Chapter 7 Brother vs Husband

# Chapter 7: Brother vs Husband

Three months into our six-month agreement, I'd developed a routine that almost resembled normalcy. Mornings at Allen Industries, afternoons at the foundation, evenings maintaining the fiction of our marriage at required social events. Darren continued his public charade as a vegetative patient while privately running his empire—and monitoring my every move.

The strangest part? I was thriving professionally. The foundation had already funded fifteen emerging designers, with plans to launch a sustainable materials innovation lab. Allen Industries' stock had stabilized under my leadership, my unconventional background bringing fresh perspectives that even the board's most skeptical members now appreciated.

"Mrs. Allen?" My assistant's voice broke through my thoughts. "Your brother is here to see you."

My head snapped up. "Jacob? He's not scheduled for treatment today."

"He insisted it was urgent."

I barely had time to stand before Jacob burst through the door of my office, looking healthier than I'd seen him in over a year. The experimental treatments had worked miracles—his skin had regained its color, his frame filled out, his eyes bright with their old energy.

"Nessa!" He embraced me fiercely, then pulled back, studying my face. "You look... different."

"Good different or bad different?" I tried to laugh, though his scrutiny made me uncomfortable.

"Expensive different." He gestured to my designer suit, the subtle jewelry, my perfectly styled hair. "CEO looks good on you."

"Jacob, what are you doing here? Your next treatment isn't until Thursday."

His expression grew serious. "We need to talk. Not here."

"I have meetings all afternoon—"

"Cancel them." His tone left no room for argument. "This can't wait."

Twenty minutes later, we sat in a small café ten blocks from Allen headquarters—far enough from Darren's usual surveillance network that we might actually have privacy, though I couldn't be certain.

"How much do you know about your husband's accident?" Jacob asked without preamble.

My stomach tightened. "Why?"

"Because I've been doing some digging." He leaned forward, voice low. "The sailing accident? Never happened. There are no coast guard records, no hospital admissions, nothing."

I stirred my untouched coffee. "Jacob—"

"And that's not all." He pulled out his phone, sliding it across the table. "Look."

The screen showed a medical report—Darren's supposed diagnosis, with a neurologist's signature at the bottom.

"I don't understand," I said, though a sick feeling was growing in my chest.

"The doctor who signed this? Died three years ago. This whole thing—Darren's condition, the marriage arrangement—it's all fabricated."

I couldn't meet his eyes. "How did you find this?"

"One of my nurses mentioned something odd—that my treatment protocol was established months before you ever married Darren. So I started asking questions." His hand covered mine. "Nessa, what's really going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

The concern in his eyes broke something inside me. For months I'd carried this burden alone, protecting Jacob from the truth while he focused on recovery. But now...

"He's not really disabled," I whispered. "It's an act. He's been... watching me. For years."

Jacob's face darkened. "What do you mean, watching you?"

The whole story poured out—the stalking, the fake condition, the manipulation, the livestream, the contract. With each revelation, Jacob's expression shifted from concern to horror to fury.

"We're leaving," he said when I finished. "Now. Today. I've got money saved. We can go somewhere he won't find us."

"It's not that simple." I shook my head. "The company, the foundation—"

"Are golden handcuffs." His voice hardened. "Listen to yourself! He's isolated you, manipulated you, threatened you—and you're worried about a company?"

"I've built something at the foundation. Something important."

"He's in your head, Nessa." Jacob gripped my hands tightly. "This isn't you talking. This is Stockholm syndrome."

The accusation stung, partly because I'd had the same thought during sleepless nights. Had I started to rationalize Darren's behavior? To see the gifts as separate from their giver?

"Three more months," I said. "Your treatment will be complete, and my contract with him ends. Then we can discuss leaving."

"In three months, he'll have another contract ready. Another set of chains." Jacob's jaw clenched. "He'll never let you go."

Deep down, I knew he was right. Darren's obsession wouldn't simply expire with our agreement.

"What do you suggest?" I asked finally.

"I have a friend who owns a cabin in Vermont. Remote, off-grid. We go there tonight, no electronic devices, nothing he can track. Then we plan our next steps."

"Just leave? Without warning?"

"That's exactly what we do." Jacob's expression was grim. "I've seen enough crime documentaries to know how these situations end, Nessa. Men like Darren don't suddenly become reasonable."

My phone buzzed—a text from Peters asking when I'd return for a scheduled video conference. The mundane reminder of my corporate responsibilities felt surreal against the backdrop of our escape planning.

"Okay," I decided suddenly. "Tonight. But I need to stop at the mansion first—there are documents, designs I can't lose."

"That's too risky—"

"Two hours," I insisted. "Meet me at the east gate at midnight. If I'm not there, go without me and call the police."

Jacob looked ready to argue but finally nodded. "Midnight. Not a minute later."

The rest of the day passed in a fog of anxiety and preparation. I moved through meetings mechanically, signed documents without reading them, all while mentally cataloging what I needed to take.

By evening, I'd transferred key foundation documents to an encrypted drive and withdrawn the maximum cash amount from my personal account—not enough to live on indefinitely, but enough to disappear while we regrouped.

Darren was scheduled for a "medical procedure" that evening—code for a business meeting he couldn't conduct from his wheelchair persona. The mansion would be minimally staffed, giving me the perfect opportunity to gather my things and leave.

At eleven, I slipped into my private design studio, quickly collecting sketches and prototype materials. So focused was I on selecting essential items that I didn't hear the door open.

"Going somewhere?"

I whirled around to find Darren leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed casually over his chest. No wheelchair. No pretense.

"Just organizing," I lied, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Late-night inspiration."

His eyes moved deliberately to the packed bag partially hidden behind my desk. "Interesting organizational method."

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at your procedure."

"I rescheduled." He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "When I received an alert that your brother accessed my medical records."

Ice flooded my veins. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't insult both of us, Vanessa." His voice remained calm, which was somehow more terrifying than anger. "Jacob's been quite industrious. Speaking to my former staff. Questioning your nurses. Even contacting Rebecca."

"You've been monitoring him?" The realization shouldn't have shocked me, yet somehow it did.

"I monitor potential threats." He moved closer, each step measured. "Your brother became one the moment he started investigating me."

"Stay away from Jacob," I warned, backing up until my desk pressed against my spine.

"I had planned to. His recovery was proceeding well." Darren picked up one of my sketches, studying it with apparent interest. "But now he's interfering in matters that don't concern him."

"My wellbeing concerns him!"

"Your wellbeing has never been at risk." His eyes flicked up from the sketch. "Can he say the same?"

The threat hung in the air between us. "What have you done?"

"Nothing. Yet." He set down the sketch carefully. "But I know about your planned rendezvous at midnight. The cabin in Vermont. Jacob's waiting for you right now with two packed bags and bus tickets."

My legs nearly gave out. How could he possibly know? We'd been so careful...

"Your brother isn't particularly tech-savvy," Darren continued, answering my unspoken question. "He used his own phone to research escape routes. Made calls on an unsecured line. Amateur mistakes."

"Let me go," I whispered. "Please, Darren. This isn't love. It isn't even obsession anymore. It's just control."

Something flickered in his eyes—a momentary crack in his composure. "You signed a contract."

"Under duress! Because you threatened my brother's treatment!"

"I gave you everything," he countered, his voice rising slightly. "The company. The foundation. A platform for your vision."

"I never asked for those things!"

"Because you didn't know to ask!" He slammed his hand on the desk, the first true display of emotion I'd seen from him. "You were wasting your talent on department store alterations when you should have been revolutionizing the industry!"

We stared at each other, both breathing hard. In that moment, I glimpsed something I'd never seen in Darren before—vulnerability. The possibility that beneath the calculation and manipulation lay something fragile and human.

Then my phone chimed with a text from Jacob: *Where are you? 30 minutes until midnight.*

Darren's eyes hardened. "He won't be meeting you."

"What do you mean?" Fresh fear gripped me.

"My security team is bringing him here as we speak." He checked his watch. "They should be arriving momentarily."

As if on cue, a commotion erupted downstairs—shouting, the sound of breaking glass, footsteps pounding up the stairs.

The door burst open. Two security guards dragged Jacob between them, a cut above his eye dripping blood down his face.

"Jacob!" I lunged forward, but Darren caught my arm.

"Let her go!" Jacob struggled against his captors. "Nessa, run!"

"No one is running anywhere," Darren said with chilling calm. "We're going to resolve this situation like adults."

He nodded to the guards, who released Jacob. My brother immediately moved to my side, positioning himself partially in front of me.

"You're insane," Jacob spat at Darren. "I've contacted a lawyer. The police will be—"

"No, you haven't," Darren interrupted. "Because you know that any investigation would jeopardize your sister's position. The scandal would destroy the foundation she's built. You wouldn't risk that."

Jacob faltered, and I knew Darren was right. My brother would never do anything that might hurt me, even to save me.

"What do you want?" I asked Darren quietly.

"For things to continue as agreed." He straightened his cuffs—a gesture I'd come to recognize as his way of regaining control. "Three more months. Then we renegotiate."

"No more negotiations," Jacob interjected. "This ends tonight. Nessa's coming with me."

Darren's laugh was soft and without humor. "Your treatment isn't complete, Jacob. The experimental protocol requires three more cycles. Walk away now, and the cancer returns within months."

Jacob paled but stood his ground. "We'll find another way."

"There is no other way." Darren moved to his desk, opening a drawer. "The treatment was developed exclusively for Allen Medical. It doesn't exist anywhere else."

He withdrew something from the drawer—a hunting knife, its blade gleaming in the overhead light.

My breath caught. "Darren, what are you doing?"

With deliberate movements, he placed the knife on the table between us. "A choice, Vanessa. Simple and direct."

"You're threatening us?" Jacob moved to shield me more completely.

"I'm offering clarity." Darren's eyes never left mine. "Your brother wants to take you away. I want you to stay. One of us will get what we want tonight."

He nudged the knife toward me. "Choose his death... or my madness."

The room fell silent save for our breathing. Jacob's hand found mine, squeezing tightly.

"You don't have to do this," he whispered. "We can still—"

"If you leave with him," Darren interrupted, "your brother's treatment ends immediately. He'll die within the year. If you stay, he lives—but only if he walks away alone and never contacts you again."

"That's not a choice," I said through gritted teeth. "That's extortion."

"That's consequence," Darren corrected. "Actions have them. His interference. Your attempted escape. My... investment."

I looked between them—my brother, battered but determined to protect me; my husband, cold and calculating in his obsession. Both claimed to want what was best for me. Both willing to destroy the other to prove it.

"If I stay," I said slowly, "Jacob receives his complete treatment. Guaranteed in writing."

"Nessa, no—" Jacob began, but I silenced him with a look.

"And after that?" I continued. "After he's fully recovered?"

Something like triumph flickered in Darren's eyes. "Then our original agreement stands. Six months total. After which you make your choice."

"With no repercussions for either choice I might make?"

He hesitated, then nodded once. "Agreed."

"Don't trust him," Jacob pleaded. "Whatever he promises now, he'll change the terms later."

"Perhaps." I turned to face my brother fully. "But I won't risk your life on principle. Not when we're so close to your full recovery."

"I can't leave you with him!"

"You can and you will." I embraced him fiercely, whispering in his ear. "Three more months. Then we both walk away from here forever."

Jacob's arms tightened around me, his body trembling with suppressed emotion. "If he hurts you—"

"He won't." I pulled back, wiping blood from his brow with my sleeve. "His obsession doesn't work that way."

Darren watched our exchange impassively, but I caught the slight tightening of his jaw. He might control the situation, but he couldn't control the bond between Jacob and me—a connection formed through shared struggle long before Darren entered our lives.

"Go," I told Jacob gently. "Complete your treatment. Get strong. I'll be fine."

The look he gave me broke my heart—equal parts love and desperation. "Three months," he agreed finally. "Not a day more."

He turned to Darren, all pretense of civility gone. "If you touch her—"

"Your concern is noted," Darren cut him off coldly. "My security will escort you to your next treatment appointment. After that, you'll continue the protocol at our Boston facility—away from New York."

"You're exiling him?" I asked incredulously.

"I'm eliminating temptation." Darren's smile didn't reach his eyes. "For both of you."

As the guards led Jacob away, he looked back once, his expression a promise: *This isn't over.*

When we were alone again, Darren picked up the knife, returning it to his drawer. "You made the right decision."

"Did I have a choice?" I asked bitterly.

"We always have choices, Vanessa." He approached slowly, stopping just short of touching me. "You chose your brother's life over your freedom. I chose your presence over your happiness. We are who we are."

I met his gaze unflinchingly. "In three months, when Jacob is well and our contract ends, I will leave. And if you try to stop me, I'll destroy everything you've built—the company, the reputation, all of it."

Instead of anger, his expression showed something like admiration. "You've changed," he observed quietly. "The woman I married would never have made such a threat."

"The woman you married didn't exist," I replied. "She was a desperate sister doing whatever necessary to save her brother. The woman standing before you now? She's had three months to learn how your world works. Three months to build her own connections and contingencies."

His smile widened, genuine this time. "And that, Vanessa, is exactly why I chose you."

As he walked away, leaving me alone in the studio, I realized with growing unease that my threat hadn't frightened him—it had pleased him. As if my evolution into someone capable of such calculation was exactly what he'd been waiting for.

Three more months of this dangerous game. Three months until Jacob was safe.

Three months to ensure that when the time came, Darren Allen would have no choice but to let me go—or face consequences even he couldn't manipulate his way out of.