Page 7 of Heartless Stepbrother

We arrived just as the morning settled into itself, the sun already high enough to turn the clouds to white fire and the sea to liquid glass.

The resort rose up before us like something out of a fever dream.

Not just a hotel, but a world unto itself. A cluster of open-air buildings carved from wood and stone, all fluid lines and soft lights. Unlit tiki torches lined winding pathways of crushed coral and lava rock. Waterfalls tumbled between staggered terraces, and bridges arched over koi ponds so clear you could see every ripple in the water.

Every inch of it whispered wealth.

The kind of place designed for people with lives curated like magazine spreads.

I followed Mum through the hushed elegance of the lobby, past a fountain shaped like a lotus, past staff who greeted her by name.

My room was at the far end of a private wing, tucked behind heavy wooden doors carved with native patterns. Inside, it was…

Breathtaking.

Polished hardwood floors gleamed under my feet, leading to a bed draped in white linen that looked too perfect to touch. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a private lanai, and just beyond it, framed perfectly by swaying palms, was the ocean.

Vast. Infinite. Alive.

“Wow…” I whispered, stepping out onto the lanai, the warm sea breeze threading through my hair like a sigh.

The view that met me was almosttooperfect, like something fabricated for a honeymoon brochure or a billionaire’s Instagram feed. Towering palms framed an endless sweep of ocean, its glassy blue surface kissed by the sun. The horizon shimmered, bleeding into sky and cloud and something far beyond words. The sound of the waves drifted upward like a lullaby, low, rhythmic and hypnotic.

And for a moment, I could almost forget.

Forget the ache I’d packed into my suitcase.

Forget that in less than twenty-four hours, I’d meet the strangers who were now my stepfamily.

Marcus and Riley Maddox.

But the ocean couldn’t drown the thought of them.

And it couldn’t drown the sound that shattered the moment. One sharp, intrusive ping that sliced through the salt-heavy air.

My hand moved before my mind did, reaching for the phone buried in my bag. The screen lit up against the sunlight, cold and pale. A new message. No name. Just words that burned themselves into me, simple and merciless.

You don’t have much time left.

The world seemed to still around me. The sound of the waves faded, replaced by the low hum of blood in my ears. The breeze lifted my hair, tangling it across my face. I forced a breath through my lungs, shaking my head as if the motion alone could scatter the chill crawling down my spine.

It was just another message.

A stranger hiding behind a screen, feeding off fear.

I told myself that. Over and over.

I locked the phone, slipped it back into my bag, and lifted my chin toward the horizon. The sun was still shining. The world was still turning. I wouldn’t give power to a ghost made of words.

I gripped the wooden railing, fingers tightening until the wood bit into my palms. Beauty could be cruel sometimes. This kind of beauty, especially. The kind that reminded you just how far away you were from the world you used to call home.

Behind me, soft footsteps.

Then arms. Familiar. Warm. Mum’s. She wrapped herself around my waist and leaned her chin gently against my shoulder.

“Marcus really outdid himself, didn’t he?” she murmured. Her voice was soft silk, threaded with awe and something deeper. Contentment. The kind of quiet, earned joy I hadn’t heard from her in years.

“It’s unreal,” I said, breathless. But what I didn’t say, what hovered just behind the words, was that it felt like I was trespassing in someone else’s life.