The temptation of my brother-in-law-Chapter 143 - One Hundred and Forty-Three

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three

Alicia’s POV

I stared at the mansion in front of me, trying to process what Malachi had just said. His home. He had a private property. A whole estate that apparently no one knew about.

I shouldn’t have been shocked. This was Malachi. Of course he had secrets, layers upon layers of things he kept hidden from everyone. But still, seeing this place, realizing he’d brought me here, it felt significant in a way I couldn’t quite articulate.

"You own this?" I asked, even though the answer was obvious.

"Bought it two years ago. No one knows about it except the cleaning service that comes twice a week."

That explained why everything looked so pristine. The windows were spotless, the grounds perfectly maintained, not a leaf out of place on the stone pathway leading to the entrance.

Malachi got out of the car and came around to open my door, offering his hand to help me out. I took it, letting him pull me close for a moment before we walked toward the house.

"I’ll give you the full tour later," he said, leading me through the front entrance. "But I wanted to show you something first."

We walked through a stunning foyer with high ceilings and modern art on the walls, then through a living room that was all clean lines and expensive furniture that looked barely used. He led me to a set of glass doors that opened onto a back terrace.

And there were flowers. Everywhere. A garden that must have taken years to cultivate, filled with roses and peonies and flowers I couldn’t name, all arranged in careful patterns that somehow looked wild and natural despite the obvious planning.

"You did this?" I asked.

"I had help designing it. But I chose everything. Every plant, every color." He touched a white rose, his fingers gentle on the petals. "I wanted something beautiful. Something that wasn’t about business or family or any of the usual things."

My stomach growled again, louder this time, completely ruining the romantic moment.

Malachi laughed. Actually laughed, the sound genuine and warm. "I’m an idiot. You’re starving and I’m showing you flowers."

"It’s fine. I can just order pizza or something."

"Absolutely not." He took my hand, led me back inside. "I’m cooking for you."

I stopped walking. "You cook?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Because I’ve never imagined you cooking. You’re always so serious and dark and brooding. The image of you in a kitchen wearing an apron doesn’t exactly fit."

"I don’t wear an apron."

"That’s what you’re focusing on?"

He smiled, that rare genuine smile that made him look younger, less burdened. "Come on. Sit and watch me work."

The kitchen was massive and modern, all stainless steel and marble countertops. He pulled ingredients from the refrigerator, setting them out with practiced efficiency. Then he found a bag of chips in the pantry and handed it to me.

"Snack on these so you don’t pass out from hunger while I cook."

"I could help."

"No. You sit there and relax. I’ve got this."

I climbed onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, opened the chips, and watched him move around the kitchen with surprising comfort. He washed his hands, pulled out a cutting board, selected a knife with the kind of care that suggested he knew what he was doing.

"I had the house restocked a few days ago," he said while washing vegetables. "I come here when I need to clear my head. When the mansion gets too suffocating."

"How often is that?"

"More often lately."

He started cutting vegetables with precision that was honestly impressive. Perfect slices of onion, perfectly diced peppers, tomatoes cut with exact uniformity. His movements were efficient and controlled, the same way he did everything else.

"Where did you learn to cook?" I asked around a mouthful of chips.

"Dark City. When I was living alone, I had to learn or starve. Turns out I’m decent at it."

He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms that were corded with muscle, veins prominent on the backs of his hands as he worked. I found myself staring at those hands, remembering what they’d felt like on my skin just an hour ago, how skilled they were at doing so many different things.

My thoughts drifted in decidedly impure directions. Those fingers chopping vegetables had been inside me earlier, making me fall apart. Those strong arms had held me against the desk while he—

"You’re drooling."

I snapped my attention back to his face. He was smirking, clearly having caught me staring.

"I am not."

"You absolutely were. I could see your thoughts written all over your face."

"I was just watching you cook."

"Sure you were."

Heat flooded my cheeks. I looked away, focusing very intently on my chips while he laughed softly and went back to cooking.

He moved with efficiency, throwing things in a pan, adding spices with the confidence of someone who’d done this many times. The smell was incredible. Garlic and herbs and something savory that made my stomach growl with renewed urgency.

Twenty minutes later, he plated the food and brought it over. Pasta with vegetables and chicken, simple but it smelled amazing.

"Come here," he said, sitting down on one of the stools and patting his lap.

"I can sit in my own chair."

"I know you can. But I want you here."

There was something in his voice, something commanding but also tender, that made me slide off my stool and settle onto his lap. He wrapped one arm around my waist, holding me secure, while his other hand picked up a fork.

"Malachi, I can feed myself."

"I know." He lifted the fork to my mouth. "Open."

"This is ridiculous."

"Open, Alicia."

I opened my mouth and let him feed me like I was a child. It should have been embarrassing or infantilizing, but instead it felt intimate, caring, like he was taking care of me in a way no one had in years.

The food was delicious. Better than I expected. I told him so between bites and he looked pleased, continuing to feed me while I sat on his lap in his private kitchen in his secret mansion that no one else knew about.

"Why did you bring me here?" I asked after a while.

"Because I wanted to. Because this is mine and I wanted to share it with you."

"But no one else knows about this place."

"Exactly. No family drama, no obligations, no one watching or judging. Just us. Just this." He set down the fork, both arms wrapping around me now. "I want this with you, Alicia. Not stolen moments in my office or secret meetings. This. A home. A life. Everything."

My throat got tight. "Malachi."

"I’m going to have you officially."

"It’s not that simple."

"Yes, it is. We make it that simple."

He lifted me slightly, repositioned us so I was turned toward him, my head resting against his chest. His heartbeat was steady under my ear, strong and reassuring.

His fingers stroked through my hair, gentle and rhythmic. "Come here," he murmured, pulling me even closer. "Let me hold you."

I relaxed into him, letting his warmth surround me, letting myself feel safe in a way I rarely did. His hand continued moving through my hair, the other arm secure around my waist.

"I’m going to love you forever," he said quietly. "I need you to know that. Whatever happens, however complicated this gets, that doesn’t change. You’re mine and I’m yours and that’s all that matters."

"You sound very certain."

"I am certain. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life."

I closed my eyes, feeling tears prick behind my eyelids. No one had ever said things like this to me. No one had ever looked at me the way Malachi did, like I was something precious and worth fighting for.

"I love you too," I whispered against his chest.

His arms tightened around me. "Say it again."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you, Malachi."

He tilted my chin up, kissed me with a tenderness that made my heart ache. "We’re going to make this work. I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care who we have to hurt or what we have to destroy. You’re going to be mine. Properly. Completely. Forever."

"That’s very dark romance of you."

"I told you. I’m not letting you go. Ever."

We sat there for a long time, wrapped around each other, his fingers in my hair, my head on his chest. The food forgotten, the world forgotten, just us existing in this bubble of safety and promise.