The day my mother him, the sky refused to shine.
It was supposed to be a celebration, but everything felt off — to quite, to rehearsed, to perfect.
I watched from the side as my mother kissed her new husband, smiling like a girl half her age.
She'd fallen in love again after years of loneliness, and though I wanted to be happy for her, all I could feel was slow, choking dread.
And then I saw him.
Kaido.
Her husband son. My new stepbrother.
He stood near the back, tall and detached, his expression unreadable. He didn't clap when they kissed, he didn't even blink. He just watched — first her, then me. And when his gaze settled on mine, something in my chest shifted.
He looked older then nineteen- years —confident, calm, little dangerous. His suit was black, his tie loose, like he'd been forced to show up and hated every second of it.
When the ceremony ended, we all drove back to their house — a sprawling white mansion on the outskirts of the city. My mother called it "a new beginning." I called it too much space for many secret .
Inside, marble floors echoed under my boots. Every sounds felt like amplified— the click of heels, the quiet of breath, the hum of a house that didnt yet belong to me.
Dinner was awkward. My mother's new husband— Nathan — tried too hard to make a conversation, but kaido barely spoke. When did he. His voice was soft, deep, edged with something sharp.
"So," he asked, looking at me over his glass,
"You're moving in here ?"
"Yes," I said flatly.
He tilted his head. College ?"
" I took a break."
He smirked. "Of course you."
The air between us tightened. I didn't know whether to hate him or admire how unapologetically sure he was of him.
After dinner, I went to the balcony. Rain was coming — I could smell it. The air felt charged, like the calm before the light.
I didn't realize he'd followed until his reflection appeared beside mine in the glass
"You hated it here already, don't you?" He said.
I turned "you don't know me."
He smiled slightly. " I don't need to."
"Then stop trying to figure me out."
"I'm not trying to," he said. " you are just easy to read."
The way he said it — the quite confidence, the challenge underneath— made something inside me flutter against my will.
" I'm not," i muttered.
He leaned closer, just enough that I could smell his cologne — ceder and rain. We'll see. ".
That night, I lay awake in my new room, the sound of the rain against the windows drowning out my thoughts. I told myself I didn't care what he thought. That I'd ignore him.
But I couldn't stop hearing his voice, echoing in my head.