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 things don't just happen, Mom." I glared at Marcus, who finally deigned to look in our direction. His dark eyes met mine with infuriating indifference. "Some people are walking disasters."

One corner of his mouth lifted in what might have been a smirk. God, I wanted to wipe it off his face.

"Now, Aria—" my mother started, but Richard Steele, her new husband, appeared beside her. Where Marcus was all sharp edges and dangerous energy, Richard was refined, distinguished, with silver threading through his dark hair. I still couldn't figure out what he saw in his train wreck of a son.

"Marcus, perhaps you should take your... guest outside," Richard suggested, his tone carefully neutral. I noticed he didn't call the brunette by name. Probably didn't know it.

"Already leaving, Dad." Marcus's voice was smooth, deep, and arrogant. He guided his date toward the exit, then paused just long enough to look back at me. "See you at home, little stepsister."

The way he said "stepsister" made it sound like a challenge.

I felt my face flush hot. "I am not—"

But he was already gone, leaving destruction and the lingering scent of expensive cologne in his wake.

Three hours later, I stood in front of the Steele mansion wondering if it was too late to run away and join a circus. The building loomed before me, all modern glass and steel (how fitting), with dramatic lighting that made it look like something from a luxury magazine spread. My childhood home could fit in their garage.

"It's a lot, isn't it?" My mom squeezed my shoulder, misreading my horror for awe. "But Richard insists. And it'll be good for us, sweetheart. A fresh start."

Fresh start. Right. After Dad left us with nothing but debt and disappointment three years ago, Mom deserved happiness. Even if it came with the world's most insufferable stepbrother.

Richard opened the massive front door himself, welcoming us inside. "Aria, let me show you to your room. I had it prepared specially."

The interior was even more intimidating—high ceilings, marble floors, abstract art that probably cost more than my college tuition. A curved staircase swept upward to the second floor, dramatic and imposing.

"Marcus's room is in the east wing," Richard explained as we climbed the stairs. "Yours is in the west. I thought you'd appreciate the privacy."

Thank God for small mercies.

My new room was stunning—easily three times the size of my old one, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the manicured gardens. The bed looked like something a princess would sleep in, and the attached bathroom featured a tub I could practically swim in.

"I'll let you settle in," Richard said kindly. "Dinner is at seven. Casual affair tonight—just family."

Just family. Including him.

After they left, I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. How had my life turned into this? Six months ago, Mom had mentioned meeting someone. Two months ago, she'd introduced me to Richard. And now, here I was, living in a mansion with a man I'd only met twice before today—and his nightmare of a son.

I should unpack. Should shower off the champagne that had splattered on my dress despite my best efforts. Should prepare myself for this new reality.

Instead, I grabbed my phone and texted my best friend Jules.

SOS. Send help. Send wine. Send an escape plan.

Her response was immediate: That bad?

Worse. I'm living with Satan in a Suit.

The hot stepbrother?

I groaned. Don't call him that.

You said he was hot.

I said he was objectively attractive. There's a difference. I hate him.

Sure you do. Send pics of the mansion. I want to see how the other half lives.

Before I could respond, a door slammed somewhere in the house, making me jump. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway—heading directly toward my wing, despite Richard's promise that Marcus stayed in the east.

My door swung open without even a courtesy knock.

Marcus stood in the doorway, having traded his wedding suit for dark jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to his frame in ways that should be illegal. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd just showered.

"What the hell?" I sat up, clutching my phone. "Ever heard of knocking?"

He leaned against the doorframe, surveying my room with those dark, unreadable eyes. "Welcome home, Aria."

The way he said my name sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

"This isn't home," I shot back. "And you can't just barge into my room."

"My house. My rules." He pushed off the frame, taking a single step inside. "Here's your first lesson: dinner is at seven sharp. Don't be late. Dad hates that."

"Richard already told me."

"Good. Second lesson." His gaze traveled over me in a way that made heat crawl up my neck. "Lock your door at night."

My heart hammered. "Why?"

Marcus's smile was all teeth and no warmth. "Because I don't knock, little stepsister. And you never know who might wander in."

Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the very distinct feeling that I'd just been issued a warning I didn't fully understand.

I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and added to my text to Jules:

On second thought, send an exorcist.