The Alpha Brothers' Shared Mate

JOSLYN POV:

My Maserati screeched to a halt right in front of the Key Corp Tower doors, drawing alarmed looks from the security guards. I ignored them, tossing my keys directly at a stunned valet who rushed over.

I stepped onto the cold asphalt barefoot. I didn't care about his shocked expression. I marched straight toward the glass building that symbolized power and apathy.

In the grand lobby, the receptionist, Chloe Foster, caught sight of me. A flash of surprise and pity crossed her face.

"Mrs. Key, sir is..." she started softly.

"I know. In a meeting," I cut her off. My voice held zero warmth. I bypassed the front desk entirely and headed straight for the CEO's private elevator.

Chloe Foster didn't try to stop me. She just watched me go with a complicated look. Everyone in this building knew I was the wife the CEO couldn't care less about.

The elevator shot upward, the numbers ticking higher like my erratic heartbeat. I stared at my hollow reflection in the metal doors. The fire of vengeance was burning away the numbness.

The doors slid open silently on the top floor. The hallway was lined with thick carpet, so quiet I could hear my own breathing.

The door to Brad's office was slightly ajar. That was highly unusual. He was a control freak who never allowed unexpected variables in his territory.

A bad feeling twisted in my gut. I slowed my steps, approaching the heavy wooden door quietly.

Fevered gasps, breathless moans, and the unmistakable wet friction of bodies grinding together drifted through the crack.

"Brad... harder..." a breathy, feminine voice whined in pleasure. "What if your plain little wife... calls the desk again?"

That voice. My steps froze. The blood in my veins turned to ice. It was Dianne. My best friend. My stepsister.

A low, guttural grunt came from Brad, thick with lust and mockery. "Let her call. The woman is pathetic. Her whole world revolves around pureeing vegetables and fussing over a sick kid to beg for my attention. She has no idea how useless she is in bed compared to you."

Dianne giggled, a sultry, wicked sound punctuated by sharp pants. "She actually thought you'd rush home for a fever... God, you feel so good inside me..."

"Forget about her," Brad growled huskily, the leather of his executive chair creaking under violent, rhythmic thrusts. "She's just a boring obligation. You're the one who drives me insane."

The air in my lungs turned to ash. Every drop of blood rushed to my temples in a blistering roar.

I threw my weight against the heavy wooden door, slamming it wide open.

The crash echoed like thunder across the penthouse office.

In front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, Brad was buried deep in his leather chair, his suit trousers undone and bunched around his knees. Dianne was straddling his lap, her silk dress bunched entirely up to her waist, her pale thighs wrapped tightly around his hips, her bare back arched in the middle of their climax.

They froze, breaking apart in a frantic scramble. Dianne slid off him, stumbling back against the glass as she hastily tugged down her twisted skirt, chest heaving. A momentary flicker of shock washed across her face before it curled into a smug, triumphant smirk.

Brad buttoned his shirt with jerky, annoyed motions, his face dark with fury—not from shame, but pure outrage at being interrupted.

"Who the hell let you up here?" he snarled, pulling up his trousers and glaring at my bare feet with disgust. "Have you completely lost your mind, barging in like a madwoman?"

I shook with rage, my throat so tight I could barely breathe. "The baby is dead, Brad."

The words dropped like lead onto the expensive rug.

Brad paused for half a second. A flicker of surprise crossed his features, quickly smoothed away by cold irritation. He didn't drop to his knees. He didn't shed a tear. He simply fastened his belt and scoffed.

"Dead?" He crossed his arms, his tall frame looming over me like a dark shadow. "And whose fault is that, Joslyn? You have literally one job in this marriage: stay home and look after a child. And you couldn't even manage that."

His words struck like a serrated blade twisting into my ribs.

"I was begging you to come to the hospital!" my voice cracked, raw and bleeding. "He was dying in the ICU!"

"He had a fever!" Brad barked back, his voice dripping with venomous blame. "Children get fevers all the time. If he died, it's because you were too incompetent, too hysterical to manage it properly! Don't you dare come into my office to dump your guilt on me because of your own failure as a mother."

Dianne stepped beside him, lightly resting a hand on his shoulder in faux sympathy. "Joslyn, Brad has billion-dollar deals to run. You shouldn't be so dramatic just because you couldn't handle a simple illness."

Brad sneered, stepping closer, looking down at me with utter contempt. "Look at yourself. Barefoot, unkempt, screaming like a bitter fishwife in my corporate headquarters. You're an embarrassment. Can't you behave with an ounce of dignity?"

Smack.

I threw my entire body weight into it, whipping my hand across his face with everything I had left.

The sharp crack ricocheted violently off the glass walls. Brad’s head snapped sideways, his hair falling messily over his forehead. A furious, bright crimson handprint bloomed across his cheekbone.

He stood frozen in pure, murderous shock, his eyes darkening into pitch-black fury. Dianne let out a sharp gasp, instinctively covering her mouth.

I met his glare without flinching. My palm throbbed with heat, but inside my chest, the agonizing pain had crystallized into diamond-hard venom.

"Boring? Incompetent? Hysterical?"

I let out a low, mocking laugh, taking a slow step toward him.

"You've spent years belittling me, Brad. You kept me barefoot at home, trying to convince me I was nothing without your name. But you seemed to have forgotten who I was before I put on this fucking wedding ring. Look at me."

I tilted my chin, letting my gaze rake over him with pure, searing contempt.

"I am twenty-four years old. I have the body of a runway model, and a face men break their necks to look at on the street. I shrunk myself to play the devoted, gentle wife for a mediocre coward who couldn't even stand by his dying child. And you actually convinced yourself nobody else would want me?"

I cut my gaze to Dianne, sweeping her down from her cheap, smeared lipstick to her trembling legs, then looked right back into Brad's furious eyes. A gorgeous, razor-sharp smile spread across my face.

"You want to roll around on office leather with my leftover scraps? Be my guest. Starting right now, this marriage is wide open."

Brad’s jaw clenched, veins bulging on his neck. "What the hell did you just say?"

"Open marriage, darling," I enunciated every syllable with lethal delight. "You can keep fucking your cheap side-piece behind closed doors. And I am going to paint this entire city red. Billionaires, heirs, dangerous men with ten times your power and a hundred times your drive—I'm going to take whatever man catches my eye."

"Joslyn, don't you dare—" Brad snarled, taking an aggressive step forward.

"Try and stop me," I cut him off, my voice dropping to a seductive, venomous whisper. "Every time another man touches my skin, every time I come home smelling like someone else, remember this moment, Brad. You made this bed. Now you can watch me burn it to the ground."

Brad stood paralyzed, his arrogance crumbling into stunned, suffocating fury. Dianne looked utterly humiliated, clutching Brad's shirt like a pathetic parasite.

I didn't give them another second.

I turned on my bare heel, my posture immaculate, my hips swaying with untouchable confidence as I strode out through the heavy double doors. Behind me lay the ashes of the weak woman they thought they could break. Ahead of me was a playground of monsters—and I was ready to play.