The last time my mother kissed me goodbye, we were crammed into a dusty one-bedroom apartment with a broken sink and too many memories.
The next time I saw her, she was stepping out of a Rolls Royce in a diamond necklace, smiling like she hadn't just flipped our entire world upside down.
"Come on, Aria. At least pretend to look happy." Mom adjusted her perfectly curled hair and tugged me forward. I stared at the mansion in front of me—tall, cold, and made of polished stone. It looked like something out of a movie. Like the kind of place where people wore tuxedos to breakfast and didn't speak unless it was through clenched teeth.
"This is insane," I muttered under my breath, clutching my backpack tighter. "Are we seriously living here now?"
"No, honey. We're thriving here now."
Mom was glowing. Literally. Her lips were red, her cheeks were flushed, and her new husband—a billionaire hotel mogul named Gregory Blackwood—was waiting on the marble steps like some corporate god.
"Smile, sweetheart," Mom whispered through her perfect teeth. "Gregory's son is home too."
Her voice tightened just slightly, but I barely noticed it—because that's when I saw him.
Theo Blackwood.
Six feet of raw power. Black hair, sharp cheekbones, ice-blue eyes that pinned me the moment I stepped through the gates. He was leaning against the bannister like he owned the air we breathed.
Spoiler: He probably did.
Our eyes met—and for a full second, I forgot how to move.
He looked at me like I was a trespasser in his world. Like I was some street rat who didn't belong among the silk and chandeliers.
I instantly hated him.
And maybe… maybe I was a little terrified of him too.
"This is Aria," Mom said sweetly. "My daughter."
Gregory nodded with a kind smile, his arm wrapped around Mom's waist. But Theo? He didn't smile.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even blink.
He just looked at me like I was some dirty little secret invading his perfect world.
And then, finally—his jaw clenched, and he spoke.
"She's a child."
The words sliced through the air like a slap.
I stiffened.
Mom laughed awkwardly. "She's eighteen, actually."
Theo's lip curled into a smirk. "Great. So she can legally ruin your reputation now."
"Excuse me?" I snapped before I could stop myself.
Those cold blue eyes flicked down to my scuffed sneakers and up again. "Nothing. Just… don't touch my stuff."
That was the first thing he said to me. Not hello. Not welcome.
Don't touch my stuff.
Jerk.
The room they gave me was bigger than our entire old apartment. It had floor-to-ceiling windows, a chandelier over the bed, and a walk-in closet that echoed when I stepped inside.
I should have been thrilled.
Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to cry.
This wasn't my world. I didn't belong here.
I didn't understand forks with three prongs or why there were separate towels for hands and faces. I didn't know how to talk to staff without feeling awkward, and I definitely didn't know how to survive under the same roof as him.
Theo.
My new stepbrother.
He hadn't said a word to me since the front steps. But I could feel him.
Every time I walked down the hall, his door would creak open slightly. His eyes would follow me. Cold, unreadable, dangerous.
He was the type of guy who made girls fall apart with a look—and I refused to be one of them.
The next morning, I padded into the kitchen in an oversized hoodie and socks, hoping to grab some toast and sneak back before anyone saw me.
No such luck.
He was already there. Shirtless.
I froze in the doorway, heart stalling.
His body was carved like a statue—lean muscles, a dusting of ink over his ribs, and a V-line that made me want to look away and stare at the same time.
"Lost, stepsister?" he asked without looking up from his mug.
My jaw locked. "This is the kitchen. I think I'm in the right place."
"You don't belong in this house." His voice was calm. Too calm. Like it wasn't meant to hurt, but it did anyway.
"You're not in charge of who belongs here."
He finally turned to face me, those piercing blue eyes burning right through my hoodie. "I'm not? That's funny. Because everyone here listens to me—including your mother's new husband."
I stared at him. "Why do you hate me?"
He leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world.
"I don't hate you," he said coolly. "I just don't trust you."
"Because I'm poor?"
"Because you're pretty."
My stomach flipped.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
He smirked.
"You're eighteen. You've got no clue what men think when they see a girl like you in their house. And my father? He's not exactly a saint. You might want to watch your back."
"I can handle myself," I snapped.
He took a slow step forward. Then another. Until we were only inches apart.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
"Then handle this," he whispered. "Stay out of my way. And if you ever come into the kitchen looking like that again…"
His voice dropped to a growl.
"I won't be responsible for what I do."
I barely made it back to my room before slamming the door shut.
My heart was thundering.
My skin was burning.
What the hell was wrong with me?
He was my stepbrother. Arrogant. Cold. Rude as hell.
And yet… the way he looked at me… like he wanted to ruin me.
It made my knees weak.
And worse—I didn't hate it.