Page 65 of Heartless Stepbrother

So I swallowed the fruit, swallowed the panic, and forced my smile to stay intact.

Even as every part of me whispered that I was sitting in paradise with a noose tightening around my throat.

“Now, about today,” my mother said, her eyes sparkling with a joy so bright it stole my breath. “Marcus has been such a romantic. He’s completely surprised me. We were meant to fly back with you, but he arranged a detour. A surprise honeymoon.”

My hand slipped, betraying me, landing on the table with a soft, accusing thud. My teacup made the smallest sound against its saucer, barely a whisper, but in my head it was a shattering. A warning bell. A summons to panic.

My heartbeat, which had just begun to slow, surged violently again, thudding against my ribs like something desperate and trapped.

I managed a smile that felt like holding the edges of a mask that was seconds from crumbling. “Oh. Wow. That’s… wonderful, Mom. Where are you going?”

“It’s a secret, of course.” She laughed softly, delighted, unaware she was severing the last thread tying me to safety. “All I know is that we’re leaving straight from the Kaua’i airport. And here’s the best part. It’s for two whole weeks.”

Two weeks.

The words hit me like a physical impact. The room, bright and serene and curated for dreamers, began to tilt. The shimmering ocean outside blurred at the edges, its gentle crash morphing into something mocking and cruel.

Two weeks.

Two weeks without her.

Two weeks alone with him.

That must have been why she said he would show me everything in Palo Alto.

I felt the truth coil cold and living inside my chest.

I had built my entire plan, my sanity, around the certainty of her presence the moment we landed. I pictured her beside me in Marcus’s sprawling house, filling its echoing spaces with warmth, acting as a buffer between me and Riley’s dark, simmering attention. But she wouldn’t be there. She would be in some secret paradise with Marcus, blissfully unaware.

And I would be trapped in that house.

His house, essentially.

His territory.

His rules.

The thought flooded me with ice. The long flight back suddenly became a metal coffin in the sky, hours of confinement with him. Hours of seeing that slow, knowing smile. Hours where he would sense my panic and feed on it.

I forced myself to breathe evenly. To hold the mask. I had spent years perfecting this face, the polite, capable daughter who never broke, never cracked, never caused a ripple in the fragile peace my mother built her life upon.

I could not destroy her joy.

Not on her wedding day.

Not on the morning she was glowing with the beginning of a dream she had waited years for.

“That’s… incredible, Mom,” I said, pushing the words out past the knot in my throat. My voice was steady. My hands didn’t shake. Only my heartbeat betrayed me, wild and pained. “You deserve it. So… Riley will be taking me back today?”

“Yes. Isn’t it perfect?” She reached across the table, squeezing my hand with gentle excitement. “He’s handling everything. Marcus organized the flights for you two and arranged a driver to meet you in San Jose. And Riley is already planning the next few days for you so you can get settled as soon as possible.”

Of course he had.

Of course he was already arranging the pieces.

That was what he did.

He planned. He maneuvered. He set traps with a smile that made everyone believe he was helping.