A Brothers torment.

Two days later, the pain had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache—one that Natalia found oddly grounding. It reminded her of the power she wielded, the price of her ambition. She was healed enough to compete, but the club was still off limits. That meant the plan had to move tonight.

 She watched from the window of the coffee shop across the street, her oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes as Trent stepped out of his car. He looked devastating. He’d traded his usual athletic wear for dark jeans that hung low on his hips and a fitted charcoal button-down that he left unbuttoned at the collar. He looked less like a brother and more like a predator dressed as a gentleman.

 Jessie was already waiting at the corner table, nervously shredding a paper napkin. The eighteen-year-old swimmer looked innocent in a light sundress, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, radiating a nervous energy that was palpable even from a distance. She had no idea she was walking into a trap.

 Trent approached the table, and Natalia watched the transformation. He didn't just walk; he glided. He projected a wounded, brooding intensity that was like catnip to a girl like Jessie—who probably saw herself as the savior of the misunderstood bad boy.

 "Hey," Trent said, his voice carrying a softness he never used with Natalia.

 Jessie looked up, her eyes wide. "Hey. I... I wasn't sure you'd come. I was so relieved when you actually matched with me on Tinder. I know guys usually swipe right on everyone, but... I'm glad you accepted my date."

 Trent smiled, a practiced, boyish grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I wouldn't have missed it. Honestly, seeing your profile was the first good thing to happen to me in a long time."

 He sat down across from her, leaning in, resting his elbows on the table to close the distance. "My sister is... difficult. She's been watching me like a hawk lately. She doesn't want me seeing anyone."

 Natalia smirked behind the glass. Hook, line, and sinker.

 "That's crazy," Jessie said, her brow furrowing with that bleeding-heart concern Natalia despised. "You're an adult, Trent. You can see who you want. Is she... is she why you were so upset the other night?"

 Trent dropped his gaze, looking down at his hands, feigning vulnerability. "It's complicated. We're close. Too close, maybe. She’s possessive. She thinks she knows what's best for me, but she just wants to control me. Being with you... it feels like the first time I can actually breathe."

 Jessie’s expression darkened, a flicker of malice crossing her innocent features. She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial hush. "I can help, Trent. I know some things about Natalia. Secrets. If they got out... well, let's just say she wouldn't be the golden girl anymore. I can make sure she leaves you alone."

 Trent looked up, his mask of vulnerability slipping just enough to show a flicker of surprise that he quickly masked with admiration. "You'd do that for me? Risk going to war with her?"

 "For you?" Jessie smiled, reaching out to cover his hand. "I'd burn her world down."

 Trent looked past her, toward the window where Natalia sat hidden in the shadows. He didn't smile, but his eyes flashed with a cold, triumphant light. Jessie thought she was holding the cards, but she had just handed him the matches. The game was on.

 The restaurant was a study in quiet opulence, the kind of place where the waiter refilled your water glass before you realized it was empty. But the tension at the table was thick enough to choke on.

 Robert Kincaid sat across from Trent, his jaw set tight, his eyes darting between his daughter and her new boyfriend with a possessiveness that bordered on predatory. He hadn't touched his steak. He was too busy watching the way Trent’s thumb stroked the back of Jessie’s hand, the way she leaned into him, glowing with a naive infatuation that made her look years younger than eighteen.

 "You seem very... familiar with my daughter, Trent," Robert said, his voice smooth but laced with an undercurrent of something jagged. He took a sip of his wine, his dark eyes not leaving Trent’s face. "She usually keeps her circle small. Swimmers only. It's... surprising to see her branching out."

 Trent smiled, the expression warm and disarming. He squeezed Jessie's hand, looking at her with a practiced adoration that made her blush. "I know I'm lucky, sir. Jessie's incredible. She's driven, talented... she just captivated me from the moment we met. I guess you could say I just couldn't stay away."

 Jessie beamed, turning her face into Trent's shoulder. "Dad, stop. He's amazing. He actually listens to me. He doesn't just treat me like a medal machine."

 Robert’s fork screeched against his plate, a harsh, metallic sound that drew the eyes of a nearby waiter. He ignored them, his gaze heavy-lidded and fixed on Trent. "Does he? Does he listen to what she needs? Or just what she says she needs?"

 "I think I have a pretty good grasp on both," Trent replied evenly, meeting the older man's glare without flinching. He sensed the jealousy radiating off Robert—it was a palpable, sour heat. Trent didn't understand the source of it, but he recognized the type: a man who hated seeing his property touched by anyone else. Let him be jealous, Trent thought, suppressing a smirk. It makes this easier.

 "I'm sure you do," Robert muttered, picking up his wine glass and draining it in one long swallow. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, his eyes lingering on the curve of Jessie’s neck. "Just remember, Trent. These girls... they're fragile. They need a firm hand. Or they wander."

 Jessie pulled away slightly, frowning. "Dad, please. Not tonight."

 Robert waved a hand dismissively, signaling for the check. "I'm just looking out for your best interests, kitten. You have a reputation to maintain. We can't have you getting... distracted."