AVERY'S POV
The champagne made everything fuzzy, but Derek's hands on my waist were crystal clear—and totally unwanted.
"Come on, babe," he slurred against my neck as our Uber pulled up to the house. "Let's go to your room. Your mom's in Italy, right? And your stepdad's probably asleep."
I giggled because I was supposed to. Because that's what good girlfriends did when their boyfriends said things like that. But inside, my stomach twisted. Derek had been pawing at me all night at the university gala, showing me off like I was a prize he'd won instead of a person he loved.
Did he even love me? Did I love him?
The champagne made it hard to think straight, but one thought came through clear as glass: I wish Derek were more like Julian.
I stumbled getting out of the car, and Derek caught me—barely. His grip was too tight, almost annoyed, like I was a problem he had to deal with.
Julian would've caught me gently. Julian would've made sure I was okay first.
Stop it, Avery. Stop comparing every guy to your stepfather. That's weird. That's so, so weird.
But I couldn't help it. I'd been comparing every boy to Julian Hawke since I was seventeen years old, and every single one of them came up short.
Derek pushed open the front door without knocking. "See? Dark. Everyone's asleep. Come on—"
"Avery."
The voice came from the shadows of the hallway, and it made my heart stop.
Julian stood in the doorway of his study, still dressed in his work clothes even though it was past midnight. The lamp behind him made his face hard to see, but I didn't need light to know what expression he was wearing.
I'd memorized every look on Julian Hawke's face over the past six years.
This one was new.
This one was dangerous.
"A word," Julian said, his voice quiet and controlled. Too controlled. Like he was holding something big and angry inside and using all his strength to keep it locked up. "Alone."
Derek's hand tightened on my waist. "Dude, she's not a kid. She's twenty-three—"
"My house." Julian stepped into the light, and something about the way he moved made Derek take a step back. "My rules. Avery. Now."
It wasn't loud. Julian never raised his voice. But the command in those two words made my knees weak.
I'd lived with Julian for six years—since I was seventeen and my world fell apart when my dad died. In all that time, he'd never used that tone with me. He'd been patient, kind, respectful. He asked about my day and helped with my homework and paid for my college without blinking.
He kept a careful, safe distance.
So why was he looking at Derek like he wanted to throw him through a wall?
"I'll just be a minute," I told Derek, pulling away from him. My voice came out shakier than I meant it to.
"This is bullshit," Derek muttered, but he didn't argue. Nobody argued with Julian when he used that voice.
I followed Julian across the hardwood floor, my heels clicking too loud in the quiet house. My heart hammered against my ribs. Was I in trouble? He'd never been mad at me before. Never.
So why did this feel less like getting scolded and more like... something else?
Julian held open the door to his study. I walked past him, and for just a second, I caught his scent—expensive cologne and coffee and something uniquely him that made my head spin worse than the champagne.
Stop it. Stop it. He's your stepfather. He married your mom. This is wrong.
But my heart didn't care about wrong. It never had.
The study was exactly like Julian—organized, elegant, controlled. Dark wood furniture, law books lining the walls, everything in its perfect place. I'd been in here a million times over the years, usually sitting in the chair across from his desk while he helped me with college applications or asked about my architecture classes.
This felt different.
I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around myself. "Julian, I'm sorry if we were too loud. I didn't mean to—"
"Is he good to you?"
The question caught me completely off guard. "What?"
Julian closed the study door behind him with a soft click that sounded way too final. He didn't come closer, just stood there with his hand still on the doorknob, looking at me with an intensity I'd never seen before.
"Derek," he said, and his voice had gone rough. Raw. "Is he good to you? Does he treat you well? Make you happy?"
I blinked at him, confused. "I... why are you asking me this?"
"Because you deserve better than mediocre."
The words hit me like a punch. "What?"
"You deserve someone who looks at you like you hung the moon, Avery." His jaw clenched, and I watched his knuckles go white where he gripped the doorknob. "Not some entitled boy who treats you like a prize he won. Not someone who paws at you in public like you're an object."
Heat flooded my face—partly embarrassment, partly something else. Something that made my stomach flip and my breath catch.
"You were watching us?"
"I was working. You were loud."
"So this is about noise? About... what, manners?"
"No." He finally let go of the doorknob and took one step toward me. Just one. But it felt like the distance between us had shrunk by miles. "This is about the fact that you're drunk, and he was all over you, and you looked uncomfortable."
"I wasn't—"
"You were." Another step. His eyes locked on mine, and I couldn't look away. "I've known you for six years, Avery. I know what you look like when you're happy. That wasn't it."
My heart was beating so fast I thought it might explode. "Julian, what's going on? Why do you care who—"
"Send him home."
"What?"
"Tell Derek to call an Uber. Send him home. You're not going anywhere with him tonight." His voice dropped lower, and I heard something in it that made my whole body go hot and cold at the same time. "I won't allow it."
Won't allow it.
Not as a concerned parent. Not as someone looking out for my safety.
As something else entirely.
The air in the study felt thick, electric. I could hear my own breathing, could hear his. The space between us crackled with something I didn't have a name for—or maybe I did, but I was too scared to say it out loud.
"Okay," I whispered.
His eyes widened slightly, like he hadn't expected me to agree so easily.
"Okay," I said again, stronger this time. "I'll send him home."
For a long moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked too loud. The house settled around us with soft creaks.
Julian's gaze dropped to my lips for half a second—so quick I almost missed it.
But I didn't miss it.
And from the way his breathing changed, he knew I'd seen.
"Go," he said roughly. "Before I—" He cut himself off, shook his head. "Just go, Avery."
I turned toward the door on shaky legs. My hand touched the doorknob.
"Avery."
I looked back at him.
Julian stood in the middle of his study, hands clenched into fists at his sides, looking at me with something raw and desperate and hungry in his steel-blue eyes.
"Lock your door tonight," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please."
The words sent ice and fire racing down my spine.
Lock my door.
Not for my safety.
But for his control.
I stumbled out of the study, my whole world tilting sideways, finally understanding something I'd been too scared to admit for six years:
Julian Hawke didn't see me as his stepdaughter.
And God help me, I didn't see him as my stepfather either.
Everything was about to change.
Everything was about to burn.