He’s My Step Brother??

Kailee Bennett

I hated moving. I hated the cardboard boxes, bubble wrap, and fake smiles even more. But mostly, I hated that I had to leave behind everything that felt like mine.

I didn’t speak the entire car ride. My mom kept humming like she was in a sitcom montage. Meanwhile, I was being driven out of my old life and shoved into someone else’s.

We finally arrived at what my mom called “our new home.”

Holy shit.

I stared at the house. No. Not a house. A compound. Stone walls. Massive glass windows. A fountain. A freaking fountain.

“Is this a mansion or a museum?” I muttered.

My mom ignored me and got out. I didn’t want to get out of the car.

I stared at the new house like it might bite me. It was huge, clean, and annoyingly P*******t-perfect. White shutters. Porch swing. Little stone path lined with flowers. The kind of house that whispered stable and happy. It made me want to scream.

“Kailee, come on,” Mom said, beaming as she stepped out of the car. “Try to smile?”

I stayed silent.

I followed, trying not to trip over the brick-laid steps that probably cost more than our old kitchen.

The front door opened, and a man in a salmon polo shirt, loafers, Rolex, and a golf tan appeared. The kind of rich that didn’t have to try hard because the money screamed louder than he ever could.

His lips broke into a broad smile the moment he saw my mom. They rushed to hug each other and shared a sloppy kiss while I cringed.

This had to be Greg—her new husband. The man she married without telling her own daughter

“Kailee!” he said when they could finally get off each other, like we were long-lost friends. “Your mom has told me so much about you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

His handshake was firm, his smile warm. He had dad-energy and a bowl of fresh cookies waiting inside. I hated that he seemed… nice.

“You’ve got the upstairs room,” he said, helping with my box. “It’s got the best view.”

“Great,” I muttered.

“I’ll have the butler take your things inside,” he added.

Butler??

I see why my mom said he would be good for us—because he was stinking rich.

“Please come in. You’ll meet my son, Ryder, soon. He’s probably out doing... whatever teenagers do. Music, boxing, maybe meditating on a rooftop—who knows?” he laughed.

I didn’t find it funny. He didn’t even know where his son was? That’s just terrible. I shouldn’t even be feeling bad for his son. He may be an entitled rich kid with horrible manners.

I carried my hoodie and phone upstairs while Mom and Greg talked.

The room was okay. Bigger than mine back home, but I would trade anything to have my old room back. Clean bed. Built-in bookshelf. Desk by the window. Not horrible.

I was halfway through unpacking when Mom came in with a mug of cocoa.

“I know you’re not elated about moving here, but I want you to have an open mind about Greg and his son Ryder. Ryder’s a bit older than you and he’s a little… intense, but I feel like both of you would get along just fine.”

Sure. Because bonding with some moody stranger was exactly what I needed.

“Cool,” I said, which meant: I don’t care.

“I’ll let you settle in before dinner. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs,” she said, placing the mug on my bedside table before leaving.

A minute after she left, my phone buzzed.

Charlotte Calling…

I swiped immediately.

“Tell me you’re not already sobbing on marble floors,” she said instead of hello.

“You’re not far off,” I muttered.

“So? What’s it like? Big? Cringe? Gold toilets?”

I looked around. “Huge. Pretentious. There’s a fountain.”

“A fountain?” she gasped. “Girl, are you in a house or a villain’s lair?”

I snorted. “There’s a butler.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. Greg is rich-rich.”

“Ugh. So now your new stepbrother’s probably some private-school tennis douche who calls his dad ‘Father’ and takes protein powder. Come on, give me a tour,” she hummed excitedly, switching to video call.

I grumbled but got up. “Fine. But if I get lost mid-tour, I’m putting the blame on you.”

“Deal.”

“Okay,” I started. “First hallway: pretentious. Framed art I’m not allowed to touch. Probably costs more than my education.”

“Go onnn,” Charlotte sang.

I pointed at doors. “Guest room one. Guest room two. Fancy marble bathroom. Another guest room. Why do I feel Greg has more guest beds than friends?”

“Rich people love rooms they never use.”

Then I paused. Door slightly open. Lights off. Just enough shadow to look... lived in. I nudged it. Guitar in the corner. Black bedding. Posters. Scent of cologne and something smoky.

“Hold on,” I said. “This one’s different.”

“Ooooh, do it. Go in.”

“Char, I swear—”

“Do it, coward.”

I rolled my eyes and nudged the door open.

Inside: a darker vibe. Posters on the wall. An open guitar case. Hoodie slung over the back of a chair. Black hoodie.

I stepped inside, heart already thudding. I picked it up. Same fabric. It had cigarette ashes on it and smelled of smoke and a familiar cologne.

My stomach dropped. No. No freaking way.

I was slowly piecing it together when I heard that same voice from last night.

“You lost?”

I froze, my eyes almost plunging out of their sockets. Oh good heavens, this can’t be true.

“I’ve gotta call you back,” I muttered to Charlotte, who screamed, “WHAT DID YOU FIND?!” before the call ended.

I finally turned around and my head wasn’t playing tricks on me. It was the same annoying arrogant boy from last night.

He leaned against the doorframe. Lip ring. Hoodie unzipped. Same wild hair. Same arrogant stare. Arms crossed, sizing me up. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to go through people’s stuff. Gotta admit, I’m impressed.”

“You live here?” I asked.

He gave a mock bow. “Welcome to the penthouse, stepsis.”

Stepsis??

Then it dawned on me. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

My brain screamed run, but my feet stayed stupidly frozen.

He took a step into the room, and I instinctively backed up—only to hit the edge of his desk.

His hand shot out, grabbing my elbow to steady me.

My skin lit up like it didn’t get the memo we hated him.

He smirked, still holding my arm. “Careful, stepsis.”

I should’ve been focused on yanking myself away. Instead, my brain short-circuited for half a second.

His hand was warm. His grip was strong.

And—God help me—he smelled good. The mixture of smoke and the scent of his cologne was intoxicating.

I finally yanked myself free, cheeks burning. But the warmth on my arm lingered longer than I liked.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Honestly, it should be illegal to look like a Greek god and act like the devil. Someone as arrogant as him didn’t deserve to be this hot.

“Don’t worry,” he said, walking to the other end. “I’m just as horrified as you are.”

“You’re Ryder?”

“The one and only.”

Of course. Of course the jerk from the party was the one I had to live with. Of course the universe hated me.

“This is a nightmare,” I muttered.

He moved closer. “So this is what fate looks like. You snooping through my room already? You move fast, stepsis.”

I dropped his hoodie like it was made of spiders. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Stepsis?” He grinned. “Kinda has a ring to it.”

“This is hell,” I muttered.

I shoved past him. “Don’t talk to me.”

“I live here too, sweetheart.”

I turned in the hallway, burning. “Fine. It’s obvious I despise you and I’m not subscribing to this whole new family thing, so stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. No talking except absolutely necessary. No bonding.”

He tilted his head and smirked. “Alright. Deal. Just stay out of my room next time.” He winked.

I slammed the door hard enough to shake the wall. I wasn’t sure what scared me more—that I had to live under the same roof as him… or that this whole disaster was just getting started.