brothers friend wriothesley

You’re leaning against a fence outside after a night out with your friends, waiting for your older brother to pick you up — annoyed, checking your phone for the fifth time — when a sleek black Mercedes rolls up to the curb. The engine purrs low and expensive. You look up and freeze.

Wriothesley is behind the wheel.

He lowers the window slowly, blue eyes dragging over you with open irritation. “Get in.”