Caspian's POV
I threw my phone across the room and watched it shatter against the wall.
Three in the morning. I'd been staring at my laptop for five hours, reading the same contract over and over without understanding a single word.
Because every time I tried to focus, I saw her face.
Isla. Standing in my kitchen in tiny shorts and an oversized shirt, her auburn hair messy, her eyes flashing with anger. Isla, brave and defiant even when I was cruel. Isla, who'd shoved me with those small hands and sent fire racing through my entire body.
I'd felt her touch for hours afterward. Could still feel it now, burning on my skin like a brand.
This was insane. I was losing my mind.
I stood up and started pacing. My office was on the top floor of the penthouse, as far from the guest wing as possible. I'd chosen this location specifically—distance, separation, safety.
But it wasn't far enough.
I could feel her presence two floors below. Could imagine her sleeping in that guest room, her hair spread across the pillow, her body soft and warm under the covers—
Stop. Stop thinking about her like that.
She was my stepsister now. Off-limits. Forbidden. Wrong on every possible level.
I needed to get control of this situation. Of myself.
My door opened without warning.
Liam walked in, looking disgustingly cheerful for three in the morning. He took one look at my face and whistled.
"You look terrible. When's the last time you slept?"
"What are you doing here?" I demanded.
"Your security let me up. I told them it was an emergency." He dropped into my chair, spinning it lazily. "And judging by your expression, I was right. Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Want to talk about her?"
My hands clenched into fists. "Get out."
"Can't. I'm your best friend, which means I'm legally required to stop you from doing stupid things." He leaned forward. "Like declaring war on your new stepsister because you're too scared to admit you want her."
"I don't—"
"Please. I saw you at the reception. You watched her like a hawk. Every time a man talked to her, you looked ready to commit murder. When that waiter smiled at her, I thought you'd actually explode."
I had noticed that waiter. Young, good-looking, the kind of guy who probably made women laugh. He'd brought Isla champagne and said something that made her smile, and I'd wanted to break his fingers.
"She's family now," I said through clenched teeth. "I'm protective of family."
"You hate your cousin Marcus and you've never thrown a punch for him." Liam stood up, crossing his arms. "This isn't about family. This is about you being attracted to someone for the first time in six years and freaking out because the timing is terrible."
He was right. I hated that he was right.
"It doesn't matter what I feel," I said. "She lives here now. She's Dad's stepdaughter. Getting involved with her would be—"
"Not technically illegal since you're not related."
"It would destroy my father's marriage. Would cause a scandal. Would hurt everyone involved."
"Or," Liam said quietly, "it would make you happy. Which you haven't been since your mom died."
The words hit harder than they should have. I turned away, looking out the window at the Manhattan skyline.
Mom had been dead for six years. Six years of burying myself in work, avoiding relationships, keeping everyone at arm's length. Six years of being alone because it was easier than risking my heart.
And then Isla Monroe walked into my life and shattered every wall I'd built in thirty seconds flat.
"Go home, Liam."
"Fine. But answer me this—what are you more afraid of? That she's using you? Or that she's not?"
He left before I could respond.
I stood alone in my office, his question echoing in my mind.
What was I afraid of?
The truth was simple and terrifying: I was afraid that if I let myself want Isla, if I stopped fighting this pull, I'd lose control completely. I'd fall so hard there'd be no coming back.
And when she inevitably left—because everyone left, everyone died or disappeared or chose someone else—I'd be destroyed.
Better to hate her. Safer to push her away.
Even if it was killing me.
---
I avoided Isla for three days.
It should have been easy. The penthouse was huge. She stayed in the guest wing. I stayed in mine. We had completely different schedules.
Except I knew exactly where she was every moment.
I heard her alarm go off at seven. Heard the shower run. Heard her footsteps in the hallway as she left for work at some gallery downtown.
I listened for her return at six. Listened for her movements in the kitchen. Listened for her door to close at night.
I was pathetic.
On the fourth day, Dad called from Paris.
"How's Isla settling in?" he asked immediately.
"Fine." The lie tasted bitter.
"You're being nice to her, right? Victoria's worried. She says Isla seemed upset after the wedding."
Guilt twisted in my stomach. "I've barely seen her."
"Well, maybe make an effort? She's been through a lot. Her father's a bastard, her ex-fiancé humiliated her publicly, and now she's living with strangers. The least you could do is make her feel welcome."
Make her feel welcome. After I'd called her a gold-digger to her face.
"I'll try," I said.
After we hung up, I sat in my office and stared at nothing.
I should apologize. Should at least be civil. Dad was right—Isla had been through hell, and I'd added to her pain for no reason except my own fear.
I checked my watch. Six-thirty. She'd be home soon.
I could wait in the kitchen. Casual. Apologize quickly, then leave. Easy.
Except when I got to the kitchen, she was already there.
And she wasn't alone.
A man stood next to her. Tall, blonde, expensive suit. He had his hand on her arm, standing too close, smiling down at her.
Something dark and violent rose in my chest.
"—just have dinner with me," the man was saying. "One dinner, Isla. That's all I'm asking."
"Derek, I already told you no." Her voice was tight, stressed. "I don't know how you got in here, but you need to leave."
Derek. Her ex-fiancé. The bastard who'd humiliated her at their engagement party.
My vision went red.
I crossed the kitchen in three strides and grabbed Derek by the collar, slamming him against the refrigerator.
"She said leave," I growled. "So leave. Now. Before I throw you off the balcony."
Derek's eyes went wide. "Who the hell are you?"
"Caspian Steele. Owner of this penthouse. And the man who's about to break every bone in your body if you don't get your hands off her."
"Caspian—" Isla started.
"Did he hurt you?" I didn't look at her, kept my eyes locked on Derek's face. "Did he touch you?"
"No, I just—he showed up and—"
I tightened my grip on Derek's collar. "You have five seconds to explain why you're in my home harassing my—" I stopped. What was she? Stepsister? Guest? The woman I couldn't stop thinking about?
"Your what?" Derek sneered. "Your stepsister? That's sick, Steele. Everyone knows you Manhattanites are twisted, but—"
I punched him.
My fist connected with his jaw, and Derek dropped like a stone. He scrambled backward, blood trickling from his mouth.
"You're insane!"
"Get out before I do worse." My voice didn't sound like mine. It sounded cold, deadly, completely out of control.
Derek stumbled to his feet and ran.
The front door slammed. Silence filled the kitchen.
I turned slowly to face Isla.
She stood frozen, eyes wide, breathing hard. She looked terrified.
Of Derek? Or of me?
"Did he hurt you?" I asked again, forcing my voice to be gentle even though violence still sang in my veins.
"No. He just—he wouldn't leave. I kept telling him to go, but he wouldn't listen." Her voice shook. "How did you—were you here the whole time?"
"I came to—" What? Apologize? Check on her? Admit I couldn't stop thinking about her? "I heard voices."
"You hit him."
"He deserved it."
"You barely know me. You hate me. Why would you—"
"I don't hate you." The words came out before I could stop them.
Isla's eyes widened further. "You called me a gold-digger. You told me to stay out of your way."
"I know."
"You've been cruel to me since the moment we met."
"I know." I stepped closer, drawn to her like gravity. "I'm sorry. For all of it. You didn't deserve any of that."
She blinked, clearly shocked. "Why were you so mean, then?"
Because I wanted you. Because you terrified me. Because the moment I saw you, I knew you could destroy me.
"Because I'm an idiot," I said instead.
A laugh burst out of her—sharp, surprised. "That's the first true thing you've said to me."
We stood there, just looking at each other. The anger between us had shifted into something else. Something more dangerous.
"Thank you," Isla said quietly. "For making Derek leave. I've been getting his texts for days, but I didn't think he'd actually show up here."
Rage flooded through me again. "He's been texting you?"
"I blocked him. But he keeps using new numbers."
"Give me your phone."
"What?"
"Your phone. Give it to me."
She hesitated, then handed it over. I pulled out my own phone and made a call.
"Marcus? It's Caspian. I need you to handle something."
My cousin was a lawyer—ruthless and expensive. Within two minutes, I'd given him Derek's information and instructions to file a restraining order.
When I hung up, Isla was staring at me like I'd grown a second head.
"You didn't have to do that," she whispered.
"Yes, I did." I handed her phone back, careful not to touch her fingers. "He won't bother you again."
"Why are you being nice now? I don't understand you."
Neither did I.
I should walk away. Should leave before I did something stupid like pull her into my arms and never let go.
But my feet wouldn't move.
"Caspian?" Her voice was soft, confused. "What's going on?"
"I—"
My phone rang, destroying the moment. I glanced at the screen and cursed.
Unknown number.
I answered. "What?"
"Is this Caspian Steele?" A woman's voice, young and sweet.
"Who is this?"
"Natasha Monroe. Isla's sister." She laughed softly. "I think we should meet. There are some things you should know about my dear sister before you get too... close."
I looked at Isla, who'd gone pale. She'd heard the name.
"I'm not interested in anything you have to say," I told Natasha.
"Oh, but you will be. Especially when I tell you the real reason Derek left Isla. And what she's really after in your family." Another laugh. "Call me back when you're ready for the truth. I'd hate for you to get played the way Derek did."
She hung up.
Isla's face had gone white as paper. "What did she say?"
"Nothing important."
"Don't lie. I heard her name. What did Natasha tell you?"
I looked at the woman in front of me—brave, broken, beautiful. The woman who'd been betrayed by everyone she loved
.
The woman I was supposed to hate but couldn't.
"Nothing," I repeated. "She said nothing that matters."
Because whatever poison Natasha wanted to feed me, I didn't care.
I knew the truth when I looked in Isla's eyes.
The question was: what was I going to do about it?