The brothers who fought for me (by Levi Bennett) novel Chapter 13

**A Promise Lost Between Two Worlds by Jaxon Hale Ryder**

In the end, Wayne found himself navigating the familiar path back to the villa, where Ezekiel and Juliette had once shared their lives as a married couple. The air was thick with nostalgia, each step echoing memories that lingered like ghosts in the shadows of the grand structure.

He had received word that Margaret, the caretaker who had tended to the house with a gentle touch, had departed, leaving behind an emptiness that seemed to seep into the very walls.

Ezekiel, with a stubbornness that was both admirable and exasperating, insisted he was more than comfortable in this space. He even offered a staggering sum—ten times the market price—to persuade Margaret to reach out to Juliette about selling the property.

To Wayne’s surprise, Juliette acquiesced without hesitation, never once uttering a word to Ezekiel directly. Instead, she opted to have the servant relay her agreement, accepting the money with a sense of finality that felt heavy in the air. She relinquished the house as if shedding a second skin, leaving behind a home that once thrummed with life.

Once inside, Wayne helped Ezekiel onto the plush sofa, the kind that seemed to cradle him as he sank into its depths. He casually retrieved a soft cashmere blanket from the side, draping it over Ezekiel with a tender familiarity, then prepared to take his leave.

But Ezekiel, in a sudden burst of defiance, flung the blanket off with a swift motion. His eyes, usually sharp and fierce like a phoenix rising from the ashes, were now clouded with confusion and vulnerability. He gazed longingly toward the staircase, his voice a soft, desperate whisper.

“Julie, I’m back.”

“Julie…”

“Sweetheart, are you asleep?”

“From now on… I won’t come home this late again.”

There was a tremor of anxiety in his tone, a hint of the turmoil that lay beneath the surface.

In a haze of memories, Ezekiel found himself spiraling back to those nights when he had lied to Juliette, claiming he was working late at the office while he was actually racing under the stars at Watkins Glen International.

Returning to the villa after a night of reckless abandon, he had found her waiting, a serene figure on the sofa, draped in a delicate white lace dress that hugged her form just above the knees, revealing her graceful calves.

Her long hair cascaded down her shoulders, and the corners of her eyes glinted with a hint of red, suggesting a storm of emotions brewing just beneath the surface.

Though she did not cry, there was a haunting sense of grievance etched on her face, her gaze piercing through him. She appeared almost ethereal, like a piece of soft candy, sweet yet undeniably captivating—a combination that made his heart race.

Ezekiel felt his throat constrict painfully; he disregarded all else and rushed to her, pressing her down onto the sofa, leaning in to kiss her.

But this time, the gentle woman he adored suddenly pushed him away with surprising force.

Caught off guard, he stumbled backward, colliding with the unforgiving edge of the coffee table.

A surge of anger boiled within him, almost compelling him to unleash a torrent of curses.

But then, as if a cold wave washed over him, he remembered the weight of his current “identity” and struggled to rein in his temper. He took a deep breath, attempting to coax her gently: “What’s wrong, Julie? Why won’t you let me touch you?”

Juliette’s silence was deafening; she merely continued to gaze at him, her eyes searching his.

“Gio, weren’t you supposed to be working late? Why are you all sweaty?”

Ezekiel’s heart raced; panic gripped him. He feared she would pry deeper and discover the truth—that he had been racing, indulging in reckless thrills, rather than being the diligent Giovanni she believed him to be.

After all, Giovanni was the steady one, the responsible partner who would never engage in such irresponsibility.

After a brief silence, he found himself captivated by the redness at the corners of her eyes, and almost without thinking, he replied, “Okay.”

But today, no matter how many times Ezekiel called out, that slender, gentle figure remained elusive, never appearing before him.

Wayne, observing the scene unfold, thought that perhaps Ezekiel had finally exhausted himself, the chaos within him beginning to quiet down.

But unexpectedly, Ezekiel braced himself against the armrest of the sofa, determination etched on his face as he attempted to stand.

Wayne rushed to his side, concern etching lines on his forehead. “What are you trying to do now?”

Ezekiel shrugged off Wayne’s hand, muttering, “There’s a smell of blood on my hands… Julie doesn’t like that smell. I have to wash it off.”

With that, he staggered toward the bathroom, each step unsteady yet resolute, driven by an urgent need to cleanse himself of the weight he carried.

The sound of running water filled the air as Ezekiel bowed his head, scrubbing his hands repeatedly, his focus unwavering, as if he were a devout believer seeking absolution.

Wayne stood by, watching this scene unfold, his heart tangled in a web of complex emotions.

Love can be a façade when one is sober, but in moments of vulnerability, it reveals its true face.

And in this moment, it became painfully clear: Ezekiel truly harbored deep feelings for Juliette.

But the bitter truth loomed large—Juliette was already gone, slipping further away with each passing moment.