CHAPTER TWO: FOUR STRANGERS

MIA'S POV

The Ashcroft house was exactly as intimidating as the photos had suggested — white stone, black shutters, a driveway long enough to need its own zip code — and I stood on the front step with my suitcase handle sweating in my palm, wondering, not for the first time, why my mother had fallen in love with a man who lived somewhere that looked like it required a dress code just to exist inside it.

"You must be Mia." The housekeeper who opened the door had kind eyes and a clipboard, which felt like an oddly specific combination. "Everyone's in the study. Mr. Ashcroft's expecting you."

*Everyone.* My stomach dropped the particular way it had been dropping for two weeks straight, ever since my mother had used the word *stepbrothers*, plural, like it was a minor detail instead of the entire architecture of my new life.

There were four of them, arranged around the study like a jury, and I catalogued them the way I catalogue anything that scares me — fast, clinical, details first, feelings later.

The eldest stood by the window, arms crossed, dark suit even though it was a Saturday, and didn't offer his hand when Warren Ashcroft introduced him as Julian. His eyes swept over me once, assessing and utterly unimpressed, and I felt something in my chest go cold at the deliberate blankness of it — like he'd already decided, before I'd said a single word, exactly how much of his attention I was worth.

The second, Theo, gave me a nod that barely qualified as acknowledgment, already turning back to his phone before Warren had finished the introduction, and I got the distinct impression that whatever warmth this family possessed, it had been rationed out unevenly and Theo hadn't been given much of a share.

The third — Sebastian, tall, quiet, a scar through one eyebrow that made my pulse do something strange and unhelpful the second I noticed it — didn't look at me at all. He looked at a point somewhere over my shoulder, jaw tight, and murmured something that might have been a greeting if it had bothered to include actual words.

And the fourth, the youngest, was already crossing the room before Warren could introduce him properly, hand extended, grin wide and entirely unguarded in a way that made the other three look even colder by comparison.

"Finn," he said. "Don't mind them, they're allergic to fun. I've been dying to meet you — Dad wouldn't shut up about how you're some kind of art history genius, is that true, or is that just Dad exaggerating again—"

"Finn." Warren's voice held gentle warning.

"What? I'm being welcoming. Someone has to be." Finn didn't let go of my hand, grinning at me like I was the most interesting thing to happen to this house in years, and I felt some of the tension in my chest ease slightly under the sheer, uncomplicated force of it. "Ignore Julian, he thinks smiling causes wrinkles. Theo communicates exclusively in grunts before noon. And Sebastian's just — " Finn glanced at his older brother, something flickering behind his easy grin that I couldn't quite read. "Sebastian's had a weird week."

Sebastian's jaw tightened further. He still didn't look at me.

It was Julian who finally broke the silence properly, voice flat and cool in a way that made the room's temperature feel like it dropped several degrees. "We should be clear about something, Miss Calloway, since my father seems disinclined to say it himself." His eyes found mine, dark and unreadable. "This house runs on order. Rules. A certain amount of distance that keeps four brothers from killing each other under one roof. I'd suggest you learn the shape of that distance quickly, for everyone's comfort."

"Julian," Warren said, sharper now.

"I'm being welcoming too," Julian said, without an ounce of warmth in it. "Just a different kind."

I held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away, some old, familiar stubbornness rising up under the nerves. "I'll learn the house rules," I said evenly. "I'm sure I'll pick them up faster than you're expecting."

Something flickered behind Julian's cold composure — surprise, maybe, or the first flicker of reassessment — and across the room, one of the other three went very slightly, deliberately still, in a way none of the others did.

I didn't catch which one. I was still looking at Julian.

That was the problem, I'd realize later, replaying this exact moment more times than I'd ever admit — I had no name to search for, no face I'd let myself memorize on purpose, nothing to go on except a voice in the dark and the particular, careful way a stranger had once said *I'd rather not know yours either.* Somewhere in this room stood a boy who knew exactly how my breath had caught at 2 a.m. three nights ago, and he was looking at me now with a stranger's face and giving absolutely nothing away.

I just didn't know, yet, that he was looking at all.