His Intern Called Him “Bro”— Too Bad I Wrote the Pick-Me Girl Manual! Chapter 09

His Intern Called Him “Bro”— Too Bad I Wrote the Pick-Me Girl Manual! Chapter 09

I picked up my coffee and stirred it slowly.

“Didn’t you love playing the hero?”

“You betrayed your marriage and broke every vow you claimed to care about — all to save your poor, helpless little ‘sister.'”

“And now? Look where it got you.”

“You got to play her hero, and she dragged you straight to hell with her. Isn’t that what you both wanted? I told you a long time ago — you two deserve each other.”

Luca’s face had gone ashen. His lips kept moving, but nothing came out.

“Sienna, I just… I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Weren’t thinking straight? Every time you defended her, every time you tried to make me apologize, every single thing you did — you chose all of it. Luca, stop looking for me. We’re done.”

I turned and left, never looking back.

Life after the divorce was quieter than I’d expected — and a lot busier.

I sold my share of the estate, along with every bad memory that came with it, and put the money into expanding my studio.

Between projects, Naomi, the [Syndicate Wives: Damage Control] sisters, and I turned the pick-me girl playbook into an exclusive, invite-only network — part field manual, part survival kit for women in our world.

I never expected it to catch fire the way it did.

Thousands of people who’d been burned by “buddies,” “innocent friends,” and “just brothers” flooded the comments with their own stories.

The account hit a million followers within a month.

Invitations started pouring in — talk shows, lectures, consulting work — all of it helping women navigate the boundary wars in their own marriages and relationships.

I went from a small-time studio owner to the most sought-after relationship fixer in the city’s underground.

The work filled every corner of my life.

And the name Luca slowly faded from it.

Two years later, my studio had grown into one of Chicago’s most recognized consulting firms in the space.

Then life finally dealt me a winning hand: it put Ethan Carter in my path at a police benevolence gala.

He was a CPD homicide detective — tall, steady, with faint dimples that only showed when he smiled.

He knew everything about my past, and he never once pressed me about it.

He just kept showing me — quietly, consistently — that no matter what anyone said, he was in my corner.

One quiet weekend, he brought me back to the place where we’d first met.

The breeze off the lake barely stirred.

He pulled out a velvet box. Inside was a simple platinum band.

He dropped to one knee, and his eyes said everything he’d never needed words for.

“Sienna, I don’t have Moretti money, and I’m not great with words. But I promise you — no matter what comes, you will always come first. Will you marry me?”

After everything I’d been through, I thought I’d never be brave enough to trust someone with my heart again.

But standing there, looking into his eyes, I knew the past was finally behind me.

I nodded, blinking back tears.

“Yes.”

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear.

I wore white and walked toward the man I would spend the rest of my life with.

Half of the [Syndicate Wives] was in the crowd. I forgot to mention — the group had grown bigger than any of us had ever imagined.

Naomi, my maid of honor, leaned in and whispered.

“Word is Luca and Ruby spent the next six months tearing each other apart. Civil suits, frozen assets, syndicate exile — they got hit from every direction.”

I looked across at Ethan. He was watching me with that quiet smile.

I turned back to smile at Naomi.

“It’s all in the past.”

It really was all in the past.

The betrayals, the scheming, the anger, the grief — all of it had lost its grip the moment this new life began.

I used to think spotting pick-me girls was about winning — about never losing a fight in love.

But I finally learned that real happiness wasn’t armor you built out of strategy.

It was finding the right person.

Someone who made you want to put the armor down.

Someone who made you believe that even without your defenses, you’d still be loved.