STEP CLOSER, MY STEP BROTHER

The house looked too perfect to be real. White walls, polished floors, furniture that looked like it belonged in a magazine not a single thing out of place. Not a fingerprint on the glass, not a speck of dust on the frames lining the hallway. I hated it instantly.

It didn’t feel like home. It felt like walking into a stranger’s life.

Technically, it was. My mom’s new husband’s house. And now mine too.

I stood by the doorway, my fingers tightening around the handle of my suitcase, pretending I wasn’t dreading every second of this. Pretending I wasn’t counting the days until I could get back to my dorm, to my quiet, to my life before all of this.

“You’ll love it here,” my mom said, smiling way too brightly beside me. “And it’ll be nice having Roman around. Maybe the two of you will actually get along”

My chest tightened at the mention of his name.

Roman.

I hadn’t seen him since the wedding since I wore that pale blue bridesmaid dress that clung a little too tight and he looked at me like I wasn’t supposed to exist. That same look that made my skin hot and my thoughts wander to places they weren’t supposed to go.

I didn’t even know him back then. Not really. But something about the way he carried himself quiet, confident, like he didn’t care what people thought made it hard not to stare. I’d told myself it didn’t mean anything. He was my stepbrother now. Off-limits. Untouchable.

But the moment I stepped into that house and heard the low, familiar voice behind me, I felt everything crash down again.

“Well, well. Look who’s moving in.”

I froze, breath catching in my throat before I even turned around.

And there he was.

Roman stood at the top of the stairs, leaned casually against the railing like he’d been waiting for me to arrive. His dark hair was a little longer now, falling into his eyes in a way that made it hard not to stare. He wore a plain black T-shirt and grey joggers, but somehow he still looked like a walking sin.

His eyes met mine and held. Like he was trying to read every part of me without saying a single word.

I forced a smile, even though my heart was hammering in my chest. “Miss me?”

He smirked, slow and dangerous. “Like a bad habit.”

I rolled my eyes and tried not to let the heat rising in my cheeks show. His voice had that same gravel-and-honey roughness I remembered deep, calm, with just enough edge to make me wonder what it would sound like if he whispered it against my neck.

God, get a grip, Ariana.

“You remember Roman, don’t you?” my mom said, clearly oblivious to the tension humming in the air.

“Mmhmm,” I managed, dragging my eyes off him. “Hard to forget.”

He made a low sound, like a laugh, but didn’t say anything else. Just kept staring.

I tugged my suitcase down the hall, trying not to look back, even though I could feel his gaze trailing every step I took.

My new room was spacious, almost too big for one person. Light streamed through tall windows and painted soft gold patterns on the floor. The bed was perfectly made, the closet bigger than anything I’d had before. It was beautiful.

But I didn’t feel safe here

Not with him just down the hall. It is totally obvious he doesn't want me here.

The first light of morning slid quietly across my bedroom floor, soft and slow, as if the day wasn’t quite ready to begin yet. I lay still, the rough cotton sheets scratching my skin, my heart pounding unevenly beneath the fabric. Just six feet away, on the other side of the hallway, Roman’s room sat silent. I knew because last night I heard the soft creak of his door closing.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and shivered as my bare feet touched the cold hardwood floor. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the old heater somewhere down the hall, and the occasional creak of the house settling.

I pulled on a loose hoodie, the fabric soft and familiar, and made my way toward the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit me before I even opened the door, bitter and strong. I took a deep breath, hoping it would settle the restless flutter in my stomach.

The scent of garlic and rosemary curled through the air as I shuffled down the creaky wooden stairs. Mom’s voice floated from the kitchen like a gentle anchor, “Ariana, breakfast’s ready. Come eat, please.”

I wiped my palms on my jeans, trying to steady the nervous flutter inside my chest. I’d been tucked away in my room, hiding from everything mostly from Roman’s silent coldness that wrapped around the house like a thick fog.

“Here,” she said softly, “It’s for Roman. He won’t come down. Maybe you can get him to eat something.”

Her eyes held something I couldn’t quite read, worry mixed with exhaustion. I nodded silently, gripping the warm plate.

The hallway felt endless as I walked towards Roman’s door. It was barely six feet from mine, the thin walls between us offering little privacy, yet so much distance. I stopped just short of his door, the polished wood cool beneath my fingertips.

I hesitated, ready to knock, when a sound made me freeze.

Moans. Whispered words.

i held my breaths of someone caught between pleasure and need.

Then a woman’s voice soft, breathless, aching.

“Roman... please... don’t stop.”

His voice, low. “Not yet. You belong to me.”

The woman whimpered, her voice trembling. “I want you. Now.”

My throat tightened, my heart pounding painfully as I clutched the plate tighter. A rush of heat burned in my chest anger, jealousy, confusion all tangled and raw.

I swallowed hard, my fingers slipping from the plate, letting it clatter softly onto the floor behind me. My legs felt weak as I turned and fled back down the hall.

I turned sharply, my pulse roaring in my ears as I made my way back down the stairs. My feet moved fast, faster than my thoughts, faster than my heart could catch up.

Back in the kitchen, Julian looked up, surprised.

"He didn’t open the door?"

I kept my voice steady, pushing the plate toward her. "I think you should give the food to Roman yourself."

I turned to leave, my back already halfway to the hallway when her hand caught mine.

"Ari..."

I didn’t face her.

"I know this isn’t easy for you," she said gently. "Please try to understand me."

I didn’t know what she meant exactly. Understand what? That she married a man whose son made my skin burn with things I didn’t want to feel? That I was now under the same roof with someone who looked at me with so much disgust in his eyes?

I nodded slowly. "I’m fine, Mom. I just need some air."

She let me go.

Upstairs, I closed my door with more force than necessary. My chest was tight, my breaths uneven.

I leaned against it, head tilted back, eyes closed.

Why did it bother me so much? He was allowed to have sex. To bring girls over. He was older, hotter than any guy have seen, and probably used to getting whoever he wanted. I was just the new girl in his house. The step-sister. Nothing more.

But the sounds were still there, echoing in my mind. The way she said his name. The creaking of the bed. The low grunt I thought I heard him make.

I sank down to the floor, hugging my knees, trying to push it all out of my head.

But he was just six feet away.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Even when I knew I shouldn't.