Page 66 of Heartless Stepbrother
She leaned closer, her voice softening with maternal warmth I ached for. “Luna, he truly is a good kid. Just give him a chance. You two are going to be wonderful together.”
Wonderful together.
The words sliced like silk. Beautiful. Deadly.
She saw a future being woven. A family merging. Harmony blooming.
I saw a cage.
A bond stitched together by secrets, threats, and the brief, searing press of my bare skin against his chest… an imprint that refused to fade. A tangle I hadn’t chosen but was now caught in, with no path out that didn’t hurt someone I loved.
A wave of loneliness rolled through me, vast and quiet and devastating. My mother, radiant and hopeful, was stepping into the life she deserved. And I was being left behind with the architect of my dread.
My lips curved. My voice remained steady. My mask stayed in place.
But beneath it, my soul whispered the truth.
I was terrified.
The sunlight outside the pavilion struck me like a warm blade, soft at first, then cruel once it found the crack in my composure. I followed my mother through the open-air lobby, its marble floors gleaming like bleached bone, its ceiling high enough to let the morning breeze sweep through in gentle, perfumed sighs. I wished I could breathe like that breeze. I wished I could dissolveinto it. But my lungs were tight, my pulse a frantic flutter trapped beneath my skin.
We stepped out into the circular drive where hibiscus bushes bloomed in colors so bright they looked angry, as if nature itself resented the truth unraveling inside me. And there they were. Marcus, on his phone, already half gone into the world of numbers and decisions. And Riley.
He stood beside the luggage like a sentinel carved from shadow and sun. Hands in his pockets. Chin slightly lifted. Unbothered. Unmovable.
My gaze found the suitcases and snagged hard on one: mine. My battered, sticker-covered, absolutely unmistakable suitcase. My stomach dropped, plummeting so sharply I felt momentarily weightless.
He went into my room.
Again.
The realization didn’t whisper. It slammed. No permission. No warning. No boundaries. He had walked straight into my room and lifted my life in his hands like it belonged to him.
Another violation wrapped in an act of service. A threat disguised as helpfulness.
My mother saw none of it. She saw what he wanted her to see: a responsible son, already stepping into his shiny new role.
“Riley was amazing this morning,” she chirped, turning to beam at him. “He took care of everything before we even woke up.”
His smile was gentle. That soft, boyish version of him he offered to parents and strangers. But his eyes slid to me, and that gentleness sharpened into something intimate and territorial. Something only meant for me.
“Just wanted to make things easier,” he said, voice warm enough to melt glass. “You had a long night.”
The words sounded harmless. But their meaning curled around my throat like a slow, knowing hand.
A long night.
Last night replayed in every nerve.
The way my naked body had pressed against his.
The way I had stood up against him.
The way he planned to make me regret it.
My mother stepped toward me and gathered me into a hug, her arms soft and smelling like expensive perfume and sunscreen. I held her tighter than I meant to, as if my grip could delay the next two weeks barreling toward me with sharpened teeth.
“Two weeks, darling! Be good, and listen to Riley. I’ll call the moment we land.”
