Enemies at First Sight

Raelynn

My heart hammers in my chest, both from the proximity and the irritation crawling up my spine.

Who does he think he is?

The moment I feel his grip relax, I twist sharply and shove him hard in the chest. He staggers back slightly, his expression unreadable.

I open my mouth, curses ready to fly, but the second I lock eyes with him, all the words get stuck in my throat.

Damn it.

He is gorgeous.

Brown hair that falls effortlessly, like he has just run his fingers through it, frames his chiseled features. His jaw is sharp enough to cut glass, and those dark blue eyes—piercing, cold—narrow at me with obvious disdain.

I snap myself out of it.

"You must be Grayson," I force out as calmly as I can.

He smirks, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "And you must be the charity case."

The insult lands like a slap, sharp and cold, but I refuse to flinch, squaring my shoulders.

"Says the overprivileged brat."

His smirk widens, and somehow that makes him look even more dangerous. He stalks closer to me. Every nerve in me screams at me to run away, but I can't. I won't.

The tension wraps around us as he stands so close I can see the scar above his brow.

"Careful, sunshine. You're already on thin ice."

I clench my fists at the nickname, my nails digging into my palms. "Good," I snap, mentally thanking God my voice sounds more confident than I feel. "Maybe it'll break, and I can leave."

I expect him to bite back, but he just stares at me intensely, and that makes me even more nervous.

I've dealt with bullies before; I know how to handle them. But there's something about the way he looks at me—like I'm nothing but a bug he's debating whether or not to squash—that sends a chill down my spine.

A low, humorless chuckle escapes his lips, breaking the silence. He leans in slightly, his fingers brushing my cheek. My breath catches, and I swat his hand away, the movement sharp and defensive.

He tsks, stepping back, but his gaze never leaves me.

"I'm not scared of you, you psycho."

He grins, turning his back and walking away as he calls over his shoulder, "Say that again once you stop trembling."

As his figure vanishes, I let go of the breath I've been holding.

I drag my box up the steps. At the top of the stairs, a girl who looks exactly like Grayson—but the female version—stands waiting. She glowers at me with disgust, like I'm a piece of gum that happened to stick under her perfect Louboutin heels.

I keep my expression neutral as I continue tugging my box up, but once I move, she moves too, walking up to me. Rather than just passing by, she kicks my box, causing it to fall back down the stairs.

I turn to her, my eyes wide, but she just shrugs and gives me a mocking smirk before continuing down.

I sigh at the immaturity and head down to get my box, but she reaches it before me and kicks it even farther.

I turn to her sharply. "What is wrong with you?"

She chuckles, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You've got guts, I'll give you that." Her face twists back into its original scowl. "But it won't last long. You can never stay here."

I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Why? Scared daddy might like me better?"

Her eyes flash with anger. She looks like a cat ready to pounce. But then she gives me a cold smile.

"You'll regret that," she says softly, her tone like a whisper, but the threat in it is clear.

Before I can respond, she turns on her heels and walks away, leaving me alone at the base of the stairs.

I let out a shaky breath and grip my suitcase tighter. My chest tightens with anger and frustration, but I swallow it down, dragging my suitcase up the stairs again.

I push open the door of the room Edward had pointed to as mine, sighing in relief at the sight of the bed.

The room is probably twice—okay, thrice—my old room AND living room combined. There's a queen-size bed, a walk-in closet, and a huge glass window that overlooks the garden.

I fall onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Not even the luxury of this house makes me feel better. I definitely wouldn't have come if Mum had told me we were moving in with her so-called fiancé.

The door opens and Mum steps in, but rather than sitting down and talking as usual, she just stands by the door, looking slightly tense.

"Mum, are you—"

"Come down. Edward wants us to have a family dinner."

And then she's gone. My brows furrow in confusion, and my stomach churns at the fact that I'll have to see Grayson and his twin so soon again.

The dining room is far from the warm, picture-perfect family scene I imagined Edward might try to force. The tension in the room is suffocating. Edward looks like he's about to explode, Mum keeps a poker face, but her hands are clenched together, and Grayson and his sister are both dressed like they're heading to a nightclub, not a family dinner.

My eyes fall on Grayson despite myself. He stands there in a leather jacket, looking like a rebellious asshole. It should be illegal for someone so obnoxious to look that good.

"Grayson, Isabella, I asked a question," Edward snaps, causing me to flinch. "I asked where you're going."

Isabella rolls her eyes, unbothered. "And I told you. Out."

"That's not an answer," Edward growls as he steps toward her. For a moment, I actually think he might hit her, but Grayson stands protectively in front of his sister before anything can happen.

Both father and son stand in what seems like a competitive stare, both unflinching. My heart hammers in my chest, and I wonder if they'll actually fight each other.

But thankfully, Edward takes a step back, his voice going down a tone but still dangerous. "I already told you two we were having a family dinner."

Grayson lets out a cold laugh, his gaze shifting to me. His eyes are dark, full of anger.

"You'll get a family dinner," he mutters, his voice sharp, "when you get rid of them."

And with that, he grabs Isabella's arm and pulls her toward the door.

As they leave, I let out a breath, my head spinning and my heart hammering in my chest.

Something is wrong with this family.