubbing against her with a familiarity that made my stomach turn.
"Sis..."
"Come with me."
I watched Layla's gaze. Her usually cold, composed eyes were hazy with lust.
They pushed the storage room door open. Layla didn't even look at me. She slammed Bryce against the wall, gripping his shoulders.
Her voice dropped to a husky whisper—a tenderness I'd never heard in eight years together.
"Bryce, you shouldn't tempt me."
"You know we can't. Society wouldn't understand. There's no future for us."
I stared, paralyzed. My nails dug into my palms until the skin broke.
Eight years with Layla. The only intimacy we ever shared was when she was drunk, and even then, I had to beg.
I used to think she just wasn't interested in sex.
Now I knew the truth. She was plenty interested—just not with me.