2

Through the window of the armored car, the outside world seemed to fade away, replaced by a private road flanked by ancient oaks that closed over us like the claws of a giant.

When the vehicle finally came to a halt, the air escaped my lungs.

It wasn't a house. It wasn't even a mansion. It was a monument to excess, a fortress of white stone and glistening glass rising against the gray sky. The Bayron property was easily three times larger than my entire university’s main campus.

"It’s our home, Luke. Get used to it," my mother said, touching up her lipstick with hands that no longer trembled.

The car door was opened from the outside by one of the men in black. As I stepped out, the chill of the entrance marble seemed to crawl up my legs. At the top of the main staircase, he was waiting for us.

Richard Bayron was exactly as the rumors described him: imposing, wearing a suit that likely cost more than my entire education, and a smile that didn't reach his shark-like eyes.

"Darla, darling," he said in a perfectly modulated baritone, kissing my mother’s hand before fixing his attention on me. "And you must be Luke. Welcome to the family."

"Thank you, Mr. Bayron," I managed to say, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"Richard, please," he corrected, though his tone gave me a slight case of the chills. "Come in. Let me show you where you will be living from now on."

The tour was a torture of opulence. Richard walked with the confidence of a king surveying his domains. Each room was more oppressive than the last: double-height ceilings with frescoes reminiscent of ancient churches, crystal chandeliers casting elongated shadows, and marble floors so polished I feared leaving the mark of my cheap shoes on them.

"This is the library," Richard said, pointing to walls covered in books from floor to ceiling. "And further ahead, the banquet hall. My company is run with the same discipline as this house, Luke. Here, everything has its place."

And I am not one of those things, I thought, with a hollow smile.

I tried to feign calmness for my mother, who looked at the bronze statues as if they were sacred treasures, but the atmosphere was too frigid.

Finally, we reached the Grand Hall, a circular room with an imperial staircase that branched off to the upper floors. Richard stopped in the center, beneath a chandelier that looked like an inverted crown.

"Martha," he called to a maid who appeared out of nowhere, dressed in an impeccable uniform. "Go get my sons. Inform them that our new family has arrived and that I expect them here for the official introductions."

My heart skipped a beat. Sons. Stepbrothers. I knew Richard had offspring, but in my mind, they were abstract figures—rich kids who were probably away at some boarding school in Switzerland.

I waited in silence, standing beside my mother, who squeezed my hand with unnecessary force. The sound of footsteps on the upper floor echoed like hammer blows.

"Father, there’s no need to send anyone!" A youthful, familiar voice rang out from the stair landing.

I froze. That voice. That spoiled-brat cadence I knew all too well.

I turned around slowly, praying to whatever god was listening that it was a hallucination. But it wasn't.

Rusty descended the first few steps with a hand in the pocket of his designer trousers. When his eyes met mine, there was no surprise—only a cynical, triumphant expression.

He looked me up and down, lingering on my pale face. "Well, well," Rusty murmured, with a smile that made my stomach churn. "So this is the big surprise you were talking about, Dad."

"Rusty?" The name left my lips like a broken whisper.

Everything made sense. Richard Bayron, Rusty Bayron. How on earth had it not occurred to me?

He approached, completely ignoring that hours ago he had betrayed me on a university desk with Karla. He stopped a yard away from me, radiating that toxic Bayron confidence.

"Hi, Luke. It’s a small world, isn't it?" he said, relishing my emotional collapse.

For a moment, I thought the world was playing a cruel joke on me, but the nightmare hadn't ended.

Behind him, emerging from the shadows of the upper hallway, appeared a much more imposing figure. Frederick descended the stairs with a predatory slowness, his frigid eyes fixed on me as if I were prey that had finally fallen into his net.

He was no longer wearing his university clothes; he wore a black shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing the tension of his muscles. His smile wasn't cynical like Rusty's; it was the smile of a wolf that had just seen the pen door close.

Frederick stopped beside his brother, crossing his arms as he looked me up and down with a laugh that radiated cynicism.

"I see you already know each other," Richard said, oblivious or perhaps pleased by the electric tension threatening to shatter the hall. "Luke, Darla let me formally introduce you to my sons. Frederick, the eldest, and Rusty."

Richard placed a hand on Rusty’s shoulder and looked at Frederick with pride.

"Your new stepbrothers. From today on, you will live under this roof as one family. I expect you to receive them with the respect they deserve, Luke."

The silence that followed was absolute. I could hear the ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere in the hall, marking the seconds of my new sentence. Rusty looked at me with thin-veiled lust, while Frederick… Frederick was dissecting me with his gaze.

"Stepbrothers," Frederick repeated, his voice echoing in the hall with a dark vibration. "Such a… formal term."

Rusty let out a low chuckle. He took a couple of steps toward me, extending his arms. He leaned in slightly and gave me a cordial, mocking embrace.

But before pulling away, he whispered in my ear, "Who would’ve thought, Luke. You went from being my secret boyfriend to my legal stepbrother in one afternoon. I guess we’ll have much more time to reconcile now."

My mother smiled, oblivious to everything, delighted by the idea of family unity. I, on the other hand, felt the marble beneath my feet opening up to swallow me. I was trapped.

At the university, I could run from them; I could hide in the library or my apartment. But here, in the Bayron Mansion, there was no escape.

On the other side, Frederick stepped forward, closing the distance until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. Just like his brother, he gave me a brief, firm hug and leaned slightly toward my ear, just enough for only me to hear, while his gaze traveled over my body with a slowness that made me burn with shame and fear.

"Welcome home, little brother," he whispered, his breath brushing my skin like a promise of sin