"You look beautiful, sweetheart."

I tugged at the borrowed dress-borrowed from my mother's new wardrobe-and tried not to think about the three-thousand-dollar price tag I'd glimpsed.

"I look ridiculous," I muttered.

Claire Laurent-soon to be Claire Stone-touched my cheek with perfectly manicured fingers. "You look like you belong here."

"I don't belong here, Mom."

We stood in the bathroom of the Stone mansion. Mansion didn't even cover it. This place had wings. The bathroom was bigger than my entire apartment.

"After tonight, this will be your home too." Mom's eyes shimmered. "Everything's going to change, Maya. For both of us."

Change. Right. Because marrying a billionaire three months after meeting him was totally normal.

"Mom, are you sure about this? You barely know him."

"I know I love him. And he loves me. That's enough."

Was it? I studied her face, searching for doubt.

Nothing.

"Okay," I said. "Let's go."

The party was already in full swing. Champagne flowed. A string quartet played. People who probably had their own Wikipedia pages mingled on terraces overlooking Central Park.

I felt like an imposter.

"Maya!" Mom's voice was bright, artificial. "Come meet Richard's sons."

Sons. Plural.

My stomach dropped.

A group of men stood by the bar, all wearing tuxedos. But only one turned as we approached.

My breath stopped.

No.

Julian Beaumont-Julian Stone?-stared at me with an expression I couldn't read. Surprise. Guilt. Heat.

"You," I breathed.

"You know each other?" Richard Stone materialized beside us. Tall, silver-haired, with eyes that assessed and calculated.

"We-" Julian started.

"No," I said sharply. "We don't."

Julian's jaw tightened.

"Maya, these are my sons. Julian, Dominic, and Asher." Richard gestured.

I forced myself to look at the others.

The one in the middle-Dominic-was watching me with cold, analytical eyes. Older than Julian. Harder.

The youngest stood slightly apart, dressed in black. Artist hands, I noted absurdly. Long fingers stained with what looked like charcoal.

"Gentlemen, this is Claire's daughter, Maya. Your soon-to-be stepsister."

Stepsister.

The word hung in the air like a grenade.

Julian's face went carefully blank. The youngest-Asher?-looked at me with sudden, intense interest. And Dominic smiled. It wasn't friendly.

"Stepsister," he repeated. "How... quaint."

"Dominic." Richard's voice held warning.

"What? I'm just saying-"

"Don't. Be polite."

I wanted to disappear.

"Excuse me," I managed. "I need some air."

I fled before anyone could stop me.

The terrace was empty, thank God. I gripped the marble railing and tried to remember how to breathe.

"So. A gold-digger's daughter."

I spun.

Dominic Stone stood in the doorway, backlit and beautiful and looking at me like I was something he'd scrape off his shoe.

"Excuse me?"

He approached slowly, predatory. "Your mother. She's after my father's money. And you? What are you after?"

"I'm not after anything."

"No?" He was close now. Too close. I could see gold flecks in his dark eyes. "Then why do you look terrified?"

"Because you're acting like a psychopath."

His laugh was sharp. "At least I'm honest. Can you say the same?"

"I don't have to justify myself to you."

"No. But you will have to live with us. In our house. Playing happy family." He leaned in, and my back hit the railing. "Let me make something clear. I don't know what game you and your mother are playing, but-"

"Go to hell."

My hand moved before my brain caught up.

The slap echoed across the terrace.

Dominic's head snapped to the side. For one frozen moment, neither of us moved.

Then he turned back, and my breath caught.

His eyes burned.

"You just made a mistake," he said softly.

"Did I?"

His hand came up, and I flinched. But he didn't strike. Instead, his fingers caught my chin, tilting my face up.

"You have no idea what you've just started."

His thumb brushed my bottom lip.

My body betrayed me. Heat flooded my veins. My pulse hammered.

"This can't happen," I whispered.

"No," he agreed. "It can't."

But neither of us moved.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. My lips parted involuntarily.

"Step away from her."

We jerked apart.

Julian stood in the doorway, his expression murderous.

"Now," Julian added, voice like steel.

Dominic's smile was slow, vicious. "Or what, little brother?"

"Or I'll-"

"Stop." I pushed past Dominic. "Both of you. Just... stop."

I ran.

Through the party. Past my mother. Past curious stares. I ran until I found an elevator, punched the button, and threw myself inside.

The doors started to close.

A hand shot through, stopping them.

Dominic stepped inside.

"No," I gasped. "Get out-"

He hit a button. The elevator lurched downward.

And stopped.

Between floors.

In the sudden silence, I heard my heart pounding.

"What did you do?"

Dominic turned to me, and the look in his eyes made me back hit the wall.

"Something I'm going to regret."

He moved.

His mouth crashed into mine.

I should have pushed him away.

Should have screamed.

Should have done anything except melt against him.

But Dominic Stone kissed like he did everything else-with absolute command and zero apology.

His hands fisted in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wanted it. His body pinned mine to the wall, all hard muscle and expensive cologne and heat.

My fingers clutched his tuxedo jacket, holding on because if I didn't, I'd collapse.

His tongue swept into my mouth, demanding, claiming. I heard a whimper and realized it came from me.

Dominic's grip tightened. One hand left my hair, sliding down to my hip with possessive pressure.

"This is insane," I gasped when he let me breathe.

"Yes." His lips moved to my jaw, my throat. "Tell me to stop."

"Stop."

He didn't stop.

His mouth found that sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder, and my knees buckled. Dominic caught me, pressing me more firmly against the wall, his thigh sliding between mine.

"Dominic-"

"Say it like you mean it." His teeth grazed my pulse point. "Tell me you don't want this."

My head fell back, giving him better access.

"I-"

His hand slid higher, fingers skimming the curve of my breast through the thin fabric.

I arched into the touch.

"That's what I thought." His voice was rough, triumphant. He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "You want this as much as I do."

The words cut through the haze.

I shoved at his chest. "Get off me."

He stepped back immediately, hands raised. But his eyes-God, his eyes were molten.

"This can't happen," I said, trying to ignore the way my body screamed in protest.

"Agreed."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." Dominic straightened his jacket. "This was a mistake."

"A mistake? That's what you're calling assault?"

His eyes flashed. "Don't. I stopped the second you told me to. If you want to pretend you weren't kissing me back, fine. But don't lie about consent."

He was right. I hated that he was right.

"Why did you stop the elevator?"

"Because I couldn't-" He bit off the words. Ran a hand through his hair. "Because you slapped me, and I should have been angry. Should have walked away. But all I could think about was doing this."

"That's not an excuse."

"I know." He moved to the control panel, pressed a button. The elevator hummed back to life. "Believe me, I know."

We stood in tense silence as the elevator descended. My lips still tingled. My heart still raced.

"When these doors open," Dominic said quietly, "we're going to walk out and pretend this never happened."

"Fine."

"You're going to be my stepsister."

"I'm aware."

"And this-" He gestured between us. "-ends now."

"Perfect."

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

I stepped out without looking back.

I made it three steps before a hand caught my wrist.

"Wait."

I turned. Dominic still held me, his grip gentle but firm.

"I'm not sorry," he said.

"You just said it was a mistake."

"It was. But I'm not sorry."

He released me and walked away.

I stood alone in the empty corridor, my entire world tilted sideways.

I needed to leave. Needed to find Mom, make excuses, get out.

Instead, I found myself wandering.

The mansion was a maze. I climbed stairs without counting, following some instinct I couldn't name.

Music drifted through an open door.

Not the string quartet. Something heavier.

I hesitated, then pushed the door wider.

The room beyond was chaos. Canvases everywhere. Paint splattered the floor. And in the center, a man stood before an easel, brush moving in quick, violent strokes.

Asher.

He didn't notice me. His focus was absolute.

I should have left.

But I couldn't look away.

He painted with his whole body. Every stroke was deliberate, powerful.

I took a step closer.

And froze.

The painting.

It was me.

Not a perfect reproduction. Something more abstract, dreamlike. But unmistakably me-the curve of my jaw, the shape of my eyes, the way my hair fell.

"How long are you going to stand there?"

I jumped. Asher still hadn't turned around.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

"And yet, here you are." He added another stroke. "Come closer."

My feet moved before my brain could object. I stopped beside him.

"When did you-" I couldn't finish.

"The coffee shop. Three weeks ago." Now he did turn.

Up close, Asher was devastating in a completely different way than his brothers. Where Julian was charming and Dominic was commanding, Asher was raw. Intense. He looked at me like he could see straight through skin and bone.

"You've been following me?"

"No. I went for coffee. Saw you. Couldn't stop thinking about you." His gaze dropped to the painting. "Couldn't stop seeing you."

"That's-"

"Creepy? Yeah. I'm getting that a lot today."

Despite everything, I almost smiled. "Does that line work on many women?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never tried it before." He set down his brush. "You're Maya. Claire's daughter."

"And you're Asher. My soon-to-be stepbrother."

Something flickered in his expression. "Right. That."

"You didn't know?"

"Not until tonight. I don't pay much attention to Father's personal life." He moved closer, studying me like I was another painting. "You look different than in the coffee shop."

"It's the three-thousand-dollar dress."

"No. You look scared."

My throat tightened. "I'm not-"

"Don't." His hand came up, hovering near my face but not quite touching. "Don't lie. Not to me."

"Why would I tell you the truth?"

"Because I knew your father."

The world stopped.

"What?"

His hand dropped. "David Laurent. Brilliant businessman. Terrible judge of character. He trusted the wrong people, and it destroyed him."

"He died in a car accident."

"Is that what your mother told you?"

Ice flooded my veins. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying your father's death wasn't an accident. And the man responsible is the same man threatening my family now."

"You're lying."

"Am I?" He turned, pulling out a drawer. Withdrew a folder. "This is everything I've gathered over the past three years. Your father was investigating corporate fraud when he died. He got too close to the truth."

My hands shook as I took the folder. Inside were photocopies, news clippings, financial statements.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Because you deserve to know." His voice was gentle. "And because I think you're strong enough to handle it."

My vision blurred. The folder slipped from my fingers, papers scattering.

"Hey." Asher caught my arms. "Breathe. Just breathe."

But I couldn't breathe. My father-my kind, brilliant father-murdered?

"I can't-" A sob tore from my throat.

Asher pulled me against his chest.

And I shattered.

I cried for my father. For my mother's lies. For the life I'd thought I understood.

Asher held me through it all, one hand stroking my hair, the other firm on my back. He didn't offer platitudes. He just held me.

When the storm finally passed, I pulled back, wiping my eyes.

"Sorry. I just-"

"Don't apologize."

I looked up at him. His face was inches from mine. Paint smudged on his jaw, exhaustion in the lines around his eyes.

"Why do you care?" I whispered.

"Because someone should have cared about your father. Someone should have protected him." His thumb brushed my cheek, catching a stray tear. "And because the moment I saw you, I knew you were going to change everything."

The air between us shifted.

I knew I should step away.

Instead, I rose on my toes and kissed him.

Asher went utterly still.

Then his hands cupped my face, and he kissed me back like a man drowning.

Where Dominic had been commanding, Asher was desperate. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that felt like starvation.

My fingers tangled in his hair. It was longer than his brothers', curling at his collar, soft and paint-smudged.

Asher's hands slid from my face to my shoulders, my waist, pulling me closer.

"Maya." My name was a prayer. "We shouldn't-"

"I know."

"I'm supposed to be your-"

"I know."

I kissed him again, harder.

Asher's control snapped.

He walked me backwards. My feet stumbled over drop cloths and paint cans. My back hit the wall-a different wall, a different brother, but the same electric wrongness.

His hands found the zipper of my dress.

"Tell me to stop," he breathed against my throat.

I arched into him. "Don't stop."

The zipper lowered. Asher's lips followed its path, kissing each inch of exposed skin. When the dress pooled at my feet, I stood before him in nothing but borrowed lingerie.

Asher pulled back, his artist's eyes drinking me in.

"You're so beautiful it hurts to look at you."

No one had ever said anything like that to me.

I reached for his shirt, fingers clumsy on the buttons. Asher helped, shrugging out of the paint-stained fabric. More paint smudged his ribs, his collarbones.

I traced a line of blue across his chest. "You wear your work."

"Always have." His hands spanned my waist. "Maya, if we do this-"

"I know what this means."

"Do you? Because I don't do casual. If I touch you like I want to touch you, I won't be able to let you go."

The words should have terrified me. Instead, they sent heat pooling low.

"Then touch me."

Asher lifted me like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist. He carried me to a couch half-covered in drop cloths, laying me down with a gentleness that contrasted with the hunger in his eyes.

"I've imagined this," he confessed. "Every night since I first saw you."

His hands skimmed up my legs, my thighs. I trembled.

"What did you imagine?"

"Everything." His fingers hooked in my underwear, slowly sliding the fabric down. "Every way I could make you moan my name."

My breath hitched.

Asher smiled and lowered his head.

The first touch of his mouth made me cry out. My hands flew to his hair as he explored me with devastating precision.

He learned me like I was a canvas. Patient. Thorough. When my back arched off the couch, when I shattered with his name on my lips, Asher gentled his touch but didn't stop.

"You're perfect," he murmured, kissing his way back up. "Absolutely perfect."

I pulled him down, tasting myself on his lips, fumbling with his belt. Asher helped, shedding the rest of his clothes.

He paused at my entrance, searching my face. "Last chance, Maya."

"I don't want a last chance." I wrapped my legs around him. "I want you."

Asher entered me slowly, his groan matching my gasp.

Then he moved.

It wasn't gentle. I didn't want gentle. I wanted this consuming passion that made me forget everything.

Asher drove into me with increasing urgency, one hand braced beside my head, the other between our bodies.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I forced my eyes open. Met his gaze. And felt something shift inside my chest, something more dangerous than the physical pleasure building.

"I see you, Maya," he whispered. "All of you."

The words, the intensity in his eyes, his touch-it was too much.

I came apart for the second time, and Asher followed me over the edge, burying his face in my neck, my name a reverent curse.

We lay tangled together in the aftermath, paint-stained and sweat-slicked and utterly ruined.

"What have we done?" I whispered.

Asher's arms tightened around me. "Something we can't undo."

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

We both froze.

"Asher?" Julian's voice called. "You up here?"

My eyes went wide. Asher pressed a finger to my lips.

"I'm working," he called back. "Go away."

"I need to talk to you. It's about-"

The door opened.

Julian stood in the doorway. His eyes found us on the couch-Asher shirtless, me wrapped in a drop cloth, our clothes scattered.

The color drained from Julian's face.

"You've got to be kidding me."