Chapter 3- Crossing lines

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 the way, I'm driving you to campus.

I typed furiously: I have a car.

Your car is making a weird noise. I heard it yesterday. It's not safe.

It's FINE.

I'll be ready in 30 minutes. Wear something appropriate.

I stared at that last text, face burning. Wear something appropriate. As if I'd been inappropriate yesterday. As if I'd been trying to—

No. Absolutely not. I refused to let him get in my head.

I showered quickly, then spent far too long deciding what to wear. Eventually I settled on high-waisted jeans and a loose crop top—cute but casual. Definitely not chosen with anyone specific in mind. I pulled my dark hair into a high ponytail and grabbed my backpack.

Marcus was waiting by a sleek black Mercedes in the circular driveway, checking his phone. He'd traded the sweatpants for dark jeans and a fitted white t-shirt that should not look that good. When he glanced up and saw me, something flickered across his face too quickly to read.

"You're late," he said.

"You're annoying."

"Get in the car, Aria."

The drive to Crestwood should have taken thirty minutes. With Marcus behind the wheel, it felt like thirty years. He drove with confident precision, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. Music played softly—something instrumental and moody that I'd never admit I actually liked.

"You don't have to do this, you know," I said finally, breaking the silence. "Drive me. I'm perfectly capable—"

"Your car needs new brake pads. Probably rotors too, from the sound of it."

I blinked. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I know cars." He glanced at me briefly before returning his attention to the road. "Take it to Mike's Auto downtown. Tell him Marcus sent you. He'll give you a fair price."

"I can't afford—"

"I'll cover it."

"Absolutely not."

His jaw tightened. "It's a safety issue."

"I don't need your charity."

"It's not charity. We're family now, remember?" The word came out bitter, mocking.

"That's not—" I stopped, frustrated. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but I handle my own problems."

"Clearly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Instead of answering, Marcus pulled into the Crestwood parking lot, sliding into a spot near the business building with practiced ease. Several students were already milling around, and I noticed more than a few heads turn at the sight of his car. Or maybe at the sight of him.

Great. Just what I needed.

"Marcus—" I started, but he was already out of the car, coming around to my side. For a horrifying moment, I thought he might open my door for me, but he just leaned against the car, waiting.

I got out, shouldering my backpack. "Thanks for the ride."

"I'll pick you up at four."

"That's really not—"

"Four o'clock, Aria. Here." His tone left no room for argument.

Before I could protest further, a high-pitched squeal cut through the parking lot.

"Oh my GOD, Marcus!"

A petite blonde in designer everything came clicking over on heels that seemed dangerously impractical for campus life. She completely ignored me, placing a manicured hand on Marcus's arm with disturbing familiarity.

"I didn't know you'd be here today," she purred. "If I'd known, I would have dressed up."

She was already dressed to the nines. I suddenly felt very underdressed in my jeans and crop top.

"Just dropping off my sister," Marcus said, his tone polite but distant. "Amber, this is Aria. Aria, Amber."

Sister. The word hit differently than I expected.

Amber finally looked at me, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Oh, how sweet! I didn't know you had a sister."

"Stepsister," I corrected, unsure why it mattered but feeling like it did.

"Well, welcome to Crestwood!" She turned back to Marcus, dismissing me entirely. "Listen, there's this party at Kappa Sigma Friday night. You should come. Everyone's been asking about you."

"I'll think about it."

"You always say that." She pouted, actually pouted, and I had to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes. "Maybe I need to be more persuasive."

Her hand slid down his arm, fingers curling into his. Something sharp and unwelcome twisted in my stomach.

"I have to get to class," I announced, not caring that I was interrupting. "Bye."

I turned and walked away before Marcus could respond, before I had to watch whatever game Amber was playing. Before I had to examine too closely why seeing her touch him made me want to break something.

"Aria, wait—" Marcus called, but I was already jogging toward the building, letting the crowd of students swallow me up.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

You forgot something.

Then another message: Never mind. I'll give it to you later.

I didn't respond.

My morning classes passed in a blur. Business Statistics, Accounting II, Marketing Strategy. I took notes, participated in discussions, and tried very hard not to think about Marcus or Amber or the strange hollow feeling that had taken up residence in my chest.

At lunch, Jules found me in the campus café, her red curls bouncing as she practically launched herself at our table.

"Okay, spill everything," she demanded, sliding into the seat across from me. "You've been cryptic as hell since the wedding. I need details. Is the mansion amazing? Is the stepbrother still hot? Have you murdered him yet?"

"The mansion is ridiculous, Marcus is still insufferable, and murder is looking more appealing by the hour."

"So that's a yes on the hot thing."

"Jules."

"What? I'm just clarifying." She stole a french fry from my plate. "Has anything interesting happened? Any late-night encounters? Meaningful stares across the breakfast table?"

The kitchen scene flashed through my mind—Marcus in sweatpants, the heat in his eyes, the way he'd caged me against the refrigerator.

"No," I said quickly. "Nothing like that. We're just trying to coexist."

Jules studied me with narrowed eyes. "You're a terrible liar."

"There's nothing to lie about."

"Uh-huh. Then why are you blushing?"

"I'm not—" I pressed my hands to my cheeks, which were indeed warm. "It's hot in here."

"Sure it is." Jules leaned forward conspiratorially. "Come on, give me something. I'm living vicariously through you. You're in a literal forbidden romance setup! Do you know how many romance novels start exactly like this?"

"This is not a romance novel. This is my actual life. And it's complicated and weird and—"

"And you're totally attracted to him."

"I am not!"

Several nearby students looked over at my outburst. I lowered my voice. "I am not attracted to Marcus. He's arrogant and infuriating and he labels his food like a psychopath."

"Okay, but is he also hot?"

I threw a french fry at her.

"I'm taking that as a yes," Jules said cheerfully. "This is going to be so fun to watch."

"There's nothing to watch. We're stepsiblings. That's it. End of story."

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't that simple.

At 3:45, I reluctantly made my way back to the parking lot. Part of me had considered taking the bus home just to prove a point, but that felt childish. Besides, Marcus would probably just track me down somehow.

He was already there, leaning against the Mercedes exactly where he'd been this morning. But he wasn't alone.

Amber was back, along with two other girls I didn't recognize. They surrounded him like planets orbiting the sun, laughing at something he'd said. Marcus noticed me approaching and straightened, said something to the girls that made them pout in unison.

"There you are," he said as I reached the car. "How were classes?"

"Fine." I didn't elaborate, just opened the passenger door.

Amber gave me a look that was pure sugar-coated venom. "See you Friday, Marcus!" she called as we pulled away.

We drove in silence for several minutes before Marcus spoke.

"You forgot your charger this morning. It's in the glove compartment."

I opened it—and found not just my charger, but a receipt from Mike's Auto. My car was already in the shop. Repairs scheduled for tomorrow.

"You had my car towed?" The words came out strangled.

"Fixed," Marcus corrected. "I had it fixed. The brake situation was dangerous."

"That wasn't your decision to make!"

"Someone had to make it, since you clearly weren't going to."

"God, you're unbelievable!" I shoved the receipt back into the glove compartment. "You can't just make decisions for me, Marcus. You're not my keeper."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You're right. I'm not. But I'm also not going to stand by and watch you drive around in a death trap because you're too proud to accept help."

"It's not about pride—"

"Then what is it about?" He glanced at me, genuinely curious. "Because from where I'm sitting, you'd rather put yourself at risk than let me do something nice for you."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Because he was right, and I hated it.

"I don't need you to save me," I said finally, quietly.

Something in his expression softened. "I know."

We pulled into the mansion's driveway. I grabbed my bag, ready to escape to my room and process this entire disaster of a day.

"Aria," Marcus called as I reached for the door handle.

I looked back.

"You looked good today," he said. "Just so you know."

Then he got out of the car, leaving me alone with racing heart and absolutely no idea what to do with that information.