Page 101 of Heartless Stepbrother
A countdown.
A summons.
My heart fluttered like a bird that had realized the cage door was not open at all, only unlocked to usher it somewhere else.
I swallowed and forced my voice to emerge. “Thank you,” I managed. It came out soft. A little breathless. More fragile than I wanted. “I’ll be right there.”
The man gave a small bow, impossibly formal, then turned without another word. His footsteps made no sound on the plush carpet of the hall, which only heightened the eerie quiet that swallowed him as he retreated.
The moment he disappeared, the hallway looked longer. Darker. Like a tunnel carved out of silence.
I closed the door slowly, feeling the latch click into place with a muted finality. The room around me felt colder. The air pressed against my skin again, thick with luxury and loneliness.
Five minutes.
And I would have to face Riley.
The thought moved through me like a blade made of ice and inevitability.
I stood in the center of the gilded room, wrapped in silence, and for the first time since arriving, I truly understood how alone I was inside this palace of polished lies.
Alone, yet watched.
Alone, yet owned.
Alone, yet expected.
And the clock was already counting down.
I forced myself downstairs, even though every step felt like a small betrayal of my own instincts. Dinner. A civilized word for something that felt anything but. I expected Riley to be waiting for me, sprawled in a chair like he owned gravity itself, wearing that half amused, half dangerous smile that said he already knew exactly how to ruin the remainder of my night.
The thought of facing him scraped at something raw inside me.
The mansion changed flavor when he was near. The air grew charged, unstable. At least I knew where the danger sat. At least I could see it breathe.
Without him, the uncertainty spread like smoke.
The dining space opened before me in one long exhale of marble and chandeliers. The room was vast enough for echoes to get lost. Every polished surface gleamed. Rows of silverware were placed with surgical precision by staff who moved like drifting shadows, careful and quiet and trained not to exist beyond their duty.
He was not there.
Not a footprint.
Not a whisper.
Nothing.
Something in my chest tightened, the knot sharp enough to pull my breath thin. I stood at the threshold longer than I should have, searching for any sign of him. A jacket thrown over a chair. A glass half drunk. A door left open.
Nothing.
I approached one of the staff members, a woman with her hair pulled into a perfect twist and her expression carved from calm. I swallowed the tremor rising in my voice.
“Sorry. Do you know where Riley is?”
Her eyes flicked up only briefly. Her face did not change. Her tone was polite, flat, unreachable. “He is out, Madam.”
Out.
