"Say my name," he rasps, his body pressed against yours in the dark corridor.
"Axel," you whisper — and he groans like it physically hurts him. You've known him for less than a day. He's technically your stepbrother. You had rules, you had walls. Every single thing about this is wrong.
But when he pulls back just enough to look at you — those eyes glowing in the dark, his breathing wrecked, his hands refusing to let go — and says "again" in that destroyed voice — you say it again. And again. And the most terrifying part? You don't want to stop. 🔥🖤
CHAPTER 1
I've never understood how people felt things — real things. Joy, excitement, grief. I watched them laugh until their eyes watered and cry until their faces swelled, and I felt nothing looking at it. Nothing.
The only emotions I ever knew, the ones that felt like old friends, were hate, rage, fear, and longing. The last one came with puberty. The other three had always been there, for as long as I could remember.
And right now, what I was feeling was rage. Pure, trembling rage.
"What?" I asked my mother, my fists clenched so tight my nails pierced skin. "You're getting married?"
"Uh-huh," she answered, grinning from ear to ear as she admired the diamond ring on her finger. It caught the light and threw it back at me like a taunt. "Oh! Look at that!"
"It's barely been a month," I said, my voice shaking. "His body has just been buried and you're already—"
"When life gives you an opportunity, Rosette, dear, you grab it with both hands." She turned from the window and looked at me the way she always did — like I was stupid and not worth her time.
"Damn the consequences." She brushed past me, heading toward the door. "I'm selling the house. We're moving to his place as soon as the vows are said."
My parents' relationship had never been sweet. They fought, they screamed, and I always ended up caught in the middle. I hated them both. I used to fear them too, but one day I woke up and decided never again. Fear was done. Only hate remained, and rage — a deep, steady rage that never quite cooled.
So I didn't care that she was getting remarried a month after his death. What I did care about was basic decency — she could at least pretend to mourn him.
But she was already gone, heels clicking down the hallway, the diamond glittering on her hand.
I didn't go to the wedding.
Mom flooded my phone with calls and I didn't pick up a single one. I stayed at a friend's place, went to my part-time job from there, and tried not to think about what I was walking into. But my friend's generosity could only stretch so far, and I couldn't stay there forever.
So a week after the wedding, I finally picked up.
"Foolish girl," were the first words out of her mouth. "Do you know the lies I had to make up? We were supposed to show my new husband and his family a united front!"
"I'm sure you came up with something convincing," I said, my voice flat. "Send me the address. I'll come straight from work."
"You and that—"
I ended the call and tossed the phone into my bag.
I didn't want to go. I didn't want her to feel like she'd won, like she still had some grip on me. But I had no choice — I was saving for college, and an apartment wasn't in the budget yet. So I'd go. I'd endure whatever she threw at me, keep my head down, and by the end of the year, I'd be out. Finally, properly out.
As soon as I saw the address Mom sent, I knew this wasn't some regular businessman she had married. When I got to the mansion, that was only confirmed.
It was enormous — like something out of a Gothic novel, all towering stone walls and iron gates, the kind of place that looked like it had its own weather. Someone appeared the moment I stepped out, wordlessly taking my bags.
"Welcome, Miss Rosette." A man in a sharp suit and thick-framed glasses met me at the entrance, hands folded neatly in front of him. "I'm Gabriel, the butler. Come to me for anything you need."
"Nice to meet you," I said with a nod.
He led me through a long hallway that swallowed sound, past dark wood and high ceilings, until we reached a sitting room where Mother was waiting. Gabriel left us without a word, pulling the door shut behind him.
She was on her feet before I'd taken two steps inside, marching toward me with her hands on her hips and her face already red.
"I will not have you ruin this for me, Rose," she hissed. "You will behave. You will smile when you should, speak nicely, and act like the perfect—"
"Or what?" I interrupted, just to watch her flinch. "What are you going to do, Mom? Lock me in a room — your old favorite?" Her face darkened.
"You don't hold that power anymore. I'll smile when I want to smile, and I'll be cold when I decide to be cold. And you know as well as I do that this united front you keep talking about won't last — not with the amount of venom between us. Your new husband will figure out you're all performance soon enough. What will you do then? Move on to the next man who looks your way?"
She was red all the way down to her neck now, her breathing ragged. "You ungrateful—"
Her hand moved. I stepped back just in time, and it cut through empty air between us.
The silence that followed was sharp in its own way. I looked at her steadily, my face giving nothing away.
"A united front," I said. "Right."
She stepped toward me, and then stopped.
A voice came from the doorway. Calm. Low. The kind of voice that didn't need to be raised to fill a room.
"Is everything alright?"
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