Page 33 of Heartless Stepbrother

“Don’t worry, Luna.” I leaned in closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating off me. “I won’t tell him. Besides…” I dropped my voice, conspiratorial, a whisper wrapped in shadows. “I like sharing this little secret with you. It’s so much more interesting that way, don’t you think?”

Her breath hitched, a soft, almost involuntary sound that struck a chord deep inside me. The idea of sharing a secret with her, of binding her to me in this tangled web, was intoxicating. Dangerous. Terrifying. And thrilling beyond measure.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she accused, voice rough with bitterness, the hurt barely concealed beneath her fury.

I grinned, teeth flashing white against my sun-kissed skin. “Immensely,” I admitted, voice low and rich. “You’re far more entertaining than I expected.”

I pushed myself up from the chair, the movement deliberate, dominant. The festivities seemed to shrink, the noise fading, leaving just us and the electric charge sparking between. I towered over her for a moment, feeling the power in that height difference, the control I wielded so effortlessly.

Then I extended my hand, strong, tanned, with long, lean fingers that had been equally capable of mischief and something far darker. The same hand that had casually pulled up my pants on the beach, the same hand she would try desperately not to think about when it casually touched her.

“Come on, stepsis. Time to celebrate. And for you to meet your new dad.”

Her eyes locked on my outstretched hand. For a split second, I thought she might take it. But then she shook her head, voice cold, clipped.

“I can walk myself,” she said, pushing herself up with sharp determination, ignoring my hand completely.

I chuckled, low and amused, dropping my hand without a hint of disappointment. I didn’t need her to accept the gesture. The power was in the rejection.

“Feisty. I like that,” I said, watching her every move with calculated interest. “This is going to be very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

As she walked away, the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. It thickened, settled like smoke curling around my skin. I could still see the fire in her eyes, the mix of anger and something I recognized, a reluctant fascination.

That look told me everything I needed to know.

And I planned to savor every moment.

Laughter tangled with the hush of the waves, as we caught up to the crowd. I followed at a deliberate pace, close enough to feel Luna’s unease ripple through the humid air. She walked a few steps ahead, her dress brushing against her legs, her spine too straight, as if she thought posture could protect her.

It couldn’t.

She didn’t understand yet that I’d already marked her, not with hands or words, but with intent. Every flicker of her discomfort fed me, every glance she refused to give was its own confession. The guests could chatter and celebrate all they wanted; none of it mattered. The only thing that did was the quiet between us, stretched tight as a wire. And in that silence, she was mine to unmake.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Soon, she would learn what it meant to step into a world that wasn’t meant for her. To take what didn’t belong, to smile in places she should have feared. And I’d be the one to remind her where she stood. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until she broke the way I needed her to.

My father thought this was a fresh start. A blending of families. A happy ending.

But he had no idea the war I was starting here.

I fell into step beside her as we merged into the steady flow of guests moving toward the reception area.

Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. Her breaths came a little too fast, too shallow, like she was struggling not to break under the weight of everything that had just happened. And me.

Because she wasn’t just ignoring me. She was pretending I didn’t exist.

That, more than anything, was the sweetest kind of denial.

I could feel the tension radiating off her in waves, a delicious, humming energy that made the small hairs on my arms rise.It was the kind of electricity that sparked right before a storm, when the air feels charged and full of promise and danger.

She was trying so hard to pretend I wasn’t there. To erase the fact that I was now woven into every fiber of her life. But I knew better.

I was already under her skin.

It didn’t take long to see it, those brief flickers in her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking, the way her jaw tightened when my gaze lingered a little too long, the subtle hitch in her breath that betrayed her carefully crafted facade.

The little Australian princess, bright, fierce, completely out of her depth, and utterly mine to unravel.