You Don't Get to Love Me Now, Alpha Stepbrother

AVA'S POV 

Three missed calls. All from the babysitter.

I stared at my phone screen in the staff breakroom, my thumb hovering over the call-back button, my knuckles red and aching from six straight hours of loading dish racks. Rain hammered the greasy window behind me, but it was the silence from those three unanswered calls that made my stomach drop.

The door banged open, hitting the wall with a sharp clap. "Ava. What are you doing sitting down?"

 

I jumped, pulling my hands into my lap as Mr. Vance strutted into the room. He was a short, chubby man who always smelled like cheap cigars and stale sweat, and he wore his cheap suits like armor.

 

"I have two minutes left on my break, Mr. Vance," I said, keeping my voice quiet and smooth. "I’ve been on my feet since five."

 

"I don't give a damn about your feet," Vance snapped, tossing a silver serving tray onto the table in front of me. It rattled loudly.  "Suite 404 just called down. They want a fresh bottle of the fifty-year single malt and two clean glasses. Now."

 

I blinked, looking from the tray up to his face. "Suite 404? But that’s in the upper VIP corridor. Sarah usually handles those rooms. I’m only assigned to the main lounge floor."

 

Vance leaned over the table, pressing his thick palms onto the wood until he was right in my face. 

 

"Sarah called in sick twenty minutes ago. The guest in 404 asked for you by name, sweetheart. Paying enough tonight to cover your worthless salary for the next three months, so pick up the tray and go make him happy."

 

"Mr. Vance, please," I pleaded, resting my hand over my apron pocket where my phone sat. "My shift ends in twenty minutes. My son is—"

 

"If you walk out that door before answering Suite 404, do not bother coming back tomorrow," Vance cut in, his eyes narrowing into tight slits. 

 

"Do you hear me? You’re two months behind on your apartment rent, Ava. I know it, you know it. You need this job. So pick up the tray, put a smile on your face, and get up those stairs."

 

My throat tightened, a bitter taste rising in my mouth. He had me, and he knew it. Lucas needed new shoes. The landlord had already threatened to change the locks by the weekend if I didn't hand over cash.

 

"Fine," I whispered, swallowing my pride. "I'll take it up."

 

"Good girl," Vance sneered, patting my shoulder roughly as he turned toward the door. "And don't mess it up. Guys in that room don't take no for an answer."

 

I stood there for a long moment, closing my eyes and forcing myself to take a deep breath. Just one more delivery, I told myself. Just twenty minutes, and then I can go home to my boy.

 

I picked up the heavy tray, loaded the crystal bottle and glasses from the bar, and headed toward the back stairwell.

 

The heavy velvet curtain of the VIP lounge swung shut behind me, instantly cutting off the thumping bass from the main floor of the Moonstone Club. 

 

Up here, the air was thick, heavy, and quiet, smelling of expensive leather and polished wood.

 

I smoothed down the front of my black waitress apron, my hands trembling against the fabric. I hated these rooms. The men who sat in them were usually arrogant, loud, and far too comfortable pushing boundaries. 

 

But Vance’s threat echoed in my head with every step I took. I stopped outside the dark wood door marked 404. I balanced the silver tray on one hand and knocked softly with the other. "Enter," a deep, smooth voice called out.

 

The sound hit me like a physical punch. My breath hitched in my throat. A cold, electric shiver ran straight down my spine, lifting the tiny hairs on my arms. I shook my head, silently scolding myself. 

 

It’s just a voice, Ava. Get a grip.

 

I turned the brass handle, pushed the door open, and stepped into the softly lit suite. The air inside felt thick, charged with a strange heat that made it hard to breathe.

 

"Your drink order, sir," I said quickly, keeping my eyes glued to the dark carpet as I walked toward the glass coffee table in the center of the room. "I have the single malt you requested."

 

"Set it down," the voice said.

 

It was closer now. Right in front of me. My hands shook so violently the crystal glasses clinked together on the tray. I bent down, carefully lowering the bottle to the glass table. 

 

As I stood up, my eyes trailed upward, from a pair of custom leather shoes, up tailored dark trousers, past a broad chest, to a sharp, familiar jawline. 

 

Then my gaze met a pair of piercing, striking silver-gray eyes. My heart stopped. The silver tray slipped from my fingers, crashing loudly onto the floor and echoing through the quiet room.

 

"Damien?" The name ripped out of my throat, raw and painful, like a jagged piece of glass.

 

Damien Ashford.

 

He stood up from the leather armchair, his massive frame instantly towering over me. He looked broader, older, and far more terrifying than he had four years ago. 

 

His short black hair was styled neatly, but his face was pale, his sharp features locked  into something hungrier than surprise. “Ava.” Not a question. His voice was low, certain, like a man closing a hand around something he'd already decided was his.

 

Panic hit me like a wave of icy water. My mind went completely blank, leaving only a wild, screaming instinct to run. I spun around on my heel and darted for the door.

 

I didn't even make it two steps.

 

Before my fingers could touch the brass handle, a dark shadow moved with terrifying, unnatural speed. Damien slammed his heavy palm against the wooden door right next to my head, blocking my path and trapping me against the frame.

 

The familiar, suffocating scent of cedar wood and expensive cologne wrapped around me. It was the exact same scent that used to make me feel safe. Now, it made me want to scream.

 

"Get away from me, Damien," I said. I tried to sound tough, but my voice cracked right in the middle.

 

"No," he growled. He leaned closer, his broad chest almost touching mine. I could feel the intense heat radiating off his body. "Do you have any idea what you’re asking me right now? I’ve looked for you everywhere. You vanished four years ago without a single word, and you think I'm just going to move aside?"

 

A bitter, broken laugh spilled out of my lips. "I vanished? Are you serious right now? You’re asking me why I left?"

 

"Yes, damn it," Damien's jaw tightened, a muscle flexing beneath the skin like something under it was trying to get out. "You woke up, packed your things, and disappeared into thin air. You left nothing behind."

 

"Because you were already gone,” I yelled, shoving my hands against his chest. It felt like pushing against a wall of solid steel. He didn't budge an inch. 

 

"I woke up in that hotel bed alone, Damien. I waited for hours. I called you a hundred times, and your phone was turned off. You took what you wanted from me, got scared, and ran back to your daddy's money.”

 

"That is not what happened,” Damien roared, his voice shaking the heavy wooden door behind me. "I didn't abandon you, Ava. I didn't run."

 

"Liar," Tears burned the backs of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. 

 

"I saw the news, Damien. I saw the pictures of you and Selene Blackwood at those fancy galas just weeks later. You left me alone to deal with the shame. You left me with nothing while you played the perfect high-society heir."

 

Damien’s jaw worked silently, his fists clenching at his sides so hard his knuckles turned white. "My mother spent months crying over you," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, raspy low tone. "Your father almost lost his mind looking for you. Do you have any idea what your disappearance did to everyone?"

 

"Don't you dare bring my father into this,” I screamed, my voice raw with years of buried pain. "I didn't know how to face him. That night of ours would damage his life. I had to protect him. So I had to run. You ruined my life, Damien.”

 

"Then let me fix it,” he pleaded, stepping so close his body pinned mine gently against the door. For a fraction of a second, his grip on the door loosened, like he'd forgotten his own strength. It was the closest thing to pleading I'd ever seen from him. "Ava, please. Just listen to me for five minutes. Give me five minutes to explain."

 

"No," I whispered, shaking my head violently. "No more lies. I don't care about your excuses. I don't care about your money. I have a life now, and you aren't in it."

 

"You're wrong," he rasped, his breathing heavy against my skin. "You will always be my life."

 

"Let me go," I sobbed, pushing against him again. 

 

"Please, Damien. Just let me go."

 

"I can't," he murmured. "I spent four years in hell without you. I am never letting you go again." 

 

Before I could open my mouth to scream for the guards, Damien’s large hand reached out and cupped the back of my neck. He pulled me forward, tilting my chin up, and slammed his mouth onto mine.

 

The kiss was rough, desperate, and completely possessive. A sharp shockwave crashed through my entire body. 

 

The heat of his lips, the scent of his skin, the absolute strength of his arms wrapping around my waist, it instantly tore down every defense I had spent four agonizing years building. 

 

For one terrifying second, my soul remembered him.