9

Isabella Leonardo:

We sat on opposite ends of the couch, the silence between us louder than the ticking clock on the wall. The coffee in my hand had gone cold, but I still held onto it like it could anchor me.

He broke the silence first.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, placing his cup on the table with a soft clink. His eyes didn’t waver.

I looked away, pretending to focus on the curtain swaying from the open window. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

He leaned closer, voice low, urgent. "Answer me, Isabella. Did you ever miss me—my touch, my voice?"

His fingers reached for mine, but I pulled back, my skin burning where he grazed it.

“Let’s not do this,” I whispered. “Let’s just pretend there was never anything between us. It’s safer that way… for Amara, my mother, for everyone.”

“Safer?” he snapped, sitting up straight. His voice cracked, eyes wild. “Do you think I care about safe? Just tell me the damn truth!”

I stood up, shaking, heart pounding in my chest. “What do you want from me? That I admit I missed you? That I still think about you late at night? You're my stepbrother, for God’s sake. What happened between us—it should never have happened.”

He stood too, close now. “But it did.”

I swallowed hard, every part of me screaming to leave—but my feet stayed planted. His voice dropped to a whisper, bitter and soft.

“Tell me you didn’t feel it. Tell me I was the only one drowning in it.”

My voice came out cracked. “It was a mistake.”

He smiled then—sad, broken. “Funny how mistakes don’t let you breathe even after years have passed.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it's true!” I snapped, my voice trembling. “I don’t know… I’m so fucking terrified of what would happen if anyone finds out about us. That we kissed—step siblings, Christopher. Can you imagine the look on their faces? The disappointment? The shame?” I took a shaky breath, my throat tightening. “Come on, it’s not just about us. There’s a whole damn family tied to this.”

He looked at me like I was speaking a language he couldn’t stand but refused to stop listening to. “You think I haven’t lived every second of those moments in my head? I’ve tried to bury it, Isabella. I did. But every time I see you, it claws its way back up.”

I shook my head, desperate to escape the gravity pulling us closer again. “This shouldn’t happen. Not now. Not ever.”

But then, before I could turn away, he grabbed my wrist—gently—and pulled me toward him. His lips brushed mine, uncertain at first, testing the line I had drawn and was now teetering on. I didn’t pull back.

Instead, I kissed him.

And I moaned when he deepened it, hands gripping his shirt like I was drowning again—willingly.

But reality hit fast and hard.

“This is not right,” I whispered against his lips, breathless. “We can’t—”

I tore myself away, heart slamming against my ribs, and bolted upstairs. I didn’t stop until I was behind the locked door of my bedroom.

I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face into the pillow. My body was still trembling, heart still racing. My thighs clenched involuntarily.

Damn it.

I was wet. I wanted more. I bit my lower lip, cursing myself silently. Stupid. So stupid.

But the damage was done.

I lay there in the dark, the heat of his mouth still ghosting over mine.

And slowly, sleep pulled me under, his name still tangled in my thoughts.

The next morning, I woke up before the sun—6 a.m. sharp, like muscle memory. My body ached, not from tiredness, but from holding back.

I pushed myself out of bed, headed for the bathroom, and stood under the cold water longer than necessary. Maybe it would wash last night off my skin. Maybe it wouldn’t.

Afterward, I slipped into my tight-fitting black dress—the one that hugged my waist and made my legs look longer than they were. I tied my hair in a loose knot and swiped on a neutral gloss. Clean. Simple. Like nothing had happened.

Downstairs, the air was still. Calm. I walked into the kitchen, and there he was.

Christopher.

Sitting at the table, quietly eating breakfast like we hadn’t kissed each other breathless last night.

I sat across from him and picked at my toast. No words. Not even a glance. The silence was thick, but neither of us dared to cut through it.

Then, just as I grabbed my bag and stood up to leave, his voice came—low, steady.

“Let me drop you off.”

I froze. “Oh… okay.”

We didn’t speak the entire drive.

Just the occasional glance when I thought he wasn’t looking. The tension sat between us like a ghost in the car, whispering about last night.

When we pulled up in front of the building, I reached for the door.

Pearl’s Hotel and Lounge.

“This is it,” I said softly, avoiding his eyes.

He nodded. “Have a good first day.”

I stepped out, taking a deep breath.

The building was elegant, with large glass windows and gold accents that gave it a polished charm. Inside, it smelled like lavender and fresh coffee. The floor gleamed. Everything was pristine.

“Good morning,” I said to the receptionist as I stepped in, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

She smiled politely. “You must be Isabella. Welcome to Pearl’s.”

I smiled back. New place, new start.

Even if my heart still hadn’t slowed from the ride here.

The day started okay.

But by noon, I knew I had romanticized the idea of working at a hotel.

Pearl’s Lounge wasn’t all soft lights and elegant service—it was sharp heels, fake smiles, and customers who thought their tips bought entitlement.

One man snapped his fingers at me like I was a dog.

Another winked and asked if my dress came off just as easily as I walked.

And by late afternoon, a group of businessmen had the nerve to whisper loud enough for me to hear—“She’s new. Probably desperate. Might be easy.”

I smiled. I laughed. I endured.

But inside, I burned.

By the time my shift ended, my legs were sore, my head was pounding, and I was silently begging for a hot shower and a dark room.

---

That night, I got home without saying a word to anyone.

Yawning, eyes half-closed, I trudged upstairs, too tired to care about anything else. My body moved on autopilot as I stepped into my room, shut the door behind me, and flicked off the lights.

Dress off.

Bra unclasped.

Panties gone.

I was completely bare, ready to crawl under the covers and forget the world existed.

That was when I heard him.

“You’re back… don’t want to have dinner?”

I froze.

My heart dropped.

The voice came from the bed.

The bed.

Christopher.

I squinted in the dark. He was there, sitting back against the pillows like he belonged in my room—like this was normal.

“Oh my god…” I whispered, one hand flying over my chest.

He looked up.

And saw me.

Fully.

Naked. Exposed. Frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights.