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’scutting 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.
