The First Meeting

Candice's P.O.V.

I stood at the Los Angeles airport, gripping my suitcase while Mom bounced beside me, fixing her lipstick like a teenager. Since my stepdad said he’d pick us up, she acted like it was the biggest honor.

Sanna d' Agostino was a famous billionaire, but I didn’t get why Mom acted like a giddy schoolgirl. My real dad always picked us up, and no one made a fuss.

I heard loud footsteps and a high-pitched giggle. I turned and saw Mom making out with Sanna like it was a show. I wanted to throw up.

The same woman who scolded my dad for public affection was now kissing her new husband. The divorce was just a month old. Maybe this had been going on longer. They never told me, so I stayed quiet.

Sanna came over grinning too wide. “Candice, sweetheart! How are you?”

I forced a smile. “I’m fine, Mr. d' Agostino.”

Mom shot me a glare, but I didn’t care. I had a plan: one year, then college far from this mess.

“No need for formalities,” Sanna said. “Call me Dad.”

I smiled fake. “My dad lives in New York. You can tell me your first name. I’ll stick to that.”

His smile cracked. Mom looked upset. I didn’t care.

“Sanna… or Grant,” he said. “You’re like a daughter to me.”

Yeah, right. I swallowed my anger. “Sanna it is. Can we go? I’m tired.”

We left. Outside, black Range Rovers waited, guarded by armed men. Paparazzi flashed cameras. Mom straightened her hair, loving the attention.

Sanna drove. Mom sat up front. I took the back seat, watching the bodyguards. At least there was some eye candy.

They tried to talk, but I pretended to sleep—something I’d learned well the past month. Mom always wanted to chat about her new life, but I tuned her out.

When the car stopped, a bodyguard opened my door. I stepped out and my jaw dropped.

Their mansion looked like something from a movie. White walls, huge gates, gardens bigger than my entire old house, and a fountain in front. Servants rushed forward to collect our luggage.

I stayed behind to wander through the garden. White lilies bloomed everywhere—my favorite. My dad used to plant lilies for me. My chest tightened, eyes stinging. I hated this. Hated how easily they replaced our life.

I wiped my face and forced myself to follow them inside.

The mansion’s interior was even grander than I expected—like stepping into a palace. Creamy white walls gleamed under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. The polished marble floors reflected every flicker of light, and priceless art hung on every wall. I felt less like I was coming home and more like a tourist in a museum, surrounded by wealth I didn’t belong to.

Bodyguards stood motionless in every corner, statues made of muscle and steel. The security was overkill for a man claiming to be a legitimate businessman, but here, nothing felt casual.

I followed the low murmur of voices to the living room. There, Mom curled against Sanna on the plush couch, her fingers tracing over his chest as if she was still dreaming. Nearby, a tall man stood by the window, speaking fast in Italian into his phone. His sharp profile cut through the room.

When Sanna spotted me, he rose with a proud smile. “Candice, come meet your brother, Mantovani.”

The man turned, and my breath hitched.

He was massive—tall and broad-shouldered. His crisp white shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms carved like stone. A dark tie hung loose around his neck, and a tattoo peeked from beneath his collar. His hair was tousled just enough to look wild, but controlled.

Every inch of him screamed power. His broad chest rose and fell steadily, defined arms flexed subtly, and his sharp jawline held a promise of danger.

But it was his eyes that stole my attention—deep forest green, sharp and dangerous, cutting through me like a knife. My skin tingled, hairs rising where his gaze landed. The air between us thickened; every breath felt heavier.

I tried to look away, but my gaze was trapped, drifting down to his lips—full, confident, and cruelly enticing. My body betrayed me, heart pounding, as a traitorous whisper curled in my mind, daring me to imagine what it would feel like to touch him, to feel that strength beneath my hands.

A warm, fuzzy feeling grew inside me. I pictured him coming close, pinning me against the wall. His lips—soft and hungry—gave me wet kisses that made me gasp for air. His hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me tight against his broad chest.

I could feel his strong muscles through his shirt, like he was claiming me. Then he pressed me harder against the cold wall, standing over me with no space between us. His hands moved lower, grabbing my hips as he lifted me up easily. His touch was hot and firm. His lips moved down from my neck to my collarbone, kissing me deeper and wetter, like he wanted to own me.

What am I doing?

I shook myself hard, clearing my throat, trying to break free from the spell.

Before I could say a word, he grabbed his coat, shot me a cold, unreadable glance, and strode out without a single word.

My eyes rolled, 'Great job, Candice... Five seconds into your new home and you have already weirded out your new stepbrother.'