Chapter 2: The Morning After

 Madonna's POV 

I woke up alone.

The sheets on Cal’s side were stone-cold. No note. No text. Nothing but the faint scent of him still clinging to my skin and the deep, heavy satisfaction pulsing between my legs. Last night was real. God, it had been so real.

Cal and I had done it.  

My stepbrother.  

The man I’d loved since I was twelve.

I sat up slowly, wincing at every sore muscle — proof that he’d lost control and fucked me like he’d been starving for me. Bruises on my hips where his fingers had dug in. Love bites blooming dark on my throat and breasts. Scratch marks down my back. Marks that screamed possession. Marks that should have made me feel wanted, not shattered.

And then he’d disappeared.

I grabbed my phone with shaking fingers and called him. It rang six times before he picked up.

“I’ll call you back.”  

His tone was flat and icy, a far cry from the fiery man in bed last night who had fucked me. In the next second, silence filled the receiver, and the line went dead.

I tried to talk myself down.  

He was probably just embarrassed. It was probably just a line to get into my pants. He’d worked. But the way he’d held me afterward — tracing every inch of my skin like he couldn’t stop, grey eyes full of something darker, something that felt like obsession — that part didn’t make sense.

I showered anyway, letting the hot water sting the bruises, admiring every mark like it was a brand. By the time I was dressed, my phone rang again.

I lunged for it. Not him.

My mother.

“Where are you?” Her voice was tight, dry, the way it got when she was furious or disappointed or both.

“In my room. Why?”

“You might want to stay there.”  

Click.

My stomach dropped through the floor.

I knew I should have listened. I always knew the sensible thing and did the opposite, like my body and my brain had signed some secret pact to never, ever cooperate.

The elevator ride to the third floor felt endless. Even from ten feet away I could hear them — Cal’s voice, low and controlled, leashed fury barely under the surface, and Tyran’s sharp, commanding tone cutting through it like a blade.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Was this about last night? Has Tyran found out?

The voices cut off.

The door slammed open.

Cal stormed out, face carved from stone, eyes already scanning for me.

“What are you doing up here?” His voice was clipped.

“I was just—” I gestured vaguely. “I came to find my mom.”

He ran a hand through his hair, betraying the storm inside him. “Did you hear anything?”

“Nothing. Just got here.”

His eyes stayed on my face a second too long. I was sure he knew. Sure Tyran had told him.

Then he closed the distance in two strides and pulled me into his arms.

I went rigid for half a second — startled by how fiercely he held me, like he wanted to fuse our bodies together.

Then his hand cupped the back of my head, tilted my face up, and kissed me.

Slow. Deliberate. Achingly careful. I felt every brush of his lips like it was carved into my skin.

I smiled against his mouth before I could stop myself.

He pulled back just as slowly, and I swear my knees almost gave out right there in the hallway.

"Come on," he said, voice rough but calm, his thumb brushing my jaw like he wasn't ready to let go of me yet. 

""Let’s go get some breakfast. I’ve got something to announce." He added 

I blinked. "Okay." 

Okay? That was all I had? Madonna, you're a grown woman, say something! I was getting curious as regards what he wanted to say too, but my mouth just went dry.

He turned and headed for the elevator and I followed him, biting my lip so hard to keep the ridiculous smile off my face that I almost tasted blood.

This had to be a dream, so I pinched my own arm when he wasn't looking and it hurt, which meant he had really kissed me, in the middle of the hallway, in broad daylight, with nobody forcing him to.

Butterflies fluttered wild in my stomach and the elevator doors hadn't even closed before my brain started running off without me. He'd said he couldn't stop caring. He'd said every time he looked at me he wanted to do something he couldn't take back, and he hadn't taken any of it back, had he? 

He'd held me like that all night and kissed me like that this morning, so the cold voice on the phone must have just been nerves. Cal hated being caught off guard, he always had, and he probably panicked and needed a minute to sort out his head. Then he came out of that fight with Tyran still angry and the first thing he did was look for me. Me!

"You're staring," he said, eyes on the numbers above the door.

"No, I'm not," I said way too fast, and stared at my shoes instead, and I'm pretty sure I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

He was smiling. Cal Blackwood was smiling in an elevator because of me. Seven years of loving him from the other side of every room and I could have screamed. 

I was so giddy I forgot to be scared of anything, because if he wanted me then nothing else mattered and we would figure it out together, and one day we'd even laugh about how long it took us.

************

The dining room was already full, a few last-night guests still lingering over their coffee. Tyran looked up as we walked in, his gaze flicking between us once, unreadable, before he went back to his cup.

I didn't even care, let him look if he wants 

We took our seats and Cal pulled out my chair before I could reach it, and my cheeks went hot so fast I had to pretend to fix my napkin. Is this what mornings would be like with him? Chairs pulled out, stupid little smiles across the table, his knee brushing mine under it like it was an accident, which it definitely wasn't because he didn't move it away.

This is the best morning of my life!

Tyran cleared his throat and the whole table quieted.

"I have an announcement," he said, the satisfaction rolling off him in waves.

I reached for my juice, still floating. 

New acquisition, merger maybe or probably another property he'll make us all pretend to care about.

Whatever it was, it couldn't touch me today, and I was already planning how long I could wait before I found Cal's hand under the table.

"Given the gathering of family and close friends this weekend," Tyran continued, eyes gleaming with that cold, face of his

 "It seems only fitting to share some wonderful news."

I took a sip, smiling into my glass like an idiot.

“Callum has asked for the hand of Ella Blake. And she has accepted! ” He said, smiling broadly than I had ever seen him.

The room exploded with oohs and aahs and congratulations.

The juice went down wrong. I choked, coughing hard. 

Someone patted my back. Someone else handed me water. The ringing in my ears started low, then climbed until I couldn’t hear anything else.

Amid everyone’s congratulations and laughter, my gaze stayed fixed on Cal. 

I stared at him in disbelief, confused and with a flicker of hatred. 

And he was looking back at me.

God, how desperately I wanted him to say something.

To tell everyone there was no proposal. To tell them what had happened last night. To tell them he loved me, and that I loved him too.

No. I didn't just love him.

I was going crazy. Crazy with love for him.

But he said nothing.

I was sure he saw the pleading in my eyes. He knew exactly what I was begging him to say.

But he said nothing.

He just raised his glass, his lips curving into that familiar smile I knew so well, and thanked everyone who came to congratulate him.

Everyone was wishing him and Ella a lifetime of happiness.

And just like that, the butterflies in my stomach died.