Chapter 1
Sophia
The corset top of my bridesmaid dress is digging into my ribs, a constant, sharp reminder that I am currently trapped in a satin cage of my own making. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror, the fabric a shade of blush pink that makes my skin look sallow, and my mood look homicidal.
“Sophia, stop fidgeting,” my mom, Maya, chirps from behind me. She’s shaking at a frequency that could shatter glass, a bouquet of white roses clutched in her trembling hands. “You look beautiful. Absolutely perfect.”
“I look like a cupcake that’s been left out in the rain,” I mutter, yanking at the lace that refuses to lay flat against my chest. “And I can’t breathe. If I pass out during the vows, just drag me to the side and let me rot. It’s what I would want.”
My mother lets out a wet, teary laugh, dabbing at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “You’re so dramatic. Today is about joy. About new beginnings.”
Right.
New beginnings.
The same phrase she used when she kicked my dad out for the last time, or when she dragged us across three states chasing a promotion. To me, new beginnings just mean everything familiar is about to be ripped away again.
A sharp knock on the dressing room door saves me from having to fake a smile. My best friend Ava pokes her head in, her dark hair sleek and her expression a welcome anchor of sanity in this sea of bridal chaos.
“Am I interrupting the nervous breakdown?” Ava asks, stepping inside and locking the door behind her. She’s wearing the same blush-pink monstrosity, but she actually looks elegant, the calm to my hurricane.
“Just the pre-game warm-up,” I say, turning to face her. “Please tell me you brought whiskey. Or a tranquilizer dart. I’m not picky.”
Ava rolls her eyes, but there’s a softness in the way she looks at me, like she’s scanning for cracks in the foundation. She reaches out and smooths a stray piece of hair behind my ear, her touch cool against my flushed skin.
“Sober and beautiful,” she says, handing me a bottle of water. “Your mom is glowing, Soph. You need to dial down the hostility before you scare the guests.”
“I’m not hostile. I’m realistically pessimistic.” I unscrew the cap and take a gulp, the water doing little to wash away the metallic taste of anxiety. “It’s just… It’s a lot, Ava. Marriage? Again? After Jaxon? It feels like she’s signing up for another round of heartbreak, and I’m the designated witness.”
I think of my dad, Jaxon. The smell of cheap beer on his breath, the way he promised to be at my graduation, and then woke up in a gutter three states away.
Pain is love.
That’s the lesson my dad taught me.
The first man I ever loved.
Love is waiting by the window, love is disappointment, love is an empty bottle and a broken promise.
Watching my mother prep to hand her life over to a man she’s known for six months feels like watching a hurricane form slowly in the Pacific Ocean.
Ava’s hands grip my shoulders, grounding me. “Ethan isn’t Jaxon. You know that. And Brayden… well, you went to high school with him. He’s quiet. He keeps to himself. It could be worse.”
I snort. “Brayden Carter. The brooding prince of the senior class. I haven’t seen him since graduation, but I remember the vibe. ‘I hate everyone and especially you.’ It’s going to be a thrill sharing a bathroom with him.”
“You don’t have to share a bathroom,” Maya cuts in, oblivious to the subtext as she checks her veil in the mirror. “The estate is huge. You’ll barely see each other.”
“Estate,” I repeat, the word tasting like ash. “Because nothing says ‘humble beginnings’ like a ten-bedroom mansion in the hills.”
I take a deep breath, forcing the air past the tightness in my chest. I can do this. I can put on the dress, stand in the line, and toast to a future I don’t believe in. I’ve been playing the part of the loyal, honorable daughter for years, so what’s one more performance?
“Let’s get this over with,” I say, pasting on a fake smile that feels tight and brittle. “Before I suffocate in taffeta.”
We leave the dressing room, the noise of the venue swelling around us.
The sprawling garden is manicured within an inch of its life, filled with white chairs and guests who look like they stepped out of a catalog. I spot Ethan near the altar, looking stiff in his tux, his posture rigid.
And next to him is Brayden.
Even from a distance, he commands attention. He’s taller than I remembered, his shoulders broad beneath the black jacket. His dark hair is swept back, exposing a jawline that looks like it was cut from granite.
He isn’t smiling. He’s standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes scanning the crowd with a detached, almost bored expression. He looks like he’s attending a funeral instead of his father's wedding.
Next to him stands another guy, slightly shorter but built like a linebacker, laughing loudly and clapping Brayden on the back. That must be Logan.
“Who’s the linebacker?” I ask Ava under my breath.
“Logan. Brayden’s best friend. Total frat boy energy,” Ava murmurs back. “Come on, we need to line up.”
As we get closer, the air seems to thin out. I can see the tension in Brayden’s jaw, the way his muscles tick rhythmically. He looks dangerous. Not in a crazy, unstable way, but in a controlled, simmering way. Like a tiger pacing in a cage.
Our eyes meet as I step into my position near the altar. His gaze is dark, unreadable, and it hits me with the force of a physical blow. I feel a flush rise up my neck, heating my skin.
Brayden is devastatingly handsome, in a rough, masculine way that makes my stomach do a nervous flip. He looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to women, and he doesn’t give a fuck.
Maya glides past me to take her place at Ethan’s side, leaving me standing awkwardly next to the groomsman spot. Brayden turns his head slowly, his eyes dragging over my face, down the exposed line of my throat, to the bodice of my dress. The appraisal is quick and clinical, but it leaves a trail of heat in its wake.
“So,” he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in my chest. “You’re the infamous stepsister.”
I blink, surprised by the roughness of his tone. “And you’re the mysterious stepbrother. I was expecting… I don’t know. Maybe a cape? Or a brooding castle?”
His lips twitch, the ghost of a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I left the cape in my other tux.”
“Disappointing.” I cross my arms over my chest, regretting it immediately as it pushes my breasts up, drawing his gaze for a split second before he locks it back on my face. “I was hoping for a dramatic entrance.”
“I think your mom has the market cornered on dramatic entrances today,” he says dryly.
“Touché.” I shift my weight, the heels sinking into the grass. “Look, let’s just get this straight. I’m here for my mom. I don’t need a new brother, and I certainly don’t need a new family dynamic. So let’s just coexist, okay? You stay in your lane, I’ll stay in mine.”
Brayden looks at me, his head tilting slightly. He’s close enough now that I can smell him—sandalwood and something expensive, like leather and old money. It’s a scent that makes my knees weak, which pisses me off.
“Coexisting sounds fine,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “But you’re standing in my lane.”
I scoff. “The aisle is wide enough for both of us.”
“Is it?” He takes a half-step closer, invading my personal space. The heat radiating off him is intense. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that betrays my calm exterior. I want to step back, to put distance between us, but I refuse to let him see me flinch.
“Try not to trip me,” I snap, lifting my chin.
“Try not to get in my way,” he counters softly.
The music starts, a swelling orchestral cue that signals the processional. The photographer waves frantically at us from the side of the aisle.
“Okay, you two, together!” the photographer shouts, gesturing between Brayden and me. “Sophia, Brayden, link arms! We need the wedding party shot before they start walking!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
Brayden extends his elbow, his jaw set in a hard line. I stare at his arm like it’s a venomous snake. Taking it feels like surrender.
“Come on, stepsis,” he voices, the word dripping with sarcasm. “Smile for the camera.”
I grit my teeth and loop my arm through his. The contact is electric. The fabric of his jacket is rough under my fingers, but the muscle underneath is hard, unyielding. I can feel the tension coiled in him, a tight wire ready to snap.
We walk down the aisle, the flash of cameras blinding us. Every step is a battle. We are too close. Our hips brush with every stride, a friction that sends jolts of awareness straight to my clit. I can feel the warmth of his thigh against mine, the strength in his arm as he guides me. It’s maddening.
“You’re walking too fast,” I hiss through a fake smile.
“And you’re dragging your feet,” he replies out of the corner of his mouth. “Try to keep up.”
I dig my nails into his forearm, just enough to make a point. He doesn’t flinch, but his gaze snaps down to mine, a dark warning simmering in the depths. He likes the fire. He likes that I’m not scared of him.
We reach the front of the gathering and take our places on the opposite side of the altar from Mom and Ethan. The ceremony begins, the officiant’s voice a drone in the background. I should be listening. I should be witnessing my mother’s happiness.
Instead, I am hyper-aware of the man standing three feet away from me.
I watch Brayden from the corner of my eye. He isn’t looking at the couple. He’s staring at a point in the distance, his expression unreadable. But I see it—the tightness around his eyes, the way his hand clenches and unclenches at his side. He’s grieving.
I know that look. I’ve seen it in the mirror often enough. He’s thinking about his mother, Kathy. Everyone knows the story—the car accident that took her and left Ethan and Brayden behind. It was a tragedy that rocked the whole town. He’s standing here watching his father move on, replacing the ghost that haunts their house.
It’s the same thing I’m doing, watching Maya replace the ghost of my father with a shiny new version.
My chest aches with a sudden, sharp pang of empathy. We are two broken pieces being forced together to make a whole picture for our parents. It’s fucked up.
My mother and Ethan exchange vows, promising to love and cherish, for better or for worse. The words hang in the air, heavy and sweet. I feel a lump form in my throat, betraying my cynicism. I want to believe them. I want to believe that love isn’t just a precursor to pain.
I glance at Brayden again. His jaw is working, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. He looks like he’s in physical pain.
People always replace people, I feel, the old familiar ache settling in my stomach. It’s just a matter of time.
The ceremony ends, and the applause erupts. We turn to face the guests, and the photographer descends upon us like a vulture.
“Family shot! Family shot!” he yells. “Ethan, Maya, get in the middle. Brayden, Sophia, right next to them. Closer! Act like you like each other!”
I step up next to Brayden, our shoulders pressing together. The heat of his body seeps into mine, distracting and overwhelming.
“Put your arm around her waist, Brayden,” the photographer commands.
Brayden hesitates for a fraction of a second. Then, his hand settles on my waist. His fingers are long, spanning the curve of my hip, and his grip is firm, possessive. My breath hitches. It feels too intimate, too right.
“Smile, Sophia,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “You look like you’re at a funeral.”
“I’m just mourning my freedom,” I retort, plastering on a grin that shows too many teeth.
“Chin up,” he says, his thumb brushing against the bare skin of my side. The touch is accidental, surely, but it sends a shiver racing down my spine that settles low in my belly.
My pussy clenches, a sudden, wet throb of arousal that catches me off guard. What the fuck is wrong with me?
This is my stepbrother.
He’s an asshole.
But God, he’s a hot asshole.
We move through the poses like a well-oiled machine, despite the friction. Turn to the left. Look at each other. Laugh.
“Give me some chemistry!” the photographer shouts.
I turn my head to look at Brayden, expecting to see annoyance. Instead, I find him staring at me with an intensity that makes my mouth go dry. His eyes are dark, dilated, tracing the features of my face. For a second, the sarcasm drops, and I see something raw and hungry beneath the mask.
Then the moment breaks, and his mask slides back into place.
“You look thrilled,” I whisper, nodding at the camera.
“I’m glowing,” he deadpans, but his hand tightens on my waist, pulling me infinitesimally closer.
The flash goes off, blinding me. When my vision clears, the photographer is waving us away, signaling that the formal shots are done.
The crowd begins to disperse, moving toward the reception tent. Brayden drops his hand from my waist, the loss of contact leaving a cold void. He steps back, putting distance between us, his face returning to its usual stoic indifference.
“Brayden, Sophia, wait,” Ethan calls out, waving us over.
My mother is beaming, her hand tucked into Ethan’s arm. They look sickeningly happy.
“We have an announcement,” Ethan says, his booming voice commanding attention. A few guests lingering nearby turn to look.
My stomach drops. I know that tone. I know that look. It’s the look that precedes a life-altering decision made without my input.
Maya squeezes Ethan’s arm, looking at us with wide, excited eyes. “We’ve been talking, and… well, we don’t want to waste a single moment of our happiness.”
“Your mother and I are going on an extended honeymoon,” Ethan continues. “We’re leaving for Italy tonight. We’ll be gone for two months.”
Two months? My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
“But that’s not all,” Maya adds quickly, her eyes darting between Brayden and me. “While we’re gone, we need you two to hold down the fort. You’ll be staying at the estate together. And… we’ve decided it’s time for you both to start learning the family business. From the inside.”
The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. The family business. The Carter empire. A world of suits, boardrooms, and expectations I have zero interest in.
I look at Brayden. His expression hasn’t changed, but the air around him has dropped several degrees. He stares at his father, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
“Together,” I repeat, the word tasting like poison. “You’re leaving us alone? Together?”
“It’ll be good for you,” Maya says, her tone pleading. “Bonding. You’re family now, Sophia.”
Family. The word rings hollow.
I feel the walls closing in. Two months. Alone in a mansion with the brooding, arrogant stepbrother who looks at me like he wants to devour me or destroy me, maybe both.
No escape.
No mom to run to.
Just him, and the ghosts of his past, and the wreckage of mine.
I look up at Brayden, searching for a reaction. He turns his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The anger is gone, replaced by a cool, calculated acceptance. He looks like a man who has just been handed a challenge he intends to win.
He leans in slightly, his voice low, meant only for me.
“Looks like we’re stuck with each other.”
The words hang in the air, a promise and a threat. I meet his gaze, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I should be terrified. I should be screaming.
But as I look into those dark, dangerous eyes, all I feel is a spark of anticipation, hot and wicked, curling low in my belly.
The game is on.
