Page 18 of Jealous Stepbrother (Jealous & Possessive #4)

YESTERDAY. TODAY. FOREVER

Scarlett

B reakfast is a firing squad disguised as a family meal.

The dining room is drenched in Montauk sunshine, the ocean stretching beyond the windows like a sparkling jewel, but the air at the table is heavy. The smell of coffee and toast does nothing for my stomach.

Tension emanates from my stepdad and Asher, a silent current crackling across the table, and I die inside wondering if they heard us last night.

If my mother suspects.

She’s back to her chirpy self, spreading jam on croissants and asking about Manhattan as if last night’s nerves never happened. I answer her, keeping my voice light, clinging to her small talk like a lifeline.

Victor doesn’t let it last.

“So,” he says, folding his paper with the kind of precision that makes me sit up straighter. His eyes pin me in place. “This internship. How long is it for?”

Heat crawls up my neck. I cut my croissant in half, pretending I need the distraction. “All summer.”

Victor’s gaze slides to him. “I hope you’re not letting your stepbrother keep you up all night with his demands. He can be a hard taskmaster when there’s no one around to check him.”

I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

A low sound comes from Asher’s side of the table, something between a laugh and a scoff. “Don’t worry, Dad. Scarlett knows how to handle me.” He bites into a croissant with relish and I want to die.

Victor’s brow lifts, knife poised over his butter plate. “Does she now? That makes one of us.” His voice is mild but sharp enough to cut.

The line lands like a dart, sharp enough that I nearly choke on my coffee. “Can you stop talking about me like I’m not sitting right here, please?”

Victor grimaces. “Sorry, sweetheart. But as you can imagine, being in the dark has thrown your mother and me for a loop. That incident in the park?—”

“Was nothing. Please, let’s move on,” I say forcibly.

Mom clears her throat, trying to redirect. “And where are you staying now, honey? You said you’d moved but you never said?—”

Asher answers before I can. Again. Of course he ignores the glare I shoot him. “I’ve already found her a place. In my building.”

Annette blinks, a flicker of hurt crossing her face before she smooths it away.

“Oh. Well…it would’ve been good to know but…

thank you, Asher. I never liked her old neighborhood.

And I never understood why you wouldn’t stay in our apartment.

” She reaches over to squeeze my hand, relief softening her smile.

Victor isn’t softened. “That’s generous. Very generous.” His stare sharpens. “But I’d like to know exactly what her arrangement is.”

My knife scrapes too hard against the plate, and I almost drop it.

Asher leans back in his chair, tone calm but edged steel. “Her arrangement is none of your concern. You don’t need to worry about her.”

“I think I do,” Victor replies, voice low now, almost dangerous. “Maybe you and I need to talk.”

“Maybe. Later,” Asher says flatly, final.

The silence that follows is deafening.

I push my plate away, pulse hammering in my ears. “I’m going to the beach,” I blurt. “Need some air.”

Before anyone can respond or stall me, I hurry away.

Every step feels like proof of my own guilt.

Last night I didn’t just toe the line. I stepped over it, barefoot, trembling and screaming, into a place I shouldn’t have gone. The way he touched me, the way I let him.

If Mom ever knew, she’d look at me like I was someone she didn’t recognize, someone she couldn’t possibly still love.

The worst part? When I ask myself if I’d undo it, if I’d shove Asher back and slam the door in his face… I can’t find the heart to lie.

I wouldn’t.

I change into my black bikini, the one I keep swearing I’m going to get rid of because it’s too small in all the wrong places. My cover-up barely reaches my thighs. I tell myself it’s fine because it’s just family.

Except forbidden family is exactly what’s leaning against the patio door when I step outside, sunglasses pushed down just enough to reveal piercing, heated eyes.

“Want some company, princess?” Asher asks.

I keep moving, brushing past him toward the path that winds down to the sand. “No, thank you.”

He follows anyway, his steps matching mine, close enough that I can feel the shadow of his body heat.

“I brought sunscreen,” he murmurs, “and something to drink.” He holds up the cooler. “Would be a shame if you burned. Then again…” His gaze sweeps over me slowly, deliberately. “Pink looks good on you.”

My skin feels too tight. “Don’t you have work to do?” I mutter. “Or someone else to bother?”

He smirks. “Watching you counts as work.”

On the sand, I stretch out on a towel, trying to pretend I can’t feel his eyes on every inch of exposed skin.

The sun’s hot, but it’s nothing compared to the slow burn of him sitting just far enough away to look innocent, but close enough that I can’t forget last night. How I rode his cock while calling him names that society would deeply frown on.

“Bikini like that, princess,” he drawls, low and lazy, “you’re asking for trouble. Your ass is practically begging to sit on my face.”

Heat flashes through me.

I grab my water bottle, gulping like it’ll cool me down, but it doesn’t touch the fire prickling under my skin.

“Easy,” he murmurs, watching my throat work. “Sip. Don’t gulp. Or I’ll start thinking about what else that pretty mouth should be doing.”

I choke, water catching in my chest, and his chuckle is shameless. My face burns as I roll to my stomach, desperate to hide, but he leans closer, voice dropping like a dark promise, exhaling like he’s fighting something brutal. “You’re an asshole,” I hiss.

“Never said otherwise, baby. And you keep wiggling your hips like that, I’ll pin you to this towel and fuck you so hard the ocean forgets its own rhythm.”

My fingers curl in the fabric, torn between fury and something far more dangerous. I’m opening my mouth to tell him off—loudly—when my phone buzzes beside me.

Mom: Heading into town, come with me?

Relief floods through me. I bolt upright. “I have to go. Mom wants me to go shopping with her.”

I don’t wait for his reaction, just snatch up my cover-up and flee back inside, pulse jackhammering.

Behind me, I hear the dark curve of his satisfaction when he says, “Run, princess. It’ll make catching you all the sweeter.”

Asher

The house is too damn quiet without Scarlett’s laugh or Annette’s chatter in the background.

Dad cornered me two hours after the girls left, when a long walk on the beach and a swim in the pool did fuck all to alleviate the hell of missing Scarlett.

Now I sit across his desk in his study, the clink of ice in his glass, and that razor-sharp stare he hides behind fatherly civility.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he says finally, voice low. “Scarlett. You. It’s not all brotherly concern and goodness-of-your-heart charity, is it?”

I don’t blink. I don’t waste my breath asking what the fuck he’s on about. “You sure you want to know, Dad?”

His knuckles tighten around the glass. “I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean, son.”

“Ask me then,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “If you dare.”

Something shifts in his face, rage and dread colliding. He pales, then drags a hand down his jaw like he’s trying to hold his composure together.

“Not even you would…” He cuts himself off, pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he laughs, sharp and bitter. “But then you would, wouldn’t you? What is this, some sort of spite?”

I lean back against the expensive leather, watching him unravel. “Spite? You think this is about you?”

“I’ve never understood what pissed you off so much when I met Annette,” he mutters, pacing. “I thought it was because you didn’t want me to remarry after divorcing your mom. But it’s not that, is it, son?”

I don’t answer. Just fold my arms tighter, wait him out. Let him stare me down, because I won’t flinch.

If he asks, I won’t deny it. I won’t deny her.

But he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want the words spoken aloud. Maybe he, like everyone else, needs a minute to absorb reality.

Truth is, I’ve been irrationally furious at him ever since that night he first introduced them, angry he met Annette first, angry he saw Scarlett first. Angry he pretended he could fold them neatly into our family dynamic and not expect me to come undone.

Until after years of torture, I finally said fuck it. Took what I wanted.

So I give him that minute. Out of respect. Maybe out of a little spite. Out of love twisted sideways.

Then he looks at me again with dark eyes, his shoulders stiff, and what he says barks laughter right out of me. “Do you hate me that much, son?”

No, I don’t hate you.

I love her that much.

The revelation isn’t even earth-shattering. It’s like I’ve known it deep in my bones since that first time I opened my front door and got hit with the phenomenon of the most beautiful girl in existence.

I love her.

I love the fuck out of Scarlett Rockwell.

Acceptance rolls through me like the headiest morphine, settling inside me with soul-deep calm.

But to my father, I say, “Not everything’s about you, Pops.”

He studies me, glass in hand, weighing his next move like he’s negotiating a merger. “It’s a summer thing,” he mutters finally. “It’ll blow over. I’m not going to worry Annette with it.”

I shrug, let my smirk do the work. “Guess we’ll see.”

His jaw ticks. He leans forward, eyes sharp.

But I cut him off before he speaks. “What are you really worried about, Dad? That your precious board will throw you out because of what your deviant son is up to? Or is it more what the country club crew will think?”

“Neither.” His voice is quiet, measured, but it lands like a hammer. “It’s what this will do to Annette. To Scarlett. If this is some…phase you’re exploring.”

Fury rips through me, hot and blinding, but I keep it in check. Barely. “I’m thirty-three fucking years old, Dad. I stopped having phases a very long time ago.”

He looks a little startled by my raw vehemence and he eats whatever response he’s contemplating.

Good. Because if I let it loose, I’d tell him exactly how far past “exploring” we are. That Scarlett’s already mine in every way that counts.

The front door opens and I hear laughter and the crinkle of shopping bags.

We both rise, head out to meet our women.

Annette and Scarlett enter the living room, breaking the tension but not dispersing it.

I move past Dad, catching Scarlett by the wrist. “Did you have a good time?” I ask, pulling her back against me, my arm curling around her shoulders like a brand.

Her soft gasp skates over my chest, but I don’t look at her as Annette answers for them both, her obvious joy in spending time with her daughter evident in her face.

And while his wife’s talking, I pin my father with a stare that says everything I won’t voice aloud.

One arm full of her. My gaze full of him.

She’s mine, old man. Yesterday. Today. Forever.