Advait Raichand. He was my first love, my first everything. I fell for him as a teenager, but to him, I was just his sister’s best friend. I watched him marry someone else, pretending it didn’t destroy me. I tried to move on, but when he got divorced four years ago, hope flickered back to life. Maybe he’d finally see me. Instead, all I got was his cold indifference. I waited, longing for the only person I ever wanted. Now, I’m done waiting I decided it was time to move on and accepted a date. Just as I thought I could escape, he appeared. “You are not going on that fucking date,” he growled, anger lacing his voice. I want to protest, but I can’t—not when he’s buried deep inside me, thrusting with a force that steals my breath. “Am I clear?” he demands, his gaze dark and intense. All I can do is glare, torn between the fire of desire and the knowledge of how wrong this is. He’s my best friend’s older brother, thirteen years older than me. I know it’s wrong. Do I care? Not at all