Married To My Ex's Brother, Reborn Miraculously-Chapter 274: You lied to me.

It was the stillest hour of the morning, just before dawn, when darkness still clung to the corners of the room. A sudden trill cut through the quiet, pulling Augustine from sleep.

He opened his eyes into a narrow slit, groggy but alert, and reached for his phone on the nightstand.

Gustave.

"Hello?" he answered, voice gravelly with sleep.

"Everything is in motion," came Gustave’s crisp voice. "Our men are keeping eyes on them, watching, waiting."

"Good. Keep me posted."

"Will do."

The call ended with a soft beep.

Anne shifted beside him.

"Who was that?" she murmured sleepily, her arm snaking around his waist as she inched closer, her cheek resting on his chest.

"Gustave," he replied with a low hum, wrapping an arm around her, drawing her close.

Her body molded against his, warm and relaxed. "It’s still dark out... why is he calling you so early?" Her voice was muffled against his skin. "Can’t he handle things without you?"

He chuckled softly, rubbing her back up and down. "He is handling it. Maybe the poor bastard didn’t get a wink of sleep. But he needs to keep me updated."

"Mm," she sighed, pulling herself even tighter against him. "As long as you are not leaving me for work right now."

"I’m not going anywhere." His voice dropped to a murmur as he kissed her hair, breathing her in. "I’m right here."

Anne smiled, eyes still closed, feeling his warmth, his steady heartbeat.

"But we’ll go somewhere later," he said.

That made her eyes flutter open.

"Where?" she asked, tilting her head up to catch his gaze.

"You’ll know soon enough," he replied with a knowing smile.

Her brows lifted, intrigued. "Another surprise?"

He shook his head slowly, a flicker of mischief glinting in his eyes. "More than that."

The thoughtful look on his face made her heart skip. She studied him for a moment, silently wondering what was going on in that mind of his.

"But for now," he rolled over and pressed her under him, "I want to do this." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "Since you are awake, let’s do it."

He didn’t wait. His hand slid along her waist, fingers trailing her curves with deliberate slowness. His lips found hers—gentle at first, then hungrier, devouring her mouth like he had been waiting all night. Anne melted into him, her breath catching as his hand dipped beneath the sheet, skimming the underside of her thigh.

"Augustine," she whispered, breathless.

"I want you," he growled against her lips, his voice rough with need.

The kiss deepened, tongues dancing, exploring, tasting. His hand teased her inner thigh, fingers tracing lazy, tantalizing circles until her hips arched, silently begging for more. He pulled the sheet away, exposing her to the cool air and his heated gaze.

She gasped when his mouth trailed down her neck, then her collarbone, until he reached her breasts. His tongue flicked over a nipple, coaxing it into a tight peak. Anne moaned, arching into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair.

Augustine’s hand slid lower, fingers spreading her open gently, and then he was between her thighs, his mouth replacing his fingers. She cried out softly, hips bucking as he licked her with slow, aching precision.

His tongue worked her expertly, drawing her to the edge and pulling her back again, his fingers teasing at her entrance before sliding inside her.

Anne writhed beneath him, overwhelmed by the pleasure, every nerve alight under his touch. She grasped at the sheets, moaning louder as he pushed her higher and higher until the coil inside her snapped, and she fell apart with a cry, trembling against his mouth.

He didn’t stop until her legs quivered from sensitivity, until she was breathless and spent. Then he kissed his way back up her body, his mouth claiming hers again.

"Still with me?" he asked, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, fingers curling around his shoulders. "More than ever."

"Then I’ll make you want me more."

Anne’s breath caught as Augustine slid inside her, slow and deep. His hands framed her waist, steadying her, supporting her, while his eyes never left her face.

"You okay?" he whispered. "Tell me if you are uncomfortable. I’ll stop."

She reached out to cup his face. "I need you. Just... don’t stop."

His lips curved into a faint smile. Her hunger for him was dangerous, and those beautiful eyes always undid him. But this morning, he didn’t rush. He was gentle.

Augustine moved with aching slowness, rocking into her with a rhythm. His pelvis pressed against her in soft, rolling waves. Each time he sank into her, a low moan escaped her lips, his restraint only intensifying the delicious frustration building between them.

Anne clutched his shoulders, her fingertips digging into the firm muscles there. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, needing more. He growled low in his throat, kissing her fiercely, tongue deep, claiming, maddening.

He poured all his need into her mouth, while his movement was slow, measured, careful not to hurt her and the baby inside her womb. Her warmth, the tightness inside her, and the way she moaned his name pushed her to the brink.

"God, Anne," he whispered hoarsely against her ear, "you drive me insane..."

His hand slid between them, finding that aching spot at the apex of her thighs. With skilled fingers, he rubbed her in slow, perfect circles, watching her fall apart beneath him. Her eyes fluttered shut, mouth parting with a trembling gasp as pleasure surged through her.

"I can’t hold back..." she breathed, body arching. "Augustine, I—"

"I’ve got you," he murmured, nipping at her throat. "Let it go for me. Let me feel you."

She shuddered beneath him, legs trembling, eyes wide with disbelief at how powerful her release was. And when her body clenched around him, hot and wet and pulsing, he lost the last thread of control.

His pace quickened slightly, just enough to tip him over the edge. He buried his face in her neck, gasping against her skin as he spilled into her, wrapped in her warmth, her scent, her love.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, hearts racing, bodies entwined, the soft morning light gilding them in gold.

Then he shifted gently and kissed her swollen lips once more.

"You okay?" he asked, searching her eyes.

Anne nodded, her lips curling slowly, her eyes closing. "It was mind-blowing," she whispered.

Augustine wrapped his arms around her. "Then sleep a little more. It’s still early."

Anne snuggled into his arms and fell asleep again.

Later that day...

Oliver’s mind was anything but still as he stood in front of a modest house, one he hadn’t seen in years—one he had sworn never to approach again. He had come to see his former secretary after years of silence between them.

He had deliberately severed all ties with her long ago, fearing that any trace of their affair might tarnish his public image. After divorcing Margaret, he had made sure no one ever found out about his infidelity, that he had cheated on his wife with his secretary.

But today was different. He was no longer looking to hide or bury the past. He needed answers.

For years, he had been consumed by bitterness and anger toward Margaret. He had even turned his back on his own daughter, blinded by a misunderstanding. And all this was because of a single person: his former secretary, Susan.

His hand hesitated for a moment before he finally rang the doorbell, jaw clenched, heart hammering beneath his composed exterior.

The door creaked open after a moment, revealing Susan.

She leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, her expression unreadable but edged with sharpness.

"Well, well," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. "Look who found his way to my doorstep. Lost, Mr. Granet? Or did you take a wrong turn somewhere between pride and guilt?"

Oliver didn’t react. His face remained carved from stone. "Let me in," he said flatly. "We need to talk."

Her eyes narrowed, flashing with something unreadable—mockery, suspicion, maybe amusement. But after a heartbeat, she stepped aside. "Be my guest."

He walked past her, the faint scent of her perfume and a smell from another life hitting him in a wave of unwelcome nostalgia. The room was clean, luxurious, and unfamiliar. The expensive furnishing and decorative items filled the room.

Susan shut the door behind him and turned, arms still folded. "What’s wrong, Mr. Granet?" she asked sarcastically. "The city’s golden lawyer has a problem too big to solve? Had to track down his forgotten secretary for answers?"

Oliver remained silent, his expression hard, but his eyes burned.

"You told me to disappear," Susan continued, stepping closer. "You asked me to vanish like I never existed. I did just that. I never contacted you, never came between you and your career, never stirred up a scandal. I buried everything, kept our secret to myself. So tell me—what the hell are you doing here now?"

Oliver stared at her. Years of bitterness and regret had brought him to this moment, years spent resenting Margaret, blaming her for everything, casting away his daughter, punishing everyone except the one person who started it all.

"You lied to me," he grunted out through his gritted teeth. "And I believed you."

Susan’s smirk faded. A flicker of tension passed between them.

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