Betrayed I Upgraded to His Billionaire Brother novel Chapter 129

Chapter 129

Nine years of pretending to be just siblings—a bond so deeply ingrained it felt unbreakable—made the thought of crossing that line feel utterly forbidden. The very idea was like stepping into a realm where no one dared to tread.

The unmistakable aroma of cedarwood, a scent that had always surrounded me since childhood, seemed to fill the space around us now, almost as if it were warning me about the dangerous territory my mind had wandered into. It clung to the air, heavy and insistent, emphasizing just how taboo my thoughts truly were.

I could feel the heat rising in my ears, a flush of embarrassment spreading across my face. Without thinking twice, I pushed Gavin back into his seat. “Where on earth did your mind go?” I demanded, my voice sharp. “Even if I were brave enough to entertain the idea of something forbidden, I wouldn’t dare try it with you!”

Wouldn’t dare. The words echoed in my mind, a firm boundary I wasn’t willing to cross.

Gavin’s lips twitched into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. When his gaze returned to me, he was back to his usual self—untouchable and mischievous, those piercing sapphire eyes sparkling with a playful glint. “Lots of people want a piece of me. You’re just one in line,” he teased lightly.

I hadn’t anticipated such bold arrogance from him. The embarrassment swelled inside me, and I wished the seat beneath me would just swallow me whole. Desperate to divert the conversation, I turned toward Neil, who was driving. “Neil, are we close to the restaurant yet?”

“Just at the next intersection,” he answered calmly.

As soon as I stepped out of the car, the crisp winter air hit my face, cool and refreshing. The heat in my cheeks finally began to fade, and I felt the tension draining away from my shoulders, allowing me to breathe more freely once again.

Gavin had chosen an Italian restaurant for the evening—a renowned spot in New York, famous not only for its exquisite cuisine but also for its elegant atmosphere and hefty price tag. Dining there was more than just a meal; it was a symbol of status and exclusivity.

Ordinary people couldn’t simply walk in. Reservations were booked months in advance, a testament to the restaurant’s prestige.

The last time I had been here was with Gavin as well, on his twentieth birthday. I had spent my own savings to treat him and his friends to a grand dinner, wanting to make the occasion special. Afterward, his friends told me to leave early since the after-party wasn’t suitable for someone my age.

But Gavin, holding my hand firmly, dismissed them without hesitation. “You guys go ahead. I have to take her to her lesson,” he said, his voice resolute.

I had to attend my tutor’s house back then, and Gavin never missed a single pickup or drop-off. That memory felt like a distant echo now.

Time had slipped by so quickly—ten years passing in what felt like the blink of an eye.

Suddenly, Gavin stopped walking and glanced back at me with a teasing look. “Think this place is too expensive for you?” he asked with a raised brow.

Snapping out of my reverie, I hurried to catch up, forcing a smile. “I’m not that cheap,” I replied, determined to hold my ground.

The restaurant had undergone renovations a couple of years ago, adopting a sleek, modern style that left little trace of its old charm. Yet, the owner remained the same, personally greeting us and leading us to a private room with quiet grace.

“You order,” I said, sliding the menu toward Gavin. Every dish was marked as “market price,” a reminder of the extravagant costs.

Gavin didn’t bother looking at the menu. Instead, he recited the dishes from memory, clearly a regular here.

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