Semua Bab Rule Number 1: Kissing Your Stepbrother Again Will Ruin You: Bab 41 - Bab 50

ZephyrSex always managed to stir up a massive appetite, so I headed straight downstairs in search of actual nourishment once the door clicked shut behind Sable. I was genuinely relieved to find there was still a decent amount of leftover rice and fried chicken sitting in the fridge courtesy of Zach. Zach was our resident culinary master, mostly because the rest of us couldn't boil a pot of water without burning the kitchen to the ground. He grew up in Texas with a single mom who had practically taught him how to handle a skillet while he was still wearing diapers. I pulled the plate out and settled myself right at the eat-in counter, shoving a large piece of seasoned chicken into my mouth just as Xavi strolled into the kitchen. He was wearing absolutely nothing but a pair of faded plaid boxers, his hair sticking up in every direction. He raised a dark brow when he spotted me sitting under the fluorescent lights. "Hey. I didn't think I’d see your ass again tonight. I figured

Zephyr I killed the engine, but I didn't get out of the car right away. I just sat there in the dark driveway, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. From the outside of the apartment complex, I could see the light from our unit’s living room window bleeding brightly into the cool night. Even through the glass of my windshield, I could hear a muffled, heavy bassline pulsing through the air. She’s still awake, I was genuinely surprised. A sudden, sharp wave of relief hit my chest, so heavy it almost made me dizzy. I wouldn't admit it out loud if someone held a gun to my head, but fuck, I was glad she was in. I frowned, listening to the thumping beat echoing from the upper floor. What the hell was she doing? Was she throwing her own private party while I was gone? "You little wild cat," I muttered under my breath, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. I reached into the passenger seat and grabbed the glossy, high-end boutique bag. Ins

Zephyr I didn't say a fucking word. I just turned around on my heel and started walking straight toward Elowen's bedroom door down the hallway. My jaw was locked so tight I thought my teeth might shatter, and my mind was entirely made up. I was locked out of my room, I was covered in sweat and grease from the hockey house, and I was not going to sleep on the goddamn couch like some punished golden retriever. "Hey! Stop right there! Zephyr!" Panicked, bare footsteps slapped furiously against the polished hardwood behind me. I didn't even have to turn around to know she was sprinting. The rapid thud-thud-thud was accompanied by the undeniable sight of her in my periphery—running full speed in that ridiculous, skimpy green string bikini. With every frantic stride she took, her tits bounced violently against the thin fabric. My jaw ticked. I squeezed my eyes shut for half a second, desperately trying to force my gaze straight ahead. Do not look. Do not fucking look. But it was

Zephyr Elowen slammed her glass down on the bedside table, her face contorted in sheer shock. But because she was so hyper-fixated on the ridiculous sight of me standing in her room, she didn't bother ensuring the glass was stable. The heavy crystal base wobbled dangerously, tipped over, and sent a mini tidal wave of cold water splashing right over the edge, soaking a massive section of her crisp white mattress and duvet. I looked at the growing dark stain, then slowly shifted my gaze back to her, raising an eyebrow with a long, deliberate sigh. "Look what you've done," I murmured, gesturing lazily toward the bed. Elowen didn't even glance at the mess. She snapped her eyes back to mine, the glare she shot me was so sharp and blinding it could have melted steel. I stood there with my bare arms crossed over my chest, genuinely amused by the sheer intensity of anger burning through her small frame. She looked like a furious, emerald-clad kitten trying to pick a fight with a grizzl

Elowen I grabbed my most expensive, fancy black clutch purse from the bed, checked my dark red lipstick one final time, and clicked my heels against the floorboards as I walked out of my bedroom. I opened the front door of the apartment and stepped out into the hallway, expecting to find him leaning against the wall in his usual slouch. Instead, my breath choked right in my throat. Zephyr was standing near the elevator, completely dressed in a tailored black suit. Holy shit. I stopped dead in my tracks, my fingers tightening on my purse as my eyes involuntarily raked over him. The sharp, immaculate cut of the dark fabric clung perfectly to his broad shoulders, tapering down to his narrow waist and long, athletic legs. He wore a crisp white dress shirt underneath, the top button left recklessly undone without a tie, giving him a dangerous, aristocratic edge that felt utterly lethal. His dark hair was styled loosely, a few soft strands falling over his forehead, and his sharp ja