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Stepping out of the car, I tilt my head back, straining my neck to take in the towering skyscraper looming in front of me. My eyes trace its sharp lines, disappearing into the night sky as delicate flakes of snow kiss my freshly made-up face.

I close my eyes for a moment, drawing in a long, cold breath. When I finally look ahead, the entrance glows—a grand arch of twinkling Christmas lights drapes over the double doors like a false hope of warmth inside. Boston on Christmas Eve, another family get together. We do this every year, sometimes at the Lakehouse cabin or a different location. This time, my stepmom chose this place, no doubt with my dad’s wallet to back it.

For the past few years, this season has felt like the tightening of a noose around my neck, each year a reminder that I might have to face him again. My stepbrother. Rook. My pulse quickens at the thought of his voice—menacing, careless, capable of ripping me apart in a matter of seconds.

My Christmas’s have always belonged to him. From those perfect childhood memories, when he was both my protector and my tormentor, to that dark, forbidden Christmas two years ago. The night everything shattered. The night we broke everything we were.

Maybe he won’t be here this year—just like last year. Maybe he’ll remain a ghost, haunting me only in the shadows of my mind. We were torn apart after that night, ripped from the wreckage we’d made. My father took Rook away, banished him to somewhere I couldn’t follow, and since then, I haven’t seen him. Not once. I’ve not even had a text.

Still, I know he’s not dead. If he were, his mom would’ve killed my dad by now or at least tried to. Losing him felt like losing a vital organ—a part of me I can’t live without but somehow must. Those final words I hurled at him, sharp as daggers, still echo in my mind. I remember the hurt in his teary eyes, the way I broke something inside him. But I had no choice. I told myself it had to be this way. I still tell myself that. And yet, the wound of it hasn’t healed. I’m not sure it ever will.

With a sharp slam, I shut the car door behind me. My fingers shake as I smooth out the tight, glittering black dress that clings to my skin, the cold seeping through the fabric. I wrap my dark grey, cropped faux fur jacket closer, but it does little to guard me against the bite of the icy air. The snowfall thickens, each flake heavier than the last, and for a moment, I hesitate.

This Christmas feels… Different.

After bracing myself, I push past the dread coiling in my chest and force my feet to move toward the glowing doors, my heels crunching over the thick snow.

Once inside, I brush the snow from my shoulders and step into the quiet, lavishly decorated reception. It’s eerily empty, the festive garlands and twinkling lights doing little to mask the stillness that comes with Christmas Eve this late. I imagine most of the staff are home, huddled with their families, drinking hot cocoa. My heels click softly across the polished floor as I approach the elevator. Without hesitation, I press the button for the penthouse—the top floor, where my family waits.

As the elevator takes its time, I mentally rehearse the night’s plan: go in, smile, mingle for an hour or two, then leave. Head across the city to Blaise, the guy I’m dating. He’s working late, but I plan to meet him at his place for dinner. These nights are like rituals in my family—unavoidable, suffocating traditions. The older I get, the more I hate them, yet with a family like mine, refusing isn’t an option. The cost of saying no is always too high.

My dad rules Phantom Syndicate MC with an iron fist here in Boston, his name whispered in shadows like a curse. Ruthless, unruly, and utterly horrifying, he’s built his empire on blood and fear. But when it comes to family, his rules are carved in stone—hard and final. As the head of the most notorious motorcycle club in the state and having ties to the mafia, he’s a man no one dares to cross. And those poor, stupid souls who even think of stepping out of line? They don’t live to regret it.

A soft chime announces the arrival of the elevator, and as the doors glide open, I step inside, my stomach twisting with familiar anxiety. I press the button again, staring at my reflection in the mirror as the doors begin to close. My sleek, long black hair falls perfectly over my shoulders, and I smooth it down with my palm, making sure not even a strand is out of place.

Just as the door is about to seal shut, a hand shoots through the gap, fingers curling around the edge, stopping the cold metal in its tracks. My heart stutters, every beat uneven as I turn slowly. The elevator creaks open wider until I see him and my breath catches in my throat, my lungs forgetting how to function. My eyes immediately lock onto the matte black helmet covering his face. I know it’s him, even without seeing him. I can feel it in the way the air shifts; always dense and charged.

Fuck, he’s here.

It feels like it’s been an eternity since I last saw my big brother.

I notice the fresh ink—new tattoos, black art snaking up his neck like sharp whispers of his madness, a map of the insanity that runs through his veins. Even in this luxurious building, Rook doesn’t belong. He never does. Standing in the doorway, his aura carves a hole through the room, impossible to ignore. He doesn’t fit. Not in that black tank top, tight black jeans and his leather jacket hanging loose over his frame, looking like he’s just stepped out of hell and didn’t bother to change. He never gave a shit about blending in, never cared about impressing anyone. He wears what the fuck he wants, because he can.

I can feel him staring at me from behind his tinted visor for a second longer until he steps inside, and I quickly look away, my throat tightening as I swallow hard. I keep my gaze at the corner of my vision as he turns his back to me, and with the soft hiss of the doors closing, I let my eyes trail up his towering frame. Rook stands at 6'7", dwarfing my 5'4", and I’ve always hated how small I feel around him. But now, he seems so much taller.

I notice his posture is rigid, while he looks ahead, as if I’m not even here and the ignorance hits me in the chest, a sting I wasn’t really prepared for. A sharp, unexpected sorrow pierces through me, but I fight to keep it locked away. I want to say something, anything, but the silence between us is loud enough to fill the whole elevator. It’s clear now—he doesn’t want to talk to me. Not yet. Not ever, maybe.

The sister in me wants to reach out, ask how he’s been, maybe wrap my arms around him and pretend none of this ever happened. But the other part of me—the one responsible for breaking everything—reminds me to stay quiet, to just leave him alone. He doesn’t need me. It’s for the best.

After what feels like forever, the elevator finally stops and the door swipes open. In the distance, I hear Christmas music and people talking, but Rook doesn’t move. He stands like a fucking monster blocking my path. I wait, until finally, he walks forward, entering the annoying family gathering.

I let out a tense breath, needing a strong drink after this. I watch him until he disappears out of view, then I finally leave the elevator as well, straightening my shoulders as I stride toward the noise and music.

When I step into the lavish living room, decked in black, gold and red like some holiday postcard, my gaze drifts to the open kitchen on the right. That’s where everyone is, laughing too loud, sipping too much, the drinks flowing freely. I hesitate at the threshold, watching from the shadows as Rook makes his entrance.

He doesn’t need to say anything—just his presence shifts the entire vibe in the room. My dad gives him a nod, stiff and forced, barely masking the tension simmering beneath.

They’ve never gotten along. My dad raised Rook since he was twelve, but it’s always been a battlefield, not a bond. Rook’s real father was the head of the Sinister Stalkers MC, the same rival club my dad spent years trying to crush. When Rook’s dad died, instead of carrying on the club, his mom did the unthinkable—she married my dad, the enemy.

Do they love each other? In some twisted way, I think so. They’ve found something strong, maybe even genuine, amidst all the heartaches. She’s been good to me, but with Rook and my dad, it’s different. The past clings to them like smoke, choking out any chance of peace.

Rook has never wanted this life, never wanted the expectations my dad dumped on him. Taking a role in the club that tore his father's apart? It’s a betrayal he can’t stomach. I think he believes all the time he’s against the idea of being obedient to my dad, he isn’t deceiving his own, even from beyond the grave, which, strangely, I understand.

My dad, on the other hand, sees Rook as a liability—a loose end that needs tying. The air between them feels volatile, like a lit match too close to gasoline. I stay frozen at the edge of the room, watching, waiting, just like every other time I’ve been in the same space as them. It’s like a ticking time bomb. Even more so now and I feel uncomfortable.

Over the years, his mom has stopped my dad from killing him more times than I can count. And, just as often, she’s kept Rook from doing the same to my dad. Their hatred is repeated, a savage tug-of-war that never breaks but never ends. Rook was always unruly, brutal in his own right—a born leader who refused to bow to anyone, least of all my dad. He never saw him as a father, never even pretended. And that? That boldness was a constant source of chaos. Fights that shook the walls, words sharp enough to draw blood.

I know how hard my dad can be. I’ve been on the receiving end of his strict shit far too many times. For me, it’s simpler, but no less suffocating. I was supposed to be the perfect MC princess. Stay out of trouble. Look pretty. Keep myself intact, pure and untouched, until I’m handed off like a prize to a husband within the biker family. It doesn’t matter who, as long as they’re one of us.

I’ve seen what happens when someone challenges my father’s rules. The aftermath isn’t something you forget. So, I toe the line. Smile when I’m supposed to. Hide the cracks beneath the surface. Rook? He was never one to hide. And my dad doesn’t forgive rebellion. Not from anyone. Not even his own family.

That Christmas was proof of that. Rook… I… We crossed a line that almost got us both killed and tore this family apart. That night humiliated me. I couldn’t sleep for months after, couldn’t stop thinking about what we did, and I’m only just feeling like I’m starting to move on from it. But for the first time in two years, we’re only now allowed in the same breathing space as one another, and I can feel it all over me. It’s all crashing down around me with every inhale.

I wonder where he’s been or where my dad forced him to go. The question won’t leave me alone, gnawing at the edges of my mind, but deep down, I know it weren’t good. I want to ask him. God, I want to talk to him so badly. But I can’t. I shouldn’t. Things aren’t the same between us anymore.

He’s not my big brother.

He’s… something else.

Something forbidden.

Something I shouldn’t even be thinking about.

But it wasn’t just about me or what I felt. It was about Rook. Two years ago, he put me in an impossible position. He asked me to leave with him. To be with him. Not as his sister—as something more. I told him no, in a harsh way. Harsher than it should have been.

Words spilled from my lips like poison. Words I can never take back. Not because I didn’t want to leave with him. Deep down, I did. I wanted to leave this prison of a life behind, but I was just… so fucking confused. One minute he was my big brother, my entire world, but the next he was looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered, the only thing he could ever love, asking me to break every rule we’d ever lived by.

He thought it could work; thought we could just run and leave all of this behind. But I knew better. My dad would never let it slide. He’s far too powerful. He wouldn’t just send Rook away. He’d make sure Rook was gone—for good. Dead. He wouldn’t give a shit what his wife had to say. When my dad see’s red, it’s game over. Everything else comes after.

And I couldn’t let that happen.

If I said yes, I wouldn’t just lose Rook for a while. I’d lose him forever. I wouldn’t see him at Christmas or hear his voice again. So, I made the only choice I could. I shut him out. Cut him off. I fucking hurt him. I didn’t choose him.

I hope one day he can get past the damage and forgive me. I wish we could rewind and change everything that shattered us. I miss him so fucking much.

After some time of lingering at the archway, I force myself to move. The sharp click of my tall heels against the glittering black tiles cuts through the hum of conversation, drawing every eye.

Except his.

Rook is still facing away, one hand gripping the edge of the counter as he pulls off his helmet with the other. I catch the tousle of his dark brown hair beneath it, but I tear my gaze away, forcing myself to look at my dad who’s watching me closely, too closely. His stance is tense, his expression unreadable and cold, but I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

When I reach him, he stretches a big, tattooed arm out, tucking me against him in a way that feels more suffocatingly protective than affectionate as his lips press against my forehead.

“Merry Christmas, princess,” he murmurs low.

I force a tight smile, the words tasting strange on my tongue as I reply, “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

But I can’t stop myself, my attention moving back to Rook. He hasn’t turned, his broad back to me as he leans casually against the counter, talking quietly to our cousin, Jack. His voice rumbles, low and smooth, the kind that makes the room feel smaller, heavier. Then he moves, sweeping his tattooed fingers through his long, dark strands and the sight shouldn’t make my stomach flip, shouldn’t make my throat feel like it’s closing, but it does.

Get it together, I tell myself. I curl my fingers into fists at my sides, willing myself to calm down. But the harder I try to pull myself together, the more I realize I’m unraveling, piece by piece.

“No Blaise tonight?” my dad asks, his voice cutting through the room loud enough for everyone to hear.

My body tenses, stiffening like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. The mention of him makes me uneasy, but in front of Rook? That’s a whole other storm waiting to happen.

I don’t know if Rook knows about Blaise, but the way his head turns slightly at the name tells me he’s paying attention now. My stomach tightens, anxiety clawing at me. Rook’s never handled the idea of me being with someone else—he’s always been jealous, possessive, unhinged even, making people disappear or hurt. The thought of me being forced into something I don’t want, or worse, with someone who isn’t him, has always set him off in ways that makes him seem insane.

Blaise is from a smaller biker gang in the city, not even close to ours in power or reputation. But they’ve always been on good terms with my dad, and a couple of months ago, my dad decided it was time to start parading me around, setting me up with men who met his standards. Blaise stuck. Not because I wanted him to, but because it kept my dad off my back.

And now? Things are… comfortable. Not love. Not even close. But it’s something that’s manageable. Something that keeps my dad from pushing harder. Or so I thought.

I drop my eyes, my fingers twisting at the soft fur on my sleeve as I mumble, “No, he’s working late.”

The words feel heavy in my mouth, and I keep my gaze fixed on some meaningless point in the distance, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“That’s a shame, I would have liked to have seen my son in law on Christmas Eve.”

My eyes close, the unease creeping up my spine and when I open them again, I notice Rook’s jaw ticks, the muscle flexing in distain before he looks forward again. My dad’s already pushing stupid buttons, wanting a reaction. We’ve been here for two fucking minutes.

I inhale deeply and look up at my dad, offering a small, passive smile, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Daddy. We’re not married.”

My dad raises a brow, assessing my attitude carefully, but I don’t break eye contact, I stand my ground, making it known that this is my choice, it always will be, no matter how much he breathes down my fucking neck with his bullshit controlling ways.

“Yet,” he retorts firmly, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

Suddenly, Cindy steps into view, her smile warm but tinged with a nervous energy as she offers me a glass of champagne.

“It’s great to see you, Eb. Merry Christmas,” she says softly.

I force my gaze away from my dad’s, letting the tension between us dissolve just enough and as I take the glass from her, I manage another polite smile. “You too, Cindy.”

She pulls me into a tight hug, the kind that feels like she’s holding on for a moment too long, before guiding me toward the living room. We settle onto the sleek black couches, the hum of conversation in the kitchen fading into the background.

“I have something for you,” she says, reaching into her bag. Her hand trembles as she pulls out a black gift box, tied neatly with a silver ribbon.

My brows pinch together as I take it. She looks at me like she’s waiting for something—acceptance, approval, forgiveness. I can’t tell which.

I tug at the ribbon, letting it fall away before lifting the lid. Inside is a delicate silver necklace, the diamond pendant glinting softly in the warm light.

“Oh, Cind, I didn’t…”

“It’s fine,” she cuts me off with a dismissive wave, her laugh a little forced. “Do you like it?” she asks, her green eyes locked on mine, searching for something.

I glance back down at the necklace, running my fingers over the cool metal. “I love it. It’s beautiful,” I say, my voice soft.

She lets out a shaky breath, her tension easing slightly, though it doesn’t fully disappear. Cindy’s always carried this weight, a shadow of something darker that never quite leaves her. Her past is no secret. When Rook’s dad died, she spiraled—drowning in alcohol and men, slipping into a darkness that nearly consumed her. Rook had to fend for himself most of the time, scraping by while she numbed herself to everything. Survival, I guess. Everyone copes in their own way, and who the hell am I to judge?

But then my dad stepped in, and somehow, Cindy found her footing again. My dad might be an asshole, but he’s relentless about one thing: structure. He demands order, forces it, and in a twisted way, it saved her. She sobered up, found stability. Maybe even happiness, if you could call it that.

Still, sometimes when I look at her, I see the flaws. The parts of her that never quite healed, that are held together with sheer willpower. And now, sitting here, with her anxious smile and jittery hands, I wonder if this gift is another way she’s trying to prove something—to herself, to me, maybe even to Rook.

To ease her tension, I wrap my arms around her tightly, pulling against me in a squeeze. “Love you, Cind.” I whisper into her brown hair.

I feel her melt against me before we break apart and when we do, I notice Rook heading this way from the corner of my eye. I look down at the gift box in my lap, carefully placing the lid back on. I don’t look up. I can’t. Not yet. But I peek through my lashes.

He claims the couch directly across from us, collapsing into it with that infuriating, effortless confidence that’s so uniquely his. One arm sprawls over the back, his other hand gripping a beer bottle that sits lazily between his tattooed fingers, perched on his thigh. His long legs part wide, and even though his posture is casual, it’s the kind of casual that screams he’s in control.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. But he’s staring straight at me. I can feel it. The heaviness of his gaze settles over me like a gloomy shroud. My skin tingles under its intensity, a silent demand that I should look at him. A fucking dare.

He’s not avoiding me anymore. He’s here to make me squirm, and he’s not bothering to hide it. Cindy notices it too and I feel her stiffen beside me, her shift in mood clear.

“Rook…” she says, her voice low, a subtle warning laced in her tone.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even acknowledge her.

I force myself to meet his eyes, lifting my gaze, cautiously.

But it’s a mistake.

The moment our eyes lock, my world spins. His light green stare pierces straight through me, so sharp it feels like it’s cutting me open. There’s nothing soft left in him—no warmth, no cheeky smile. Just something cold and dangerous lurking behind those darkened orbs.

Two years. That’s all it’s been, but it feels like a lifetime. He’s changed so much, yet in some fucked-up way, he’s only become… hotter. It’s irritating. My stepbrother has always been attractive—unfortunately—but this? This is something else entirely.

Long gone is the arrogant boy with too much attitude and not enough responsibility to back it up. Now, sitting right in front of me, he’s every inch of a man.

He’s breathtaking. And I fucking hate it.

His dark, wavy hair, tousled in an effortless way, falls messily across his forehead, brushing his eyes. I notice the black plugs in his earlobes—small, simple, but still enough to remind me he’s not the same boy I grew up with. Two hoops sit on either side of his bottom lip, like a viper. He also has a strange small piece of black tape just under his right eye, which confuses me, but it’s not even his hair, the piercings, his tanned skin, the thick brows and lashes or the shadow of stubble across his sharp jawline that unsettles me.

It’s his eyes.

They’re hollowed now with dark circles beneath them that make him look older, harder. But it’s not exhaustion. It’s something else. Whatever he’s seen, whatever he’s done, whatever my dad has shown him—it’s changed him. The overbearing tension between us is draining the life out of the room, out of me and Cindy clears her throat beside me, trying to break the spell.

“Rook, not when Ryker’s here, please,” Cindy pleads, and the mention of my dad’s name pulls me back to reality.

Rook’s eyes slide down my frame, gradually and linger far too long on my bare legs. Then his gaze snaps up to Cindy, his jaw tightening. His head tilts slightly to the side, a subtle challenge in the narrowing of his eyes.

“Am I not allowed to look at or be near my little fucking sister now?” he asks, voice deep and laced with spite. “I mean, you brought this shitshow of a family together, right?”

Little sister.

The words hit me, echoing in my mind. Am I really? After everything? After what we—no. Is this his way of moving past it? Pretending it didn’t happen? Or is this some cruel game, meant to remind me of how wrong we are, how wrong we were and how wrong I am?

He takes his time waiting for Cindy to answer, lifting his beer to his lips. The muscles in his throat move as he takes a long swig, eyes still stuck on hers and I glance up, instinctively searching for my dad, but he’s across the room, distracted, laughing with Jack, completely unaware of what’s happening. Luckily.

“No… I…” Cindy’s voice falters, cracking under his coldness. She’s never been able to handle Rook, but he’s now something completely different and she knows it.

“It’s fine, Cindy,” I say softly, forcing a smile her way even as my insides churn.

“Mom,” Rook cuts in, his tone sharp, dismissive. “Why don’t you go and check on your husband? Let me catch up with Eb.”

A cigarette appears between his fingers, shifting his attention away from her, from me, and to the lighter he flicks open. Cindy hesitates, like she’s doesn’t want to leave us two alone, but eventually, her hands smooth down her red dress nervously as she stands and walks away, leaving us alone for the first time in two long years.

For a moment the only sound between us is the faint crackle of tobacco as he takes a deep pull, the smoke curling up his nostrils from his mouth. The sharp scent of smoke coils into the air, swirling between us as he leans back, exhaling.

The pull between us is too much to bear, the air is dense with unspoken anger, unresolved lust, and years of broken promises. My hand trembles slightly as I lean over to the coffee table to my left, gripping the champagne flute, but I hide it well, taking a long sip to steady myself.

Rook doesn’t stop watching me, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm against his beer bottle. His movements are calculated. It’s a game—one he’s always been better at playing, but I won’t fold this time. Suddenly, I catch something black moving around his hand on the back of the couch.

Before I can register what it is, he leans forward quickly, the leather of his jacket creaking softly as his elbows rest on his knees, throwing a glance over his shoulder, ensuring no one’s paying attention. When his eyes return to mine, they’re intense and they drop to my red lips.

“Merry Christmas, Bunny,” he murmurs, entirely devoid of the charm that used to make that stupid nickname tolerable, almost lovable. Now, it feels like a weapon, a reminder of everything we used to be, everything we shouldn’t have become and my stomach twists.

I hold his stare, refusing to let him see me hesitate, but the nickname pulls at old wounds, opening them just enough to sting. He used to say it because he said Ebony sounded like E-Bunny, and the name stuck, even when it annoyed me. Back then, it meant he loved me like his little sister.

My grip tightens on the glass as I feel the burn of tears threatening to rise. Memories of that Christmas night flash through my mind in vivid, painful detail—how he took my innocence, how he shattered every boundary I thought I had. My breath hitches, and I force myself to push the images down, locking them away where they belong.

“You still remember, don’t you?” He asks in a quiet murmur, being discreet around our family, his head tilting to the side. “You can’t even fucking look at me without feeling me between your legs, breaking into your virgin pussy.”

The vulgarity of his words punches the air from my lungs. I freeze, my blood boiling under my skin as his eyes drag down me again, like he owns the right to look.

“You hate yourself for it, and it’s pitiful.” He shakes his head slightly, like he’s disgusted with me, with everything.

His insult cuts deep, but I refuse to let him have the satisfaction of seeing how much it affects me. Raising my chin, I meet his gaze head-on, narrowing my eyes slightly, daring him to keep pushing.

“Is that really the first thing you want to say to me after two years, Rook?” I scoff and shake my head slightly. “Why am I the pathetic one when you can’t stop eye-fucking me in front of our family? What’s wrong? Still not moved on from fucking your drunk little sister?”

His eyes blaze, the intensity behind them searing into me. His body tenses from my choice of words, and for a brief second, I think I’ve gotten under his skin. I lean forward slightly, closing the distance between us just enough to drive my point home.

“You had me,” I whisper, the annoyance in my tone sharp. “But you’ll never have me like that again. It’s time to drop it.”

The silence that follows is deafening, a charged current buzzing between us and we stare at one another.

“I’ve always liked a challenge, Bunny, you know that,” he shoots back, his jaw clenching tightly, the grating of his teeth audible before he points at me and my eyes dart downward toward it.

I immediately see a small black snake curling around his tattooed fingers, and I recoil, my throat drying.

“Is… Is that a fucking snake on your hand?”

“You’ve changed, Bunny,” he say’s and my eyes flicker upward to his. He searches them, trying to figure out who I am now.

But he’s not wrong, I have changed. Life has changed me, shaped me, and I’m not the naive little girl he once knew.

I raise an eyebrow as I answer, “And so have you.”

He tilts his head to the side, gaze narrowing as he explores my features. “But what’s happened to you?”

My eyes lower, the question hitting me hard. “You would know if you were here,” I respond, facing aside.

He pauses, staring at my side-profile for a moment. “And who’s fucking fault is that, hm?”

When I glance at him, he doesn’t look at me now, drawing away and slumping back on the couch. I can’t help but feel the ache in my heart. How we got to this point and everything else. I think back on the very first time I ever felt something shift between us.

It was on a New Year’s Eve, and it was the first time I was ever really allowed around Rook and his friends. Me and my friend back then, Taylor, went to a yard party at one of his close friends' houses in hopes to watch a huge fireworks display.