Page 38 of Heartless Stepbrother
Soft jazz rippled through the warm air. Laughter floated and mingled with it, elegant and easy, the kind of laughter that belonged to people born into money. People who had never known fear as anything but an abstract concept discussed in movies and whispered scandals. Guests movedlike a choreography of wealth, all effortless grace and tailored perfection.
It was stunning.
It was suffocating.
Riley and I walked into the center of it, and the world shifted again, this time sharper, colder. Heads turned. Cameras lifted. Smiles unfurled like practiced blossoms.
The new family has arrived.
The daughter of the bride and the son of the groom.
The photogenic pair brought together by matrimony.
A murmur swept through the gathering. Compliments disguised as sweetness but heavy with appraisal. How lovely you look. What a perfect match. Such beautiful children. What a merging.
Every pair of eyes became a weight, pressing against my skin. I felt them mapping the angles of our bodies, the closeness of our stride, the illusion of unity. I felt the invisible expectation settle over me like a delicate but choking veil. Be graceful. Be serene. Be the daughter your mother deserves today.
Smile, Luna. Pretend.
I did. I lifted my chin and maintained the soft, polite smile that made me blend seamlessly with the curated, glossy aesthetic.
But inside, a storm churned without rhythm. Fear flickered. Rage simmered. And underneath both, a darker ache pulsed, humiliating in its persistence.
I hated that he could do that to me.
He intensified everything the moment we stepped deeper into the reception. He did not merely walk beside me. He invaded the shifting inches of space around me. His arm brushed mine again and again, a lazy, grazing contact that looked accidental to every watching eye but carried an electric charge strong enough to steal breath.
I could smell him. The clean bite of expensive cologne. The warm edge of male skin. Something darker that belonged to him alone.
Every inhale tangled with something forbidden.
Every exhale was an effort not to stagger.
He knew. I was certain he knew. Riley never left a weakness unexplored. A weakness was a door, and he was the kind of boy who would walk through it just to see what broke on the other side.
My fingertips tingled. My chest tightened. If he did not stop, I was going to lose all composure. I would scream. Or cry. Or dissolve. Any outcome would destroy the wedding my mother had dreamed of.
I wanted distance. I needed it like oxygen.
But he refused to give me even an inch.
His voice found me first, uncoiling through the noise, soft and low, heat-laced and cruel. Only for me.
“Relax, princess,” he whispered. “You look like you are marching toward execution. Enjoy the scenery. All these people think we are absolutely adorable.”
My jaw clenched. I kept my smile intact. My lips barely moved.
“Stop touching me,” I breathed, the words barely a vibration.
He slowed his stride. Just enough to pull me closer. He boxed me subtly against his side, creating the illusion that I had drifted toward him willingly.
“Touching you?” His tone was smooth, almost amused. “We are walking. A shoulder brushing yours is not a crime. You are simply so wound up that you feel electricity where everyone else would feel nothing at all.”
His eyes flicked toward me, slow and knowing, and the spark of delight in them was merciless.
He was enjoying this. My tension. My confusion. The thin thread of hunger beneath my fury that he could sense even when I buried it.
His voice dropped lower, carving itself straight into the place between my ribs.
