She doesn't know what she's doing to me.
She stands there in my hoodie like it's hers, bare legs, flushed cheeks, lips parted like she doesn't even realize how tempting she looks. And maybe she doesn't. Maybe that's what makes it worse. That innocence. That softness. That quiet, fragile power she doesn't even know she holds.
I shouldn't be here.
I should've left the moment Elijah walked upstairs. I should've gone home like a responsible adult. Like a best friend. Like a man who respects boundaries. But I didn't. I lingered. I waited. I sent the text. And now I'm at her door, standing in silence, listening to the way her breathing changes on the other side.
I told myself a hundred times that she was off-limits.
Elijah's little sister. Seventeen the first time I met her. Too young. Too protected. Too sweet for someone like me. But time passed, and she changed. She came back different. Older. Wiser. Still sweet—but not soft. And suddenly, I started noticing things I wasn't supposed to. The curve of her smile. The way she walked. The way she listened when no one else did.
I noticed. And I hated myself for it.
Because I know exactly who I am. I don't do love. I don't do promises. I don't do innocence. I ruin things. I control things. I keep my world tidy and cold because mess makes you weak, and weakness gets exploited. I've built my name on discipline. Built my company with my teeth clenched and my heart sealed shut.
And Lyra… she's not the kind of girl you touch casually.
She's the kind you keep, the kind you hurt just by not knowing how to hold her properly. And Elijah—God, Elijah would kill me if he ever knew the kind of thoughts I've had about his sister.
He trusts me. He's the only man I've ever called family. We built everything side by side. He was there when I had nothing, when I was nobody. I owe him more than I owe anyone. And now I'm here, betraying him in the worst way possible.
Because I want her.
I want her so badly it makes my hands shake. And I hate that. I hate her for making me feel like this, even though she's done nothing wrong. I hate myself more—for knowing it's wrong and still standing here, still letting my gaze drift to her lips, still picturing what it would feel like to press her against that door and taste the breath she's holding back.
But I won't.
Not tonight.
Not like this.
I step back. Just one step. Enough to break the spell.
She doesn't open the door. She's still waiting. Maybe she's hoping. And part of me wants to walk back in, grab her face, and kiss her until she forgets my name and only remembers my mouth. But I don't.
Instead, I close my eyes. Count to five. And force myself to walk away.
Because if I touch her now… I won't be able to stop.