LOGINThe family gathered at 7:00 PM sharp.
Emma had spent the afternoon hiding in her room, desperately trying to compose herself. She'd changed into her nicest dress—a simple black number that hugged her curves—and fixed her hair. But she still felt like she was walking to her execution. "Ready?" her mother asked, knocking on the door. "Ready as I'll ever be." Emma followed her mother down the grand staircase, her heart pounding with every step. The dining room was even more impressive than the foyer. A long mahogany table dominated the space, surrounded by high-backed chairs. Candlelight flickered from an ornate centerpiece. And at the head of the table, watching her with an unreadable expression, was Ethan. Their eyes met, and Emma felt her breath leave her body. He looked different in a suit. Commanding. Authoritative. The gentle lover from last night seemed like a distant memory replaced by this cold, powerful stranger. "Emma," Damian said warmly, pulling her from her trance. "Come sit. There's someone I want you to meet." He guided her to a seat across from Ethan, whose gaze never left her face. "Ethan, this is Emma, Olivia's daughter," Damian said. "I'm sure you two will get along wonderfully." Ethan's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We've met," he said smoothly. "Emma is the pastry chef at Savor. I'm a regular customer." "You know each other?" Olivia asked, delighted. "Something like that," Ethan said, his gaze dropping to Emma's lips, lingering. "I've been watching Emma for a while now. She's very... memorable." Emma's cheeks burned. She knew exactly what he meant by that. "How nice," Damian said, oblivious to the tension. "Well, Emma, I hope you'll be comfortable here. The house is always open to you." "Thank you," Emma managed. "I really appreciate this. It's just... temporary. Until I figure things out." "Don't rush," Ethan said. "Stay as long as you want. We have plenty of room." His voice was casual, but his eyes were anything but. They burned with a hunger that made Emma's stomach flip. The front door opened, and a new voice filled the room. "Did I miss dinner?" A man strode in, his energy electric. He was devastatingly handsome—chiseled jaw, mischievous eyes, a smile that promised trouble. "Adrian," Damian said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Nice of you to join us." "Wouldn't miss it." Adrian's gaze swept the table, landing on Emma. "And who's this gorgeous creature?" "This is Emma," Damian said. "Olivia's daughter." Adrian's smile widened. "Well, well, well. Mother didn't mention she had such a beautiful daughter." He sauntered over to Emma, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm Adrian. The fun one." Emma pulled her hand back, flustered. "Nice to meet you." "Trust me, the pleasure's all mine." Adrian settled into the chair beside her, his thigh brushing against hers. "So, Emma, what brings you to our humble home?" "I'm just staying for a while," she said, trying to ignore the heat of his leg against hers. "My marriage ended recently, and my mother offered to take me in." Adrian's expression shifted to something more serious. "I'm sorry to hear that. Though I can't imagine anyone being foolish enough to let a woman like you go." "A woman like me?" Emma said, a edge of bitterness creeping into her voice. "Beautiful. Talented. Strong." Adrian's eyes flickered over her body with obvious appreciation. "The kind of woman who deserves to be worshiped." Emma heard Ethan's sharp intake of breath. "Adrian," Damian warned. "Don't overwhelm her." "I'm just telling the truth." Adrian leaned closer to Emma, his voice dropping to a whisper. "My brother's been talking about you for months. I wanted to see if you lived up to the hype." "Adrian," Ethan snapped. "Back off." "Relax, brother." Adrian grinned. "I'm just getting to know our new sister." Emma's head was spinning. Brothers. They were brothers. And she'd already slept with one of them. Dinner was a blur of awkward conversation and heated glances. Emma barely touched her food, too overwhelmed to eat. Ethan watched her like a hawk, while Adrian flirted shamelessly. At one point, Adrian's hand landed on her knee under the table, squeezing gently. "Eat something," he murmured. "You look like you need it." Emma's first instinct was to pull away. But something in Adrian's voice made her pause—a note of genuine concern beneath the playfulness. "I'm not hungry," she said quietly. "Then at least have some wine." He poured her a glass, pushing it toward her. "It'll help you relax." "You're very pushy," Emma said, taking a sip. "I'm persistent." Adrian winked. "There's a difference." Ethan cleared his throat loudly. "Adrian, perhaps you'd like to help me with something in the study after dinner." "Can't. I have plans." "For once, I'm asking." Adrian's eyebrows rose. "You're actually asking? This must be serious." "It is." The tension between the brothers was palpable. Emma could practically see the electric sparks flying between them. After dinner, Damian excused himself, and Olivia followed. Adrian disappeared to take a phone call. And Emma found herself alone with Ethan. "Follow me," he said, his voice brooking no argument. "Ethan—" "Now, Emma." She followed him through the labyrinthine mansion, her heart hammering. He led her to a private study, closing the door behind them. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "I didn't know," Emma said defensively. "I didn't know you were my mother's stepson. I swear, I had no idea." "Of course you didn't." Ethan ran a hand through his hair. "It's just... I planned to see you again tonight. I had everything ready. And then I walk downstairs, and there you are, and I have to pretend I don't know what you taste like." "Pretend?" Emma said, her voice breaking. "I can't even look at you without remembering last night." "Good." Ethan stepped closer, his eyes dark. "Because I don't want you to forget. I want you to remember exactly how I made you feel." "Ethan, we can't. You're my stepbrother—" "Stepbrother," he corrected. "Not blood. Not even related. Just a technicality."The words hung in the air between them.Emma stood in the middle of her mother's sitting room, her hands clasped in front of her like a child waiting to be scolded. Olivia sat in her favorite armchair, a glass of wine untouched beside her, her face pale and drawn."I asked you a question, Emma.""I heard you.""Then answer me."Emma took a shaky breath."Yes. I slept with Ethan."Olivia closed her eyes. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair so tightly her knuckles went white."He's your stepbrother.""I know.""Your stepbrother, Emma. Damian's son. My husband's son." Olivia's voice cracked. "What were you thinking?""I wasn't thinking." Emma's voice was barely a whisper. "I was hurting. And he was there.""Hurting?" Olivia opened her eyes, and they were bright with tears. "You were hurting, so you decided to sleep with your stepbrother? While you're still married?""It wasn't a decision. It just... happened.""It just happened?" Olivia laughed bitterly. "Things like that don't just
The whispers started on a Tuesday.Emma was at the bakery, her hands buried in dough, when she heard it—a cluster of customers near the front counter, their voices low but not low enough."Did you hear? Emma slept with Ethan.""She's still married, you know.""What kind of woman does that?"Emma's hands stilled. The dough squelched between her fingers. She told herself she'd misheard. Told herself they were talking about someone else. Told herself it wasn't real.But the whispers followed her.At the farmers' market. At the coffee shop. At the grocery store. Everywhere she went, she felt eyes on her—cold, judging, knowing.She tried to ignore it. She focused on her work, on her painting, on the slow process of healing. But the whispers were relentless, wearing her down like water on stone.What kind of woman does that?She knew the answer. The kind of woman she'd become. She confronted Ethan on a Thursday.She showed up at his office unannounced, her hands shaking, her heart pounding
Emma didn't go to the mansion the next day.Or the day after that.She stayed in her apartment, ignoring her mother's calls, ignoring Ethan's texts, ignoring the world. She painted—not because she wanted to, but because it was the only thing that kept her from losing her mind completely.She painted Seraphina.Not a portrait—nothing so literal. She painted a woman made of ice and gold, beautiful and cold, standing in the middle of a crowd of admiring faces. The woman was smiling, but her eyes were empty.It was the most honest thing Emma had created in months. Jax called on the third day."You haven't been to work.""I know. I'm sorry.""Don't apologize. Just tell me what's wrong."She hesitated. Then she told him about Seraphina. About the dinner. About the way she'd felt—small and insignificant and invisible."She's perfect," Emma said, her voice hollow. "She's everything I'm not.""She's not you.""That's the point."Jax was quiet for a long moment."Come to the bakery," he said f
Emma should have known better than to accept the invitation.But her mother had insisted. "It's just dinner, sweetheart. You've been avoiding the mansion for days. Everyone misses you."Everyone. Right.She'd arrived at the Carter Mansion an hour ago, and she'd been regretting it ever since.Because Seraphina was there.She was everywhere—at breakfast, at dinner, in the gardens, in the hallways. She moved through the mansion like she owned it, her laughter echoing off the marble floors, her perfume lingering in every room.And the brothers—all of them—gravitated toward her like moths to a flame. Emma stood in the corner of the living room, a glass of wine in her hand, watching.Seraphina sat on the couch between Ethan and Adrian, her legs tucked beneath her, her hand resting on Ethan's arm as she told a story about their childhood. Something about a summer trip to Europe, a yacht, a scandalous escapade that had everyone laughing."You remember that, don't you, Ethan?" Seraphina asked
Three days.Emma had avoided him for three days.Three days of ignoring his calls. Three days of deleting his texts without reading them. Three days of hiding in the bakery, working double shifts, coming home exhausted enough to fall asleep without thinking.But she couldn't hide forever.She was curled up on her couch, a half-eaten container of takeout beside her, when the knock came. Her heart stopped. She knew who it was before she even looked through the peephole.Ethan.He stood in the hallway, flowers in hand—not roses, but sunflowers. Bright and golden and cheerful. The kind of flowers that felt like a punch to the chest because they reminded her of the painting he'd loved. The one of the woman in the field. The one that had been destroyed.She opened the door."You've been avoiding me," he said."I've been busy.""Emma. Don't lie to me." She let him in.He walked past her slowly, taking in the small apartment. The bare walls. The single couch. The tiny kitchen with its cracke
The bakery was quiet after closing.Emma wiped down the counters, her movements slow and mechanical. She'd been avoiding Jax all day—keeping her head down, focusing on the ovens, pretending everything was normal. But she could feel his eyes on her. He knew. Of course he knew. Jax always knew."Emma."She froze, her hand stilling on the counter."Yeah?""Come here."It wasn't a request. It was a command—She turned slowly, her heart pounding. Jax stood by the back door, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The tattoos on his forearms seemed darker in the dim light, the piercings in his eyebrow and lip glinting like warnings."I'm almost done," she said, her voice too bright. "Just need to finish up and then—""Emma." He said her name again, softer this time. "Stop."She stopped."Something's wrong," Jax said."I'm fine.""You're not fine." He stepped closer. "You've been crying."Emma touched her face instinctively, as if she could wipe away the evidence. But the tears had dried







