Page 37 of Heartless Stepbrother

He was looking straight ahead.

Calm. Unhurried. His hands were empty. He held no phone. He had made no movement that could explain the timing of the message.

But just because it was not him did not make me safer.

If anything, the danger doubled, circling me like wolves closing in from opposing sides.

Too late now.

The message repeated in my mind with every step, each word heavier than the last.

I fumbled to lock the screen, my fingers jerking clumsily. Anxiety poured from me in ripples I could not stop, the kind that weakened the knees and blurred the edges of reality.

And because fate was cruel, because Riley was built to notice the smallest tremor, he sensed it immediately.

He did not turn his head, but his voice flowed toward me, soft and cutting, sliding beneath the rustle of leaves.

“What was that, princess?”

The question slithered into me.

“You look like a child with her hand in the cookie jar. Guilty of something, are you?”

He still had not looked at me, yet the smirk in his tone was unmistakable. He could taste my fear. He could smell the shift in me, the panic that had slammed into my ribcage and hollowed me out. He did not need to know what the message said. He only needed to see my reaction. He only needed to find the bruise to press on it.

Something cold and furious rose in me.

It was small, but it was enough to pull my spine straight and steady my breath for a single, precious heartbeat. I forced my features into a mask. Blank. Bored. Untouched.

“Just a spam text about a credit card charge,” I said, keeping my voice as airy and careless as I could manage. “Even here, people want your money.”

Finally, Riley turned his head.

Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes found mine, dark and sharp, searching for the fracture in my lie. I braced myself, waiting for him to expose it.

But a faint gleam flickered in his gaze. Approval. Enjoyment. Something dangerous that recognized my attempt to protect myself and rewarded it with twisted praise.

“That is right,” he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear. “Pretend nothing is wrong. Good girl. You are learning.”

The words struck me like an open palm.

Heat flared behind my eyes.

But his taunt bought me a few seconds of silence. It bought me breath.

The cost, however, was steep.

Because now I hated him more fiercely than I had hated anything in my life. And that hatred became the only shield I had left, the only barrier between me and the two shadows closing in around me.

Riley’s cruelty on one side.

The anonymous watcher on the other.

And I stood between them, powerless, trembling, and walking straight into the reception as if nothing in my world were burning.

The path spilled us out with sudden, theatrical force, as if we had crossed an unseen barrier and stepped straight into another world. The jungle of hibiscus and palm trees fell away behind us, giving birth to a reception so extravagant it stole the breath from my lungs.

White linen draped every table like waterfalls captured mid cascade. Hundreds of tiny golden lights hung in swooping lines overhead, shimmering like constellations caught in nets. Orchids dripped from tall glass vases, their pale petals glowing as if lit from within. Every breeze carried their perfume, mingled with the faint, decadent aroma of champagne already uncorked.