Claimed by His Best Friend

Evander wanted out. His best friend panicked, terrified I'd cling to Evander, and faked his death.[Astrid, I'm so sorry. He wrecked his car.

He didn't make it.] I nodded, my face blank.[Thanks for the update. I already booked the abortion.] That text broke Brooks.

He paced all night, literally slapping his own face out of pure guilt.Brooks escorted me to the clinic. Evander caught us redhanded. He skipped the questions.

He tackled Brooks to the floor and beat him senseless."I don't even let the wind touch her!" Evander roared.

His split knuckles dripped blood. "And you drag her to a fucking clinic?!" Brooks spat blood.

He stared up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.That night, my phone blew up. [How the fuck do you get pregnant without him touching you?!] [Answer me, you psycho!] Chapter 1 Evander stormed out of the penthouse last night.

Twelve hours later, my phone buzzed with a text from his best friend. [Evander got into a massive wreck last night. Surgeons tried for hours.

He’s gone.] [He didn't make it.] I read the messages twice. Then I looked up, staring dead at the back of the "corpse’s" head. Evander sat at the sticky bar counter.

He stared at a full glass of amber liquid, his jaw tight. Sitting next to him, Brooks couldn't hide his smug grin.

He slapped Evander's shoulder with a fake, sad smile. "Bro, you spoiled her rotten. That’s why she walks all over you.

She’s a walking red flag." Nobody thrived on our relationship drama more than Brooks. For the past two years, he made it his personal mission to drag my name through the mud.

He had that permanent scowl—inkdark eyes and a jawline that practically screamed anger management issues.

Even when he just stood in the same room as me, I could hear him mentally calling me a bitch.

When his hatred for me peaked, Brooks actually hired some shady tarot reader from Venice Beach to cleanse Evander’s aura, convinced I had hexed him. I hated strangers in my space.

No cleaners, no maids. Evander handled every single chore. Brooks almost had a stroke the day he let himself in with a spare key and caught Evander in the laundry room.

Evander was wearing a pastel pink Care Bear apron, aggressively handwashing my silk thongs.

Brooks cornered him, fully convinced I was blackmailing Evander. "You got a girlfriend just to scrub her fucking underwear?" Brooks had yelled, veins popping in his neck. "Astrid is nothing but a pretty face!

She’s toxic!" Evander just kept scrubbing. "You’re superficial." Brooks ghosted him for two solid months after that.

Last night, Evander tore the lace on my favorite Agent Provocateur set. I snapped. We screamed until our throats burned. He grabbed his keys and vanished.

Brooks probably popped champagne the second he heard the news. I tracked Evander’s location sharing straight to this dive bar.

Now, I stood in the shadows, listening to him vent about my impossible standards. Evander pinched the bridge of his nose.

Those usually soft, devoted eyes were dark, clouded with exhaustion.

He stared at the neon reflection in his glass. "I'm so burned out," Evander rasped, his voice rough. "I think I’m done with this." Brooks looked like he wanted to cry tears of joy.

He radiated the exact energy of a girl watching her bestie finally dump a toxic frat boy. While Evander wallowed, Brooks slickly swiped Evander’s phone from the counter.

He went straight to contacts. Blocked. Deleted. Wiped every trace of me. He wasn't taking any chances. He wanted to make sure my toxic ass couldn't crawl back.

Then, from his own phone, he shot me the fabricated death notice. He even tacked on a sickeningly sweet followup. [I know it hurts, Astrid.

But you have to move on.] I stared at the glowing blue bubbles. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

I tapped out a slow, deliberate response. [Got it.] [I already booked the abortion anyway.] I stood fifteen feet away, watching the exact second the text delivered. Brooks froze.

The triumphant smirk wiped off his face like someone hit a kill switch. All the color drained from his skin, leaving a sickly, ashen gray.

A strangled, highpitched choke ripped from his throat. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He practically vaulted off the barstool, fumbling frantically for his jacket.

Evander frowned. "Where are you going?" Brooks shook his head. He couldn't form a single word. He just backed away, shaking his head, before sprinting out of the bar.

Chapter 2 My phone practically vibrated off the console. Brooks was losing his damn mind. [Are you pregnant?! Does Evander know?!] [Can you cancel the appointment?

Don't do it, please, I'm begging you!] [What clinic? I'm coming right now.] [Goddamn it, Astrid, say something! Are you trying to kill me?!] I flipped the silent switch.

Ignored the texts. Sent the calls straight to voicemail. I peeled out of the dive bar parking lot and drove straight back to the penthouse.

Ordered UberEats, booted up my console, and queued for a few matches. Eight straight losses later, I hurled my controller at the couch, screaming obscenities through angry tears.

In that short window, Brooks practically tore the city apart. He hit up three different clinics, found nothing, and finally sped to my building.

Seeing the penthouse lights on, he bolted upstairs. The doorbell chimed like a fire alarm—frantic, nonstop pounding.

I yanked the door open, a fresh tear still tracking down my cheek from my gaming rage. Brooks halted.

Any residual fury he carried up those stairs evaporated the second he saw my wet eyelashes. He swallowed hard.

The color drained from his face, leaving him looking sick to his stomach. "The… the baby," he started, his voice dropping an octave, treating me like a bomb about to detonate. "Does Evander know?" I dropped my gaze, letting my lashes shadow my eyes. "He knows." Brooks stopped breathing.

His knees gave out a little, making him grab the edge of the sofa to stay standing. This massive, intimidating guy suddenly hovered over me, his hands shaking inches from my arms.

He guided me toward the sofa with agonizing slowness, terrified I might shatter on impact. "Just… rethink the clinic, okay?" he pleaded, his voice awkwardly gentle. "The procedure takes a massive toll on your body.

I'm just looking out for you." He had zero experience comforting women. He forced his voice to drop, trying to sound soft. It sounded completely unhinged.

Like the Big Bad Wolf trying to play grandma. Brooks’s heart hammered against his ribs. The internal panic was visible.

To come clean, he had to admit the fatal car crash text was a total fabrication. It was a massive red flag, an undeniable L. But weighed against his best friend's unborn kid?

The math wasn't hard. He clenched his jaw, bracing himself to spill the truth. I beat him to the punch. "There's no heartbeat anymore.

I lost it right after you texted me that Evander died." Brooks turned the color of wet concrete. My eyes flushed red.

Tears spilled over my lower lashes, dropping onto my lap. "I was on my way to the OBGYN." My voice cracked. "Then your text came through. The room just… spun.

Everything went black." "Next thing I know, I'm at the bottom of the stairs. At the ER…" I let out a jagged breath. "The doctor said the heartbeat was gone.

They have to remove it." The confession died in Brooks's throat. His vocal cords paralyzed. Not a single sound made it past his lips.

I sank into the cushions and stared blankly at the wall.

I rested a trembling hand flat against my stomach, my eyes vacant. "Maybe," I whispered to the empty air, "the baby just rushed to be with its dad." Ping.

Brooks's phone lit up in his palm. A text from Evander. [Haven't done her laundry or cooked for a whole day.

Bet she's finally realizing how toxic her life is without me.] [I think I'm ready to go home and forgive her.] Brooks's soul practically left his body.

His thumbs flew across the screen, panicked that Evander would materialize at the front door if he didn't intervene right this second. [Bro, don't you think forgiving Astrid this fast just enables her gaslighting?] Three agonizing minutes passed before the typing bubble reappeared on Brooks's screen. [Weird.

Why is her contact completely wiped from my phone?] Chapter 3 Brooks lied through his teeth. [She blocked you.

The new iOS update wipes the chat history on both ends if someone hits block. She clearly hasn't learned her lesson.] Evander: [Seriously?] Brooks: [Yeah.

Trust me.] A second later, my phone lit up on the coffee table. The caller ID flashed Evander's name.

Before my brain could even process it, Brooks lunged across the couch and swiped the phone, instantly jabbing the decline button. "Spam," he choked out.

He looked like he had aged ten years in the last five minutes. His frat boy smirk was dead. He stared at the floor, his chest heaving in short, panicked breaths.

He didn't have my passcode. He couldn't block Evander’s number himself. His only option was to play goalie.

Desperate to get me out of the room so I wouldn't catch on, he stiffened his posture.

He squeezed the words out of his tight throat. "You should go take a shower." I stared at him. "…Excuse me?" I gave him a weird look and slowly pulled the collar of my loungewear tighter against my chest. "What exactly are you plotting?" Brooks froze.

A dark red flush crawled rapidly up his neck. He sputtered, completely unhinged. "What the hell do you think I want to do?!

You're my best friend's girlfriend!" He yanked a hand through his hair, refusing to make eye contact with me. "It's just late.

You need sleep." "I'm just here to keep an eye on you since Evander isn't here.

Don't make it weird." I pursed my lips. "And what are you going to be doing while I shower?" I asked slowly. "Peeking?" Brooks practically combusted. "I am NOT going to peek!" He snatched the pastel pink Care Bear apron off the counter and aggressively shoved it over his head. "I'm making dinner!" He marched into the kitchen with my phone firmly gripped in his hand.

He aggressively chopped vegetables, but his eyes stayed glued to my screen. Every time Evander called, Brooks hit decline.

He knew this wasn't sustainable, but hiding the truth was his only play right now. I leaned against the doorframe, watching his rigid back. A quiet laugh slipped past my lips.

Idiot. When I finally walked out of the bathroom, Brooks had a full hot meal plated on the dining table.

I eyed him suspiciously. "I'm not putting out just because you made me dinner." Brooks's neck turned an angry, blotchy red. "I don't want your gratitude! You are my bro's girl!

Stop saying weird shit to me!" I let out a soft "oh" and obediently sat down to eat. Brooks sat across from me. He didn't touch his food.

He warred with himself for a solid minute before clearing his throat. "I want to crash here tonight. Just to keep an eye on you." I paused, my fork hovering in the air.

I nodded slowly, feigning realization. "Ah. So you're not into the willing stuff. You prefer the forced, noncon vibes." Brooks stared in stunned silence.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw ticking hard. He wished the floorboards would crack open and swallow him. He lost his appetite completely.

He grabbed some spare blankets and set up a makeshift bed on my bedroom floor. My phone stayed securely tucked in his sweatpants pocket the entire time.

Playing nurse was a convenient excuse. Guarding my phone against Evander's calls was the real mission.

When I stepped into the bedroom, Brooks was lying flat on his back on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling like a corpse.

Chapter 4 I slipped under the icy duvet, pulling it up to my chin. "It's freezing in here," I murmured into the quiet room. "Evander always used to warm up the sheets for me." On the floor, Brooks squeezed his eyes shut, aggressively playing dead.

I let out a jagged, shivering sigh. "Maybe it's because I just lost the baby. My hands and feet feel like ice. Everything hurts." A beat of silence. "The baby is gone.

And now… Evander is gone, too." The floorboards creaked. Brooks couldn't take it anymore. The mattress dipped as his massive frame hesitantly climbed onto the edge of the bed.

He lay there flat on his back, rigid as a board. "Is this… warmer?" His voice was a tight, gravelly rasp. The heat radiating off his skin was insane. He felt like a human furnace.

Even in the dark, I could see the dark flush creeping up his neck, turning the tips of his ears burning red. He was practically combusting.

I nodded, inching just a fraction closer to that radiating heat. "Much warmer." The air in the bedroom instantly thickened.

The silence was heavy, buzzing with a weird, suffocating tension. Brooks dug his fingernails into his palms, staring a hole into the floor.

Desperate to shatter the suffocating proximity, he forced the words out. "When is the appointment?" "Tomorrow." I kept my voice hollow, letting a raw, trembling crack slip through. "The doctor said it'll be incredibly hard for me to ever have kids again.

I'm probably just going to end up dying alone." The words hit Brooks like a physical blow. This was all his fault.

The guilt was literally eating him alive—you could see the muscle in his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth, probably visualizing punching himself in the face. "I'll take care of you," he blurted out, zero hesitation.

He turned his head, his dark eyes fiercely serious in the dim light. "I won't let you die alone." I shifted closer, my arm brushing his tense bicep. "Are you proposing to me?" Brooks glitched.

The deep red flush violently returned. "Why would you even say that?!" he choked out, staring at me like I was insane. "You're my best friend's girlfriend!" I blinked, feigning total innocence. "Oh, got it.

So you just want to stay with me for the rest of my life, respect me, cherish me, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part?" Brooks nodded aggressively, completely missing the point. "Exactly!

That's exactly what I mean!" I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing, rolled over, and pulled the covers up. I closed my eyes.

It took a solid sixty seconds for the realization to crash over him. By the time his brain caught up to what he just agreed to, I was already breathing evenly, playing dead.

He sat up, dragging both hands down his face in absolute despair. "You're my best friend's girl…" he whispered into the dark, sounding completely broken.

The next morning, Brooks drove me to the clinic. He gripped the steering wheel the entire ride, suffocating under his own thoughts. Evander still couldn't reach me.

So, he went straight to his best friend. But Brooks, the guy who usually dropped everything for a beer, was suddenly MIA.

Evander: [Where the hell were you last night?] Brooks typed furiously while we sat in the waiting room. Brooks: [Caught a massive bug. Running a fever.

Feel like shit.] Evander: [I stopped by your place. You weren't there.] Brooks swallowed hard. Brooks: [Yeah, it got bad.

Ended up at the ER.] Evander: [I'll grab some meds and drop them at your office.] Brooks: [Don't. I'm packed with meetings today.] He hadn't slept a single minute.

He looked utterly wrecked, deep purple bags bruising the skin under his eyes. I walked over, clutching my registration paperwork.

Brooks instantly shoved his phone deep into his pocket, plastering on a horribly unconvincing neutral expression. We stepped into the harsh fluorescent light of the elevator.

I stared at the metal doors, letting my voice waver. "I'm a little scared." "Don't be," Brooks rasped immediately. "I'm right here.

I'm not going anywhere." I reached out and slipped my hand into his. Brooks went totally rigid. His muscles locked up.

Every instinct in his body screamed to rip his hand away from mine. But the memory of his text message paralyzed him. He couldn't reject me.

He stared down at our joined hands for a long, agonizing second. Then, a heavy breath shuddered past his lips.

Slowly, deliberately, his large, rough fingers curled inward, fully wrapping around mine in a firm, protective grip. Chapter 5 The elevator doors slid open.

Standing right outside the OBGYN suite was a very familiar face. Evander. The color completely drained from Brooks's skin. His soul practically left his body.

Evander's gaze dropped. It locked dead onto our joined hands. A dark, terrifying smile twisted his lips. "This is how you play best friend, Brooks?" Brooks choked on a gasp.

Before he could even form a syllable, Evander swung. His fist connected with a sickening crack. I scrambled back five feet, terrified the blood splatter would ruin my shoes.

The truth? I booked the appointment on my phone last night. And I used Evander's Amex. The clinic's billing charge triggered an instant push notification on his screen.

That was why Evander was calling backtoback all night. And Brooks, the absolute idiot, had blindly declined every single one.

Evander tracked the clinic charge and showed up at dawn to wait me out. Instead, he caught Brooks redhanded.

Evander's eyes were bloodshot, feral. "I don't even let the wind touch her!" he roared, his chest heaving as he stood over him. "And you drag her to a fucking clinic?!" Brooks froze.

His brain finally processed the accusation.

A flush of pure mortification and rage hit his face. "I didn't!" He dug frantically into his pocket, yanking out his phone to pull up our texts and prove his innocence.

Halfway out, his hand locked. He stared at the black screen, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Slowly, he slid the phone back into his pocket.

Before my fake pregnancy drop, his chat history featured him blatantly announcing Evander's fatal car crash and telling me to move on.

Shoving that in Evander's face right now was basically a death wish. Suffocating on his own trap, Brooks clamped his mouth shut.

He looked exactly like the guilty homewrecker, shooting me this pathetic, betrayed glare.

I stood completely silent in the corner, radiating the exact energy of a cold, toxic wife who just got caught. Evander sagged against the wall like his strings were cut.

A single tear slid down his bruised face. He looked utterly shattered. Brooks was battered to a pulp. His health bar was basically flashing red.

When the paramedics finally loaded him onto a stretcher, he stared blankly at the ceiling tiles, his chest tight as yesterday's mistake chewed a hole in his gut.

Evander's villain origin story was currently loading at ninetynine percent. He turned his gaze to me. It was dead. Freezing. He followed me out of the clinic in complete silence.

He drove us back to the penthouse in complete silence. He stared straight ahead, acting completely dead inside. It was incredibly unsettling.

I couldn't take the suffocating quiet anymore. "Are you mad?" I asked. Evander turned his head with agonizing, mechanical slowness.

He flashed this terrifyingly calm, hollow smile. "I don't have the energy to be mad at you anymore." I shut my eyes, letting my head fall back against the seat.

I would literally rather have him screaming at me than this creepy, deadinside routine. The second Evander stepped inside the penthouse, he froze.

Two plates still sat on the dining table from last night. The spare sweatpants Brooks slept in were crumpled on the living room sofa.

Through the open bathroom door, a third toothbrush rested conspicuously on the marble vanity.

Every single detail in the apartment screamed the same narrative: while he was gone, another man was here. Evander's eyes went dangerously dark.

He stood rooted in the doorway for a long, heavy minute before finally stepping inside. Chapter 6 Evander hurled the pastel Care Bear apron Brooks had worn straight into the trash.

Then, he started aggressively sanitizing the kitchen.

He moved around the penthouse like a ghost drafting his will, coldly rattling off the exact expiration date of the oat milk in the fridge and listing which specific painkillers to take for my cramps.

Before zipping his suitcase, he stood in dead silence at the marble island, meticulously mealprepping an entire week's worth of my favorite baked ziti.

I sat on a barstool, resting my chin in my hand, just watching him. Did Evander spend the entire night bingereading angsty BookTok romances?

Because this whole dramatic, selfsacrificing routine felt way too scripted. He dragged his matte black Rimowa toward the foyer.

I trailed behind him, testing the waters. "Are you leaving me?" Evander paused. He turned his head slowly, his eyes entirely hollow. "Yeah. You, and this penthouse.

I'm done with all of it." I stood completely alone in the middle of our threethousandsquarefoot loft, watching the heavy oak door click shut.

My love life had officially flatlined. I stared at the empty entryway for a solid two minutes. Then, I pulled out my phone. [Evander just walked out.

You coming over?] Downstairs, Evander tossed his suitcase into the trunk and slid behind the wheel of his SUV. But he didn't start the engine. He just sat there. Waiting.

According to the toxic romance tropes he was clearly pulling from, this was the exact moment I was supposed to sprint out of the lobby in tears, hysterical and begging him to stay.

He gripped the leather steering wheel, fully braced for my dramatic apology tour. Ten minutes bled by. No running footsteps. Thirty minutes passed. Not a single text.

Not one missed call. An hour in, Evander genuinely started to debate if the private elevator was malfunctioning.

Or maybe the sheer weight of my heartbreak had caused me to literally pass out on the hardwood floor— And then, Brooks showed up.

He practically slinked through the glass lobby doors, disguised in a black baseball cap and a surgical mask. His eyes darted around the lobby like a paranoid fugitive.

Evander had literally beaten the fear of God into him. Brooks knew he was dead wrong for sending that fake car crash text, which was why he hadn't swung back at the clinic.

But taking the physical and mental beating for an abortion he had zero part in? His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

He needed to clear his name, or his soul was going to haunt this earth. The second my text came through confirming the coast was clear, he sprinted over to set the record straight.

From the heavily tinted windows of his parked car, Evander watched his best friend scurry into my elevator. Brooks looked like a burglar.

Or a guy sneaking in to sleep with his best friend's girl. Evander's knuckles cracked. The sound snapped loudly in the suffocating silence of the car.

A dark, terrifying smirk twisted his mouth. "You really never learn, do you…" Upstairs, the private elevator chimed.

Brooks stepped out, visibly sagging with relief when he realized Evander was actually gone. But the second his eyes locked onto mine, the phantom pain in his bruised ribs flared up.

The absolute humiliation of yesterday crashed over him all over again. His eyes instantly flushed a furious, wet red.

Hot tears literally pooled in his lower lashes. "Astrid." His voice cracked with raw, desperate anger. "Is playing me like a fucking fiddle just a game to you?" Chapter 7 "I wasn't playing you," I stammered.

My voice shook. "I really needed to see a doctor. Every time we hook up… Evander stops halfway.

He just pulls away and takes a freezing cold shower." "I thought… I thought there was something physically wrong with me.

That's why he wouldn't touch me." "When he packed his bags over nothing last night, I panicked. I thought he was just using it as an excuse because he was disgusted by me.

I thought if I went to the clinic and got treated, he'd come home." Hot tears spilled over my lashes, tracking fast down my cheeks. My chest heaved with jagged gasps.

Brooks thrived on my misery. The second the first tear fell, a huge grin broke out on his face. He leaned in, mercilessly pouring gas on the fire. "He’s been over you for months.

You could go to a hundred clinics and it wouldn't change shit! He literally said it last night—he is entirely done with you." A broken, ugly sob ripped from my throat.

Brooks actually laughed. A bright, genuine chuckle. He originally came over to interrogate me about the fake pregnancy text. That was completely wiped from his hard drive now.

Watching me break down was his absolute favorite spectator sport.

I dragged the back of my hand across my wet cheeks. "I guess you're the only one who actually has feelings for me," I whispered. Brooks’s laugh died in his throat. His face froze.

He stared at me like I belonged in a psych ward. I kept going, my voice a hollow, hypnotic murmur. "You cooked for me. You took care of me.

You slept in my room." "You literally promised to stay with me for the rest of my life. And you held my hand at the clinic.

You’re the only one who actually loves me." Brooks physically recoiled.

Every muscle in his body seized as the agonizing memory of last night's idiotic vow crashed back into his brain. "What kind of unhinged garbage are you spewing?!" he choked out, his eyes wide with panic. "You are my best friend’s—" The deadbolt clicked.

Brooks froze. Evander stood perfectly still in the entryway. He stared a hole through the back of Brooks’s skull like a vengeful ghost.

Brooks stumbled back a step, looking like he was about to throw up. The hairs on his arms stood on end. He literally stopped breathing.

I stepped directly between them, putting myself in front of Brooks's massive, terrified frame.

I tilted my chin up, locking eyes with Evander. "Stop bullying him." Evander’s dark eyes dropped to my face. He stared at me in deafening silence.

Then, without a single word, he reached into the trash can.

He pulled out the discarded Care Bear apron, smoothing out the wrinkles like absolutely nothing was wrong. "Astrid," he said, his voice terrifyingly soft. "Does homemade ravioli sound good for dinner?" He turned and walked into the kitchen.

The heavy silence hung in the living room. It took Brooks a full minute to remember how to operate his lungs.

He shifted his weight, his expression twisting into something deeply defensive. "Who said I needed you to play human shield?" he muttered, puffing out his chest. "Do I look like I'm scared of him?

Don't underestimate our brotherhood." He talked a big game, but his voice was completely hollow.

He scoffed, refusing to look at me, and spun on his heel to leave. "So you're really just going to hit it and quit it?!" I screamed at his back. Brooks’s spine snapped straight.

WHAM. A heavy meat cleaver slammed into the wooden cutting board in the kitchen. The sound echoed like a gunshot. Brooks’s knees buckled.

He looked like he wanted to drop to the floor and beg for his life. "Do not say shit like that!" he hissed frantically, his eyes darting toward the kitchen archway, fully expecting Evander to emerge with the blade. "What we did last night does not count as sleeping together!" I tilted my head, putting on a face of deep, thoughtful confusion. "Oh.

Should I call it a booty call then?" "Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" Brooks was practically on the verge of tears. The more he tried to dig himself out, the deeper the grave got.

He threw his hands up, completely abandoning the argument. Then, a shadow fell over the living room. Evander drifted into the kitchen doorway.

A slow, chilling smile stretched across his face. He locked eyes with Brooks. "Hey, man," Evander said, his tone deadpan. "My headlights are acting up.

Do you mind coming down to the garage to help me look at them?" Chapter 8