Page 39 of Heartless Stepbrother

“You truly believe you can avoid me tonight?” His words curled with an arrogant intimacy. “Look around. We are at the head table. Assigned together. Side by side. I am your seatmate. Your buffer. Your reminder. Your guard for the entire night.”

The implication struck me like a cold gust.

Hours.

Hours next to him, under the string lights, pretending to be the perfect daughter while the boy who tormented me sat close enough to feel my breath.

The evening stretched before me like a sentence.

A bitter taste coated my tongue.

“I would rather sit with the caterers,” I said, my voice quiet venom.

His smile sharpened into something predatory and triumphant.

“Too bad,” he murmured. “There is no other place you can run to. Not from me.”

The words struck with precision.

I opened my mouth, ready to lash out, ready to tell him exactly what I thought of his threats.

But a familiar voice drifted toward us, warm and unguarded, and my heart lurched with relief at the interruption.

My mother appeared first, her smile glowing through the warm light like a beacon that had found its harbor at last. She had changed out of the gown she wore during the ceremony, slipping into something softer, something she could breathe in. A pale champagne dress that swayed like silk poured from a glass. It made her look ethereal. It made her look cherished.

Her hand rested on the arm of the man beside her. Not clinging. Not grasping. Simply settled there, as if that space had been carved for her alone.

Marcus.

He was tall. Broad in a way that was not bulky, but refined. The charcoal fabric of his suit hugged his frame with such clean precision it almost seemed like the threads themselves respected him. His hair was thick and ink dark, streaked with silver that caught the lights like a secret burnished crown. At his temples, the silver was more pronounced, giving him a deliberate, distinguished air. He had the look of a man accustomed to private jets, but who would still take the helm of his own yacht simply because he preferred steering things himself.

Everything about him exuded quiet, effortless authority. The kind of power that whispered instead of shouted. The kind of presence that could steady entire rooms by entering them.

His gaze, sharp and clear hazel, swept over me with a faint but unmistakable appraisal. Not predatory. Not indulgent. Simply observant. Intelligent. Measuring.

I felt exposed under that look, the way a diamond might feel beneath the eyes of a jeweler, its flaws revealed with merciless clarity.

He seemed kind. He seemed strong. He seemed like a new beginning wrapped in the shape of a husband.

He was everything my mother deserved.

He was everything I wanted for her.

Marcus extended a hand toward me. His palm engulfed mine in a warm, steady clasp. Not crushing. Not overfamiliar. Adult to adult. Equal to equal.

“Luna,” he said, his voice smooth and deep, the kind of voice one wanted to trust. “I am truly honored to meet you. Your mother speaks of you constantly. You look absolutely beautiful.”

His words wrapped around me like silk, pulling me into a fragile, temporary sense of safety.

“Thank you,” I whispered. The steadiness in his gaze forced me to hold my mask in place, to present myself as the poised stepdaughter. He radiated calm so profoundly it almost became contagious.

“Mr. and Mrs. Maddox, Miss Luna, Mr. Riley,” an unfamiliar voice interrupted us.

The wedding planner appeared again, gliding toward us with her clipboard clutched to her chest like a polished shield. She moved with such efficient, predatory grace that I thought of her as a shark in nude heels, slicing through clusters of laughing guests without ever disturbing a single champagne bubble. Her smile was polite, practiced, and absolute, and when she lifted her perfectly manicured hand, people obeyed.

Including us.

She guided us toward the long, rectangular family table that dominated the center of the reception. It stretched beneath an archway of palm fronds that swayed lazily in the warm island breeze. Strings of tiny lights wrapped around each frond and dripped overhead, shimmering like a net made of stars. The glow kissed everything it touched. It softened harsh lines, smoothed worries, and made every guest appear unreal and golden.