Chapter 4: My Step-Brother is a Womanizer

Zoe’s POV

"What the hell," Aiden purred softly, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register as he took a slow step toward me, "do you think you're doing in my room, Zoe?"

Steam was still rolling out of his open bathroom doorway in thick, heavy clouds, bringing with it the scent of dark amber and cedarwood.

I froze, my hand hovering an inch over his mahogany desk. Aiden was completely shirtless, a dark grey towel wrapped low around his hips, droplets of water running down his abs and tracing the dark dragon tattoo on his right arm.

"Mom told me to drop off your suit jacket!" I squeaked out, grabbing the hanger off his armchair and holding it up like a shield between us. "The door was cracked open, I heard a million pings, and I was just leaving it right here!"

Aiden’s dark eyes flicked to the array of glowing screens on his desk—the multiple phones, the tablet, the laptop—and back to me. A slow, arrogant smirk gradually replaced his glare.

"Riiight," he drawled, stepping closer until he was blocking my path to the door entirely. "Dropping off my jacket. Definitely not sneaking in to catch a preview."

"In your dreams, Blackwood," I snapped, forcing myself to look him dead in the eye instead of staring at his bare chest. "And for the record, your desk looks like a call center for chronic narcissists. How many girls are you catfishing at once?"

"It’s called managing options, step-sis," Aiden chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not that someone who hides under a tent three sizes too big would know anything about options."

"You are unbelievable," I muttered, shoving the jacket into his arms and dodging past him. "You’re a shallow, shameless player."

"And you're a nosy medieval peasant," he called after me, his deep, mocking laugh following me down the hallway. "Try knocking next time!"

I slammed my bedroom door shut, locked it, and threw myself face-down onto my bed.

He was a player. A total, unapologetic womanizer running game on half the campus using multiple handles like Romeo_X and Jax_99. Seeing those active screens made my stomach churn with a sudden wave of disgust. Was every guy online just like Aiden? Was Ace just another arrogant player sitting in his own room, spinning five different girls around his finger at the same time?

I pulled out my phone and opened the Incognito app.

Princess: Are you currently flirting with five other girls right now, Ace? Be honest.

I held my breath, watching the screen. A minute passed. Then two.

Ping.

Ace: Five? Please. You're the only headache keeping me up at night, Princess. Why, you jealous?

Princess: I'm serious, Ace. I just found out someone I know runs five different accounts at once just to mess with people. It's disgusting.

Ace: Well, that guy sounds like a loser with too much free time. I barely have enough energy to handle your attitude, let alone four other girls.

I let out a long, shaky breath, sinking back into my pillows. The easy, playful banter felt so real. Ace wasn't like Aiden. Ace actually listened to me. He made me feel seen, even if I was still hiding behind Madison's red bikini photo.

Over the next months, that dynamic became my permanent reality. In person, Aiden and I waged complete domestic war—fighting over coffee supplies, loud music, shared bathrooms, and his insufferable arrogance. But online, late at night under my covers, Ace became my sanctuary.

…...Present Day.

Two months of war later, nothing had changed. I was still the ghost in the back of lecture halls, still wearing my oversized charcoal hoodie, and still hiding behind my faded baseball cap.

Our parents were out of town for a real estate conference in Dallas, leaving the sprawling West Lake Hills mansion completely empty except for the two of us.

I was lying on my stomach across my bed, wrapped in my oversized hoodie, nursing an intense headache after another explosive argument with Aiden in the kitchen over him finishing the last carton of iced coffee.

My phone chimed in my hand.

Ace: Still hiding in your blanket fort, Princess? Or did your obnoxious stepbrother finally drive you out of the house with his unmatched charm?

A slow, wicked grin spread across my face despite my lingering frustration. I sat up against my headboard, my fingers flying over the glass.

Princess: Please. My stepbrother is an overgrown toddler with a trust fund and a god complex. If I wanted to deal with a narcissist, I’d stare into a mirror for five hours.

His reply popped up three seconds later.

Ace: Ouch. Remind me never to get on your bad side. Though I hear the guy is devastatingly handsome. You sure you aren't secretly in love with him?

Princess: I would rather swallow broken glass.

Ace: Bold words. Prove you're not just a twelve-year-old boy sitting in a basement. Send me a picture, Princess. Let me see who I'm talking to.

My stomach did a nervous flip. He had been asking for a new photo for months. He said he wanted to see the beautiful face carrying that banging body on my profile.  I couldn't send my real face. What if he hated how I looked? What if he stopped talking to me?

My finger hovered over my gallery. I selected a stunning, sun-drenched selfie of Madison lounging by a pool that she had sent me last week. I took a deep breath and hit send.

Princess: Satisfied, Ace?

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Ace: ...Damn, Princess. Okay. I stand corrected. You are definitely not a twelve-year-old boy.

A rush of giddy heat flooded my chest, even as a tiny whisper of guilt clawed at my gut.

Before I could type back, a harsh knock rattled my bedroom door, followed by a loud ping on my phone.

I glanced at the screen. A text notification popped up from an saved number.

From Aiden: Turn your loud music down before I break the door down.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the heavy thud against my door, and typed a quick, playful challenge back to Ace.

Princess: Your turn then, Ace. Send me a picture. Show me what you look like.

Downstairs, I heard heavy footsteps pacing back and forth right outside my room.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Zoe! Turn the music off!" Aiden shouted from the hallway.

My phone buzzed violently in my grip with Ace's incoming image file.

Ace: Careful what you wish for, Princess. Here.

I tapped the blurred preview. The photo downloaded onto my screen, expanding into crisp high-definition.

My breath caught in my throat. My blood ran completely, totally ice-cold.

The photo showed a shirtless guy standing in front of a familiar, tall marble bathroom mirror. He had a slate-grey towel hung low around his waist, dark messy hair hanging over his forehead, and a distinct, intricate dragon tattoo swirling down his right arm.

It was the exact same bathroom. The exact same slate-grey towel. The exact same dragon tattoo I had seen on the guy standing directly outside my bedroom door.

My bedroom door handle twisted violently from the outside.

"Zoe, open the damn door right now," Aiden's deep growl resonated straight through the wood—at the exact same second a new message flashed at the bottom of my screen from Ace:

Ace: Do you like what you see, Princess?

I stared at the phone screen, then at the rattling brass door handle. The world tilted beneath my feet.

The anonymous guy I had been flirting with for months—the guy I had confessed my deepest secrets to, the guy whose messages made my heart race—was the exact same insufferable stepbrother currently trying to kick my door down.

And he was still waiting for a reply from the gorgeous blonde girl in the picture I had just sent him.