Page 10 of Heartless Stepbrother

And yet…

I kept walking.

Kept holding on to her warmth beside me.

Because this was a night carved out for peace. For surrender. The real battles like new schools and a new family would come soon enough.

But tonight?

Tonight I had my mother. Her laughter. Her light.

And that would have to be enough.

The sadness lingered, quiet and ever-present, like a shadow at the edge of every thought. But it wasn’t alone anymore. It was accompanied now by something else, small, fragile, but alive.

Anticipation.

Hope, maybe.

I was scared. Yes.

I was still grieving the life I’d left behind.

But I was also Luna Carter.

And I’d survived worse things than this.

Whatever came next, I would face it.

Even them.

CHAPTER FOUR

LUNA

Dinnerhadbeendeceptivelyperfect. A silken, glittering illusion wrapped in laughter and motherly warmth. We’d lingered long past sunset, our meal unfolding on a terrace carved into the cliffs, the sky above melting into a thousand shades of bruised mauve. Salt kissed the breeze, mingling with the scent of charred citrus and freshly grilled opakapaka. Mymother had spoken in bursts of giddy enthusiasm, every word a ribbon spun from dreams and promises.

I had smiled. I had laughed. I had pretended the weight in my chest wasn’t growing heavier by the minute.

By the time the stars began to blink into being I felt hollowed out. Not from the flight, not even from the heat that clung to my skin like a second soul. No, it was something else entirely. A slow, quiet unraveling. The ache of transition. Of goodbyes not fully grieved and tomorrows that loomed sharp and unforgiving.

“I think I’m going to turn in,” I said softly, pushing back from the table, my voice thin and crumbling around the edges. “The flight… it really got to me.”

My mother’s gaze softened, and in it, I saw a flicker of guilt. Of apology. Of things left unsaid between us.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, her hand wrapping around mine with a familiar firmness. “Sleep well. Tomorrow’s a new start.”

I escaped before I could crumble.

Back in the suite, a palace of subtle luxury and artful shadows, I moved like a ghost. Stripping out of my clothes felt like shedding armor. In the en-suite, the shower hissed to life, its rainfall stream cascading over me like a baptism I didn’t believe in. Steam filled the room, thick and fragrant with jasmine and something sharper. I stood there until my fingertips wrinkled, until the heat loosened the knot coiled deep in my spine.

Still, the tension didn’t leave.

Wrapped in a towel, I padded barefoot across polished teak floors, the grain cool and smooth beneath my soles. The suite was too quiet. Too perfect. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the inky black sea, moonlight glittering across the waves like scattered diamonds. Somewhere out there, the world went on, waves breaking, stars dying, people loving, hating, surviving.

I couldn’t feel any of it.

I pulled on soft cotton shorts and a threadbare T-shirt that smelled faintly of home, clean laundry, eucalyptus, and something almost forgotten. My body sank into the vast king-sized bed, swallowed by white linen and feathered luxury. It should’ve been heaven. Instead, it felt like a coffin, wide, cold, too silent.