Chapter 3We Grew Up Side By Side

Declan feigned being completely wasted, letting his head rest heavily against my shoulder. His breath, warm and laced with expensive bourbon, ghosted over the sensitive skin of my neck. It was impossible to ignore.

I stared out the tinted window at the blurred city lights, my mind drifting back to two years ago, the night Michael made it Instagram official.

I would be lying if I said it didn't shatter me.

Less than a month after telling me he liked someone else, Michael blasted her picture to the world. I was still sitting in my bedroom, trying to figure out how to untangle our families' massive expectations without causing a corporate war.

Worse, Michael paraded her through our friend group immediately. Maybe he just wanted to show her off, but there were plenty of girls in our circle who hated my guts. The petty, thinly veiled insults came pouring in.

If I acted like I cared, I was pathetic. If I acted completely unfazed, I was bitter and in denial.

That was exactly when Declan returned from London.

He had been overseeing a massive real estate acquisition in the UK, a project that wasn't even finished yet. I was in a place where I didn't want to look at anyone with the last name Prescott. But Declan bypassed all the social red tape and walked straight into my life.

It was winter break. Declan found me and asked, completely out of the blue, if I wanted to go to London with him to clear my head.

I stared at him, utterly lost.

For most of my childhood, Michael and I were intimidated by him. He was only five years older, but Declan didn't play in the dirt with us. The genetic lottery had favored him in cruel, unfair ways. He was brilliant to the point of intimidation. As we grew older, he morphed into this untouchable figure, possessing a quiet, lethal authority and striking, sharp-edged good looks. Women practically threw themselves at his feet.

I had barely held a real conversation with him. Any interaction we had was strictly by proxy because I was glued to Michael.

So, an invitation to London made zero sense.

Declan stood in the snow, hands in his cashmere coat pockets. "Do you still love Michael?"

I swallowed hard, the silence stretching out between us.

"It's fine if you do. He's just a man," Declan said smoothly. "He won't be the only one you meet in this life."

I couldn't tell if he was trying to comfort me or mock me.

"Michael likes someone else. Would you consider liking someone else?" Declan looked at me, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Consider me?"

Absolute shock bulldozed right over my heartbreak. The tears that had been swimming in my eyes finally spilled over, but my expression was one of pure, speechless horror.

Declan pulled a pristine linen handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed the tear from my cheek.

"Don't waste tears on people who aren't worth it," he murmured. He paused, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Though, I suppose you can look at it as detoxing."

"..." I had zero clue Declan Prescott possessed a sense of humor.

He dropped his hand. "If your original reason for choosing Michael was to secure the corporate merger between our families, my portfolio is vastly superior to his."

Vastly was the understatement of the century.

Declan was the undisputed heir to the Prescott empire. Michael lacked the ambition and the sheer, ruthless intellect his uncle possessed.

"If you purely loved Michael for who he is, well, he forfeited his right to your heart when he chose someone else. Stepping in now hardly makes me the villain."