Forbidden Step Brother

The champagne tower crashed to the floor in a spectacular explosion of glass and golden liquid. I watched in horror as chaos erupted across the pristine white wedding reception, guests shrieking and jumping back from the spreading puddle. My mother's carefully planned "intimate ceremony" was officially ruined. And of course, it was all his fault.Marcus Steele stood at the epicenter of destruction, not even bothering to look apologetic. His date—a leggy brunette in a dress that barely qualified as clothing—clung to his arm, giggling like this was the most entertaining thing she'd ever seen. His sharp suit didn't have a single drop of champagne on it, naturally. The universe wouldn't dare."Aria!" My mother's voice cut through the noise. She hurried toward me, her ivory dress swishing against the polished floor. Despite the disaster, she looked radiant. Happy. That's the only reason I bit back the scream building in my throat. "Sweetheart, it's fine. These things happen.""These thing

I woke up to seventeen missed calls and thirty-two texts from an unknown number.Still groggy, I scrolled through the messages, my irritation mounting with each one:You ate my strawberries.All of them.Really, Aria?You're going to regret this.I'm not joking.Pick up your phone.The last message was just a photo: an empty strawberry container with a sad face drawn on it in marker.Despite everything, I laughed. Then immediately felt annoyed that I'd laughed. Marcus Steele didn't get to be funny. That wasn't part of the deal.I typed back: How did you get my number?His response was instant: Your mom gave it to me. Family safety purposes.Delete it.No.Marcus.Aria.I groaned, throwing my phone across the bed. It was barely seven in the morning and he was already ruining my day. I had my first day back at Crestwood in two hours, and I needed to not think about my infuriating stepbrother and his stupid perfect abs and his ridiculous food-labeling system.My phone buzzed again.By th

The drive home was quiet, tension filling the space between us like a living thing. Marcus drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console—close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.I didn't. Mostly because I wasn't sure I could trust myself if I did."You didn't have to leave," I said finally, breaking the silence. "The party, I mean. You seemed... popular."His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Popular. Is that what you call it?""What would you call it?""Available." The word came out bitter. "Everyone wants a piece of Marcus Steele—the guy who throws money around, who parties like there's no tomorrow, who'll go home with you if you look at him right." He glanced at me. "That's what you think too, isn't it?""I don't—" I stopped, considering. "I don't know what to think about you.""That's fair."We pulled up to a red light, the city quiet around us. I studied his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes that I

The silence in the library after Richard left was deafening.Marcus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, my lipstick smearing across his skin. His eyes met mine—wild, panicked, and something else I couldn't name."Shit," he breathed. "Shit, shit, shit."I couldn't move, couldn't think past the roaring in my ears. Richard had seen us. Richard knew."We have to go out there," I managed, my voice shaking. "We have to—""Say what?" Marcus's laugh was bitter. "Sorry you caught us making out, Dad, but don't worry, it doesn't mean anything?""Does it?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Mean anything?"He stared at me, something raw and desperate in his expression. "You know it does. That's the problem."Voices drifted from the foyer—guests saying their goodbyes, the polite laughter of a successful evening. We were supposed to be out there, playing our roles as the perfect blended family."Fix your hair," Marcus said, his voice rough. "Your dress is twisted in the back."

I changed my outfit four times before the call.It was ridiculous—this was a video call, not a date. Marcus had seen me in everything from silk pajamas to formal wear. But somehow, picking the right shirt felt monumentally important.I finally settled on a soft grey sweater that Jules said brought out my eyes. Hair down. Minimal makeup. Casual enough to suggest I wasn't trying too hard, but put-together enough that I wouldn't look like the wreck I'd been for the past three weeks.At 8:55 PM, I locked my bedroom door and opened Richard's desk diary, where I'd found Marcus's number exactly where Richard had said it would be. My hands shook as I entered it into my phone.What was I going to say? Hey, remember how we kissed and then you fled the country? Fun times.At 8:59, I stared at the number.At 9:00, I pressed call before I could lose my nerve.The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.Maybe he wouldn't answer. Maybe this was a sign—The screen lit up, and suddenly Marcus's face fill