Chapter 3: I hate my step-brother

Zoe’s POV

My heart practically stopped right there in the kitchen.

Aiden Blackwood.

My mom was still down the hallway, humming happily while organizing her paint swatches, completely oblivious to the fact that my mind was spiraling. I stared down at my phone, hiding under the paper napkin, where Ace’s message was still sitting on my screen: My dad just dropped a bomb on me. Apparently I'm getting a step-sister next month. Pray for me, Princess.

I swallowed hard, forcing a breathless chuckle under my breath. Yeah, right. Texas was huge, and plenty of parents were getting remarried every single day. There was zero chance some random, arrogant guy on an anonymous app named Ace had anything to do with my mom’s rich new fiancé.

I typed back a quick reply to Ace, shaking my head at the ridiculous coincidence.

Princess: Good luck with that. Try not to terrorize the poor girl on day one.

Ace: Please. She should be honored to share a roof with me.

I rolled my eyes, locking my phone. I didn't know his real name, his face, or where he actually lived, but his massive ego was standard procedure by now.

Four weeks later, the nightmare officially became my life.

The wedding had been a whirlwind of expensive champagne, tall flower arrangements, and my mother crying happy tears into a silk handkerchief. I had managed to avoid my new stepbrother during most of the reception by hiding near the back rows and ducking out early.

Moving day, however, offered zero places to hide.

I was carrying a heavy cardboard box labeled ZOE’S BOOKS up the grand, floating staircase of the Blackwood residence when I ran directly into a wall of dark blue denim and absolute arrogance.

"Watch it, heavy loader," a smooth, deep voice drawled from above me.

I tilted my head back, adjusting my faded baseball cap. Aiden Blackwood was standing on the landing above me, leaning against the glass railing with his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans. He looked infuriatingly good—dark messy hair, razor-sharp jaw, and a white t-shirt that showed off the faint outline of a dragon tattoo on his arm.

"I have a name," I snapped, shifting the heavy box in my arms. "It’s Zoe. Not heavy loader."

Aiden’s dark eyes swept over me, lingering on my oversized grey hoodie that reached my knees and my baggy cargo pants. He let out a low, amused breath.

"Could’ve fooled me," he smirked, stepping down one stair to look down his nose at me. "Are you planning to live in those tents permanently, or did the movers accidentally box up all your real clothes?"

"My clothes are fine," I glared, clutching the box tighter. "And at least I don't smell like an entire department store cologne counter."

He raised an eyebrow, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his lips. "It’s Tom Ford, step-sis. But I wouldn't expect someone who dresses like a medieval peasant to recognize quality."

"Move out of my way, Aiden."

"Make me, Princess."

My heart did a sharp flip at the nickname, but I forced my face to stay completely blank. Princess was just a common tease. He had no idea who I was. To him, I was just his awkward, annoying new stepsister who dressed like a thrift store mannequin.

"Get lost," I grunted, shoving past his shoulder hard enough to knock him slightly off balance.

"Charming," he called after me, his deep laugh echoing down the hallway. "Try not to break the floorboards with your army boot!"

The next three weeks were an absolute war zone.

Living with Aiden Blackwood was like sharing a house with a gorgeous, high-functioning tornado.

"Zoe!" Aiden’s voice roared from the kitchen early on a Tuesday morning.

I padded downstairs in my oversized sleep tee and fuzzy socks, pulling my hood up. "What do you want, noise pollution?"

Aiden was standing by the espresso machine, holding up an empty glass jar like it was evidence in a murder trial. "Where is the hazelnut syrup?"

"I threw it out," I said calmly, pouring myself a glass of water. "It expired months ago. You were drinking liquid poison."

"It was not expired, it was aged!" he snapped, crossing his arms. "Do not touch my coffee supplies. Ever."

"Then don't leave your gym sweat towels on the living room sofa!" I shot back, turning to face him. "The whole ground floor smells like a locker room."

"It smells like hard work, something you clearly avoid given your daily schedule of staring at your phone and looking miserable."

"I am not miserable!"

"You're a ray of sunshine, sweetheart," he drawled, taking a slow sip of his black coffee and looking me up and down. "A dark, baggy, storm-cloud ray of sunshine."

I slammed my cup into the sink. "I hate you."

"The feeling is intensely mutual."

I stomped back up to my room, locked the door, and pulled out my phone.

Princess: I am going to poison his breakfast. I swear to God, I am going to put dish soap in his coffee.

My phone chimed almost instantly.

Ace: Whoa, calm down, serial killer. What did the step-monster do now?

Princess: He exists! He breathes my oxygen! He looks at me like I'm a bug he wants to step on!

Ace: Sounds like he’s just intimidated by you. Or maybe he thinks you're cute and doesn't know how to handle it.

I gagged out loud at my screen.

Princess: He definitely does not think I'm cute. He thinks I look like a peasant.

Ace: His loss. If I were living under the same roof as a girl who looks like you in that red bikini, I wouldn't be complaining about coffee.

I swallowed hard, a painful pang of guilt twisting in my stomach. Ace was still falling for the picture. He was still falling for Madison’s body. And I was stuck here complaining to a stranger online while my real-life stepbrother made every single day unbearable.

By Friday afternoon, the house was quiet.

Our parents were out on a weekend trip to San Antonio, leaving the massive mansion dead silent. I was walking down the second-floor hallway holding a freshly dry-cleaned suit jacket that my mom had explicitly begged me to leave outside Aiden's room before she left.

"Just drop it and run," I whispered to myself, balancing the hanger on my finger.

As I approached his bedroom door, I noticed it was pushed open a few inches. And from inside, a strange, frantic rhythm of sound was echoing into the hallway.

Ping. Chime. Buzz. Ding. Ping.

It sounded like an arcade floor.

"Aiden?" I called out softly, knocking my knuckles against the dark wood.

No answer. Just the sound of running water coming from his private en-suite bathroom down the short corridor of his room.

I pushed the door open slightly, intending to just toss the jacket onto his armchair. "Aiden, I'm leaving your jacket on the—"

I stopped dead in my tracks.

His bedroom was massive—sleek black furniture, a king-sized bed, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pool. But my eyes were glued entirely to his wide mahogany desk.

Arranged in a neat semi-circle across the desk were five different screens.

Two iPhones, an iPad Pro, a sleek gaming laptop, and a secondary smartphone hooked up to a charging dock. Every single one of them had the glowing, dark-mode interface of the Incognito app open.

My mouth fell open.

I took three quiet steps closer, my sneakers sinking into his dark rug. The screens were lit up with active, scrolling chat windows.

On the far-left phone, the username read Romeo_X. He was messaging a girl named Chloe: You're the only girl on this app who actually gets me.

On the iPad, the username was Jax_99. He was replying to someone named Sarah: Send me another photo, baby.

On the laptop, a third handle—Wildcard—was flitting through a group chat full of flirty messages.

He had five different profiles. Five different personas. Five different girls being spun around his finger at the exact same time.

A wave of intense, hot nausea washed over my chest. Was every guy on this app a fake? Was Ace just another player like Aiden running game on unsuspecting girls?

I stepped closer to the primary phone lying right in the center—the one with a custom black-and-gold case. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard it felt like it was going to burst through my skin.

I reached my hand out, my finger hovering just an inch over the screen to see what username was logged into that main device—

Click.

The bathroom door swung open.

A wave of hot steam rolled into the bedroom, accompanied by the strong scent of dark amber and cedarwood.

I froze instantly, my hand still extended over his desk.

Aiden stepped out of the bathroom, completely shirtless, a low-slung dark grey towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Droplets of water were tracing a path down his wet chest, running over his abs, and tracing down toward the swirling dragon tattoo on his arm.

His dark eyes locked onto mine. Then, his gaze dropped to my hand hovering directly over his active, glowing screens.

Aiden’s jaw clenched, his eyes turning dangerously cold as he took a slow, menacing step toward me.

"What the hell," he purred softly, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register, "do you think you're doing in my room, Zoe?"