Moving in with your stepbrother isn't supposed to feel like entering enemy territory. But with Jade, everything always felt like a challenge.
The apartment door creaked open, revealing silence and shadows. His friends' laughter echoed faintly from a room down the hall, but the living room was still — cold, modern, masculine.
And empty.
Except him.
Jade stood by the window, back facing her, tall and silent, as always. He didn't turn around. He never greeted. He was a storm held together by silence and too much self-control.
Ava dragged her suitcase in, loud on purpose.
"Don't you dare act like you didn't hear the door," she snapped.
Still nothing.
She dropped the bag harder. "You know what, keep the brooding. I'm not here to impress you."
That got a flicker — his head tilted, just slightly. His voice, low and smooth, cut through the tension. "You never do."
Ava's chest burned with familiar irritation. Ever since their parents' brief, failed marriage, Jade had treated her like a virus he couldn't get rid of. They'd been enemies by default — her with the fire, him with the ice. Only now, she was under his roof.
And he was different.
Older. Sharper. Dangerous in a way he hadn't been before. He barely spoke, but his gaze lingered — always watching, as if he were trying to figure her out or burn her alive with silence.
"Your room is to the left," he said without looking at her.
"You gonna tell your roommates to keep it down?"
"They don't care you're here."
"Do you?"
He finally turned. Slowly. His eyes locked on hers — unreadable, but intense. Her breath caught.
"I care enough to tell them not to touch you."
Ava blinked. "Excuse me?"
His jaw clenched, something feral flickering behind his cold demeanor.
"You're mine to handle," he said. "Not theirs."