The first time our eyes met, I instantly knew I was in over my head.
His gaze, like dark storm clouds edged with shadows, hinted at a danger I'd vowed to avoid. But somehow, I couldn't tear my eyes away.
He was stationed at the far end of the bar, nursing a nearly empty glass, a cigarette smouldering between his long, elegant fingers. The room pulsed with music and laughter, but he seemed completely detached, as if he were carved from shadows, unaffected by the vibrant atmosphere around him.
I really should have turned away. Guys like him weren't just trouble; it was like a courting disaster.
Yet my feet moved me closer, and his intense stare never wavered.
I settled onto the stool next to him and forced a smile. "You look like you're not enjoying this place."
He turned his head slightly, giving me a full view of his striking, tattooed neck. For a heartbeat, I thought he might not respond. Then, with a casual shrug, he said, "That's because I absolutely don't."
His tone was flat and dismissive. He took another swig from his glass, finishing off his drink without a hint of courtesy.
Feeling flustered, I pressed my lips together, warmth creeping up my neck. "So why stick around?"
This time, his gaze slowly travelled down my figure, teasingly unhurried, before locking back onto mine. A smirk spread across his lips.
"Sometimes the view is worth it."
My throat went dry at his words. He clearly knew the effect he had on me, how his deep, sultry voice sent shivers down my spine. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. He twisted his lips into that infuriating smirk again, as if acknowledging my speechlessness was a victory.
"I—" I stammered, struggling to regain my composure, but he was already lighting up another cigarette, turning his attention to the swirling smoke as though I'd disappeared, totally disregarding me.
Just then, my friend popped up beside me, tugging me toward the dance floor, and I let her drag me away. But when I glanced back, he was still watching, his expression unreadable, jaw clenched, as if challenging me to come back.
And just like that, he vanished.
---
**Two Months Later**
My old suitcase clattered against the wooden steps of the beach house, each bump eliciting a curse towards the flimsy wheels. Sweat clung to my skin, and the air was thick with the scent of salt and sunscreen.
I really didn't want to be here. This place radiated wealth and luxury, everything that I wasn't. I often found myself wondering how my mom managed to snag a loving, rich husband, everything my dad never was and could never be.
If it were up to me, I'd be anywhere else but back home with friends or even stuck in summer classes. But alas, that choice wasn't mine to make anymore.
Mom's wedding felt like a whirlwind, leaving me dizzy. One moment, it was just the two of us; the next, she was glowing in a white lace dress, standing next to a stranger I barely recognised, her eyes sparkling with joy. And then there was this house—his house, which had been in their family for years.
So here I was, hauling my life up the steps, trying to swallow down the bitterness rising in my throat.
I wanted to trust her when she said I'd "love it here," that maybe the ocean breeze would wash away the restless feelings swirling inside me. But mostly, I felt out of place, as if I'd been dropped into a stranger's life without any say in the matter.
I dragged my suitcase onto the porch and wiped the sweat from my brow. All I craved was a cold shower and a chilled beer. A long nap to forget that this entire summer was even happening.
Before I could reach for the doorknob, it swung open.
And there he was.
Leaning against the frame like he'd been expecting me, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, smoke lazily swirling around his head. His hair was damp, like he'd just stepped out of the shower, and his neck and bare chest were adorned with intricate tattoos. His eyes were fixed on me, a mix of confusion, recognition, and irritation playing across his stunning features.
My heart stopped.
It was him. The jerk.
His intense gaze lingered on me, taking in every detail from my messy ponytail to the worn suitcase by my side. When his eyes finally met mine, there was no trace of friendliness, just a cutting, unimpressed glare.
"You've got to be joking," he muttered, his voice gritty with annoyance, as if my mere presence had spoiled his day.
I froze, clutching the suitcase handle tightly. "What… what are you doing here?"
He let out a short, humorless laugh, flicking ash onto the porch. "I live here. What on earth are you doing here?"
I blinked, heat rising to my cheeks. "This is my mom's—"
"—house?" he interrupted, tilting his head. "Yeah, I assumed that. It makes sense, you've got the same vibe."
My brows knitted together. "What vibe?"
"The kind that shouts you don't belong."
Before I could shoot back a retort, my mom's voice echoed from inside the house.
"Sweetheart!" She appeared in the hallway, cheeks flushed from the heat. She brushed past him and wrapped her arms around me. "You made it!"
I hugged her back awkwardly, my mind racing.
Unaware of the tension, she turned to the boy leaning in the doorway, gesturing between us with a bright smile. "Oh, perfect, you've met! This is your stepbrother Jace."
"Jace, this is my daughter Raine," she continued, her expression radiating happiness.
The word hit me like a punch to the gut.
Stepbrother.
My heart raced. Every memory of that night flooded back—the way he'd sized me up, the way he'd looked down on me, his words burrowing under my skin. How I couldn't shake him from my thoughts for weeks after.
And now… here we were.
His gaze locked onto mine, piercing and unreadable, and for the first time since our paths had crossed, I noticed it—the faintest twist of his lips. Not a smile. Far from it. Something colder. Something that hinted he knew just how much this turned my world upside down.