CHAPTER 5

LYRA’S POV

I stared back at Silas, trying to keep my face calm even though my heart was pounding. "Such as?"

Rowan's mouth curved into a mean smile. He leaned close until his shoulder pressed against mine, getting right into my space. "Let's keep it simple, little stepsister. Rule one: no boys in this house. Ever."

My jaw clenched. Little stepsister. The way he said it made my skin crawl.

"Rule two," Silas cut in smoothly, his cold eyes locked on mine. "No drinking. No parties. This isn't the... hospitality job you're used to."

The way he said hospitality made it sound dirty. Heat rushed to my face.

"And rule three," Rowan whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "You do exactly what we say. Our house. Our rules. Got it?"

I opened my mouth to tell them where they could shove their rules, but Mom's voice floated across the table first.

"Oh, boys, really. There's no need for all that." She laughed, but it sounded fake and brittle. "Lyra is a very good girl. She's been so busy with her nine-to-five job, she's never even dated anyone. She doesn't drink, doesn't party. No friends to bring over either. You have absolutely nothing to worry about."

The lies hit me like punches. Never dated. But I'd let two men use me and throw me away in one week. Doesn't drink. But I could still taste the cheap whiskey from all those nights I tried to forget. No friends. Because I'd been too busy taking my clothes off for strangers.

How would she even know? She never looked at me. Never asked. Never cared.

I swallowed hard, the shame burning in my throat.

"That is not how you speak to your sister," Marcus said firmly, his voice booming through the room. He looked at his sons with sharp eyes. "She's new here. You will be supportive. You will make her feel welcome. Am I clear?"

"Crystal clear," Silas said, but his eyes never left my face. "She is very little, though. We'll need to be... careful with her."

The way he said little made something cold slide down my spine. He wasn't talking about my height.

"Enough," Marcus declared, lifting his wine glass high. "Let's have a proper welcome dinner. No more of this nonsense. A toast—to our new family."

The brothers raised their glasses slowly, their eyes all fixed on me. Their smiles were thin and sharp as knives.

"To our new stepsister," Rowan said softly. "Welcome home."

The unspoken words hung heavy in the air: Welcome to hell.

I picked up my glass of orange juice with shaking hands and took a tiny sip. The sweetness did nothing to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth.

Hours later, I lay in the guest room staring at the ceiling. The bed was huge and soft, the sheets probably cost more than everything I owned. But it felt wrong. Cold. Like a cage made of silk.

Sleep wouldn't come. My mind kept spinning—Jeremy. Raphael. My new stepbrothers. The lies. The secrets. The shame that lived under my skin like poison.

I got up and started pacing across the thick carpet. My hands were shaking. Everything was falling apart and I didn't know how to—

A sound cut through the silence.

Low. Pained. Someone crying.

It came from down the hall. Every instinct screamed at me to stay in my room, lock the door, hide. But my feet moved anyway, pulling me toward my door.

I cracked it open. The sound got clearer—a man, sobbing like his heart was breaking.

I followed it to a half-open door at the end of the corridor. My hand pushed it wider.

Marcus was on his knees beside a huge bed. One hand clutched his chest, the other gripped the bedpost so tight his knuckles had gone white. His face twisted in agony, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks.

He looked nothing like the powerful Alpha from dinner. Just a man. Broken. Dying.

"Mr. Sterling?" I whispered, stepping inside.

His head snapped up. His eyes found me through the pain—clouded, struggling to focus. For a second he just looked confused.

Then his hand shot out faster than I could blink and grabbed my wrist. Hard. Like iron.

He yanked me down to the floor beside him.

"Are you okay?"

"You," he gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "You're special. They don't know. My boys... they don't know what you are yet."

What I am? My mind raced. What is he talking about? What does he mean? Is that why he's doing this? 

"You need to be careful," he hissed urgently, his grip tightening until it hurt. His eyes were wide, desperate, pleading. "Be very—"

His whole body suddenly convulsed. A horrible, wet sound ripped from his throat. His eyes rolled back, showing only whites.

His hand went limp and he fell forward.

"No!" I caught him, his weight crashing into me. I struggled to lower him gently to the floor. "Help! Somebody help!"

My voice echoed in the big room, but nobody came.

I cradled his head in my lap, my fingers searching frantically for a pulse in his neck. Nothing. Nothing. A dark stain spread across his silk pajamas, growing bigger. My fingers touched something wet and warm.

Blood.

So much blood.

"No, no, no," I sobbed, pressing my hands against the wound. Trying to stop it. But it kept coming, hot and slick between my fingers. "Please don't die. Please."

His eyes stared up at nothing. Empty. Gone.

I was covered in it. My nightgown soaked through. My hands slick and red. A dead man in my arms, his blood cooling on my skin.

The door exploded open with a crash that shook the walls.

Silas. Rowan. Caspian. Orion. Raphael.

They froze. Their faces went white with shock.

Then I watched that shock twist into something else. Something dark and terrible.

Their eyes took it all in—their father dead on the floor. Me kneeling over him, drenched in his blood, holding his head in my lap.

The accusation in their stares was instant. Absolute. Damning.

"You bitch!" Caspian screamed, his voice raw and broken. He lunged at me. "What did you do?! What the fuck did you do?!"

I scrambled backward but hit the bedpost. Nowhere to run.

The brothers spread out, surrounding me on all sides. Their faces had gone cold. Predatory. Murderous.

Raphael's eyes met mine for one split second. The betrayal in them hurt worse than any hit could. Then his face hardened into the same terrifying mask as his brothers.

They closed in.