Chapter 14

Ariana's POV

Three months.

That’s how long I’d been living in this house. Three months since Roman Sinclair stopped being just my stepbrother and started becoming my secret addiction.

We never talked about what we were. We just kept touching, kept stealing moments when the house was asleep or empty. Late nights when his fingers found me under the sheets. Quiet mornings when he’d press kisses to my neck as I brushed my teeth. Hooking up without rules, without a label, without... boundaries.

And now, today, I was finally starting school.

I rolled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. My heart thudded with nerves, and not just because it was my first day at a new university. I hadn’t seen Roman yet this morning. After everything we’d done last night, I half expected him to be here, still asleep, sprawled across my mattress like he owned it. Like he owned me.

But my bed was cold.

Empty.

I sighed and pushed myself up. There was something about today that felt different sharp-edged and waiting. Maybe it was because I was finally stepping into Roman’s world, walking the same campus where his name echoed in whispers. I’d heard the stories. How girls threw themselves at him. How boys looked up to him or feared him. Roman Sinclair wasn’t just another law student—he was a legacy. Cold, brilliant, powerful. Untouchable.

Except by me.

I padded across my room and picked out a simple outfit: a short black skirt that hugged my waist, a cream-colored knit top, and ankle boots. It was modest. Sort of. Okay, maybe not really. But I wanted to feel good. Wanted to feel confident. I curled my hair in soft waves and put on a little makeup. When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back.

She looked dangerous. Like she had secrets.

Because she did.

A knock on the door made my breath hitch. I turned, expecting maybe my mom but she wasn't back yet from her stupid honeymoon but she told me she will be back next week.

Roman walked in.

Tall, infuriatingly hot, dressed in a fitted black sweater and jeans. His hair was a little messy, like he'd been running his fingers through it as always. There was that signature Roman look in his eyes cold, unreadable to anyone else.

But I knew better.

His gaze dropped to my outfit. Jaw tensed. Brows twitched.

“You’re wearing that?”

I arched a brow. “Good morning to you too.”

“Change.”

“Excuse me?”

He stepped into my room like he belonged there. Shut the door behind him.

“Your skirt is too short.”

“Maybe I like it that way,” I said, voice soft, challenging.

Roman took a step closer. “So will every guy on that campus.”

“And?”

His hands were on my hips before I could blink, fingers digging in just enough to make me suck in a breath. He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“You want them looking at you like that?” he murmured. “Want them thinking about what’s under this little skirt?”

My knees nearly buckled. “Roman...”

His mouth grazed my jaw. Down to my neck. I tilted my head, let him taste me. His teeth scraped lightly over my skin.

“You’re mine, Ariana. Don’t forget that when they start staring.”

I shivered. “Then act like it.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Possessive. Dangerous.

He pulled back, gave me one last searing look, and muttered, “Let’s go. I’m driving you.”

Campus was exactly how I imagined it.

But louder.

Bigger.

Wilder.

The kind of chaos that swallowed you whole if you didn’t know how to swim. And I wasn’t sure I did.

Crowds poured across walkways, laughter ringing through the air like it belonged here more than I did. Girls twirled their hair while boys shouted out names across lawns. Everyone moved like they belonged to something. A system. A memory. A group.

I walked silently beside Roman, clutching my bag so tight my knuckles ached. He hadn’t said a word since we left the car. Hadn’t even looked at me. But I could still feel him—his presence heavy at my side, like gravity with a pulse.

People stared.

Whispers circled.

Girls, mostly.

“Is that her?” one voice hissed softly behind me.

“That’s Roman’s new stepsister,” another added, not even trying to lower her voice.

“She’s prettier than I thought.”

“God, she’s so lucky. I’d give anything to have him look at me like that.”

But Roman didn’t glance their way. Didn’t smirk, didn’t blink. His expression was carved from marble, untouchable and cold, like the rumors said. Like a god walking through mortals. And somehow, I was the one walking beside him.

When we reached the English department building, he stopped abruptly, and my heart stuttered.

“This is you,” he said, finally.

I looked up at him. His jaw was sharp, his eyes darker than the sky. He wasn’t just beautiful he was impossible. All quiet fire and storm.

“You’re not coming in?” I asked, hating how unsure I sounded.

“Law building’s on the other side.”

Right. Of course. Duh.

I nodded, but I didn’t move. I waited. For something.

For him to say something soft. To lean in. To touch me, even if just for a second.

But he didn’t.

He just stared. Long and unreadable.

And then turned away and walked off.

Leaving me cold in a sea of strangers.

By midday, I’d survived two lectures.

Barely.

Everyone stared. Some smiled. Some whispered. I couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or judgment, but either way, I felt like I was under a microscope.

And then there was him.

Levi.

Cute. Brown curls. Dimples. The kind of guy who probably always had backup snacks and made playlists for girls he liked. He sat next to me in Lit class and cracked a joke about the professor’s boots looking like pirate cosplay.

I laughed.

Too loud.

Too freely.

I shouldn’t have.

Because Roman saw.

When I stepped outside after class, there he was. Leaning against the brick wall across from the exit, arms crossed over his chest, black hoodie drawn up to his elbows, jaw clenched tight.

His eyes locked onto mine.

My heart plummeted.

“Hey,” I said, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t think I’d see you until later.”

Roman didn’t respond right away.

“Who was that?” he asked eventually. Voice low. Deadly quiet.

“Who?” I blinked.

“The guy making you giggle like a fucking schoolgirl.”

I froze.

My breath caught.

“Roman, don’t.”

He stepped closer. One slow step. Then another.

Until the space between us felt illegal.

“Don’t smile at anyone like that again.”

My spine straightened. “You don’t get to tell me who to smile at.”

His hand lifted slow and deliberate fingertips brushing the inside of my wrist, then tracing up toward my elbow.

“No?” he asked, voice like a warning.

I swallowed hard. “No.”

Roman leaned in, mouth ghosting my ear. His breath hot. Dangerous.

“Next time you smile at him like that,” he whispered, “I’ll bend you over the nearest desk and remind you who you belong to.”

My thighs clenched involuntarily.

And just like that—

He was gone.

Leaving my skin burning and my mind in shreds.

By the time I got home, my pulse still hadn’t slowed.

I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t think. I stared at my phone like it owed me answers.

Roman had texted once

> Did you get home safe?

Then again, an hour later:

I’m still thinking about that skirt.

That was it.

And yet… my entire body reacted.

I paced my room, heart pounding, fingertips tingling with want. The silence screamed his name. My skin itched with the memory of his voice, his heat, his jealousy.

I was halfway through undressing my shirt halfway over my head, the top button of my skirt undone when I heard the door creak open.

I turned, startled.

Roman.

He stepped inside like he belonged there, his gaze sweeping down over me slow, possessive, unapologetic. His eyes were darker now, pupils blown wide with hunger.

“You didn’t say goodbye,” I whispered.

“Neither did you,” he murmured, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

For a second, neither of us moved. We just stared. The air thick with all the things we wouldn’t say but always felt.

Then he stepped forward.

Two steps.

Three.

I didn’t back away.

His hands landed on my hips, warm and firm, sliding under the hem of my half-lifted shirt. His thumbs brushed my skin.

My breath caught.

“You wore this little skirt just to fuck with me?” he murmured.

“I wore it for me,” I lied.

He smirked. “You’re a terrible liar.”

And then his mouth crashed against mine.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Like he’d been starving and I was the only thing that could fill him. His tongue slid past my lips, claiming me with a heat that made my knees buckle. I melted against him, fingers curling into his shirt, dragging him closer.

He lifted me effortlessly and laid me down on the bed like something precious. Then hovered over me, staring down like I was both the sin and the salvation.

His hands roamed. Under my skirt. Over my thighs. One finger dipped under the lace of my underwear and slid through the heat there.

My head fell back with a moan.

“Roman…”

“Say it again,” he growled, finger teasing me slowly.

“Roman, please…”

His lips found my neck, my collarbone, the curve of my breast.

And then his fingers pushed deeper.

I arched.

Cried out.

He watched me come apart under him, eyes locked on mine, like he wanted to memorize every second of it.

But he didn’t take it further.

He didn’t rush.

He kissed me one more time slow and deep then pulled away.

“Next time,” he whispered, voice thick with restraint, “I’m not stopping.”

And then he left me breathless.

Wrecked.

And utterly his.