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."

Asher moved faster than I thought possible. He was on his feet, positioning himself between me and Julian.

"Get out," Asher said, his voice deadly calm.

Julian's jaw worked. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I said, get out."

"She's going to be our stepsister!"

"I'm aware."

"Then what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Asher's hands clenched. "Nothing you haven't already tried."

The words hung in the air.

Julian's eyes cut to me, and something raw flashed across his face. Hurt. Jealousy. Betrayal.

"I never-" He stopped. "I didn't know who she was."

"Neither did I. Not when it mattered."

"When it-" Julian laughed, bitter. "You painted her three weeks ago, Asher. You knew exactly who she was the moment Father announced his engagement."

My stomach dropped. "You knew?"

Asher turned to me, and the guilt in his eyes confirmed everything.

"You knew," I repeated, my voice rising. "You knew who I was, who my mother was, and you painted me anyway. You let me walk into this room, you told me about my father, you-"

I couldn't finish. My hands shook as I clutched the drop cloth tighter.

"Maya, let me explain."

"Explain what? That you manipulated me? That this was all some kind of game?"

"No." Asher reached for me, but I jerked back. "I didn't plan this. Any of this. I painted you because I couldn't stop thinking about you, and yes, I knew who you were when your mother got engaged, but that didn't change-"

"It changes everything!"

"Does it? Would you rather I'd stayed away? Let you walk through this party alone, let Dominic tear you apart, let Julian charm you with his lies?"

"I met her first," Julian said quietly.

Both Asher and I turned to stare.

Julian's hands were in his pockets, his posture deceptively casual. But his eyes burned.

"I saw her at the coffee shop three weeks ago. Before you painted her. Before you knew anything about her." He looked at me. "I asked you out before I knew who you were. Before I knew your mother was marrying my father."

"And then?" My voice shook. "You knew at the party. You knew when I walked in, and you said nothing."

"What was I supposed to say?" Julian's laugh was self-deprecating. "I panicked. I thought if I stayed away, maybe it would be easier."

"Easier for who?"

"For all of us." He took a step into the room. "But clearly, I'm not the only one who can't stay away."

Asher's jaw tightened. "Julian-"

"Save it." Julian's eyes found mine again, and the heat in them made my breath catch. "I wanted you first. Remember that."

He turned and walked out.

My legs gave out. I sank onto the couch, still wrapped in paint-stained canvas.

Three brothers. I'd kissed-and more-with two of them. In one night.

What was wrong with me?

"Maya." Asher knelt in front of me. "I'm sorry. I should have told you I knew who you were. But everything I said about your father-that's real. And what I feel for you-"

"Don't." I couldn't hear this right now. "Just... don't."

I stood, searching for my dress. Found it crumpled by the easel. The zipper was broken.

Perfect.

"Take my shirt," Asher offered. "It's paint-stained, but-"

"Fine."

I let the drop cloth fall. Asher's sharp intake of breath made me pause.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "Not for what we did. I could never be sorry for that. But for the lies."

I pulled on his shirt. It hung to mid-thigh, covered in blue and gold and crimson smudges.

"My father." I forced the words out. "You said he was investigating corporate fraud. Who?"

"Victor Castellan."

The name meant nothing. "Who is he?"

"Father's biggest rival. They were partners once. Then something went wrong, and they've been at war ever since." Asher gathered the scattered papers, handing them to me. "Your father was Castellan's accountant. He found evidence of money laundering, fraud, bribery. He was going to expose everything."

"And Castellan killed him?"

"I think so. But I can't prove it. Not yet."

I stared at the papers, my father's name jumping out from financial statements.

"Why do you care? About my father, about me, about any of this?"

Asher was quiet for a long moment.

"Because three years ago, I was engaged. Her name was Sophie. She was investigating Castellan too. For a journalism piece. And then her car went off a bridge."

My heart stopped. "Asher-"

"Everyone said it was an accident. But I knew." His hands fisted. "I've been gathering evidence ever since. Your father's case is part of a pattern."

"And my mother married his enemy."

"Yes."

"Does Richard know? About my father?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably." Asher met my eyes. "Father doesn't do anything without calculation. If he married your mother, there's a reason."

The implication hit me like a fist.

"My inheritance." The words tasted like ash.

I'd learned about it only last week. A letter from a lawyer, explaining that my grandmother had left me millions. Locked away until I turned twenty-five or married.

"I don't know for sure," Asher said carefully. "But it would make sense."

I laughed, high and brittle. "So my mother is marrying a man who might be using her. I'm about to become stepsiblings with three men I've-" I couldn't finish. "And the man who killed my father is still out there."

"Yes."

At least he was honest.

I gathered my things-my broken dress, my shoes, the folder. "I need to leave."

"Maya-"

"Please." I looked at him. "I need to think. I can't do it here."

Asher nodded slowly. "Okay. But take this." He pulled a phone from his desk drawer. "Burner. My number's already programmed. If you need anything-call me."

I took the phone. Our fingers brushed.

"I meant what I said," Asher whispered. "I see you, Maya. All of you. And I'm not sorry for tonight."

My throat closed. I turned and walked out before I could do something stupid like kiss him again.

The hallway was empty. I made my way down stairs, through corridors that all looked the same.

A door opened ahead.

Dominic stepped out.

He was no longer in his tuxedo jacket, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, bow tie hanging loose.

His eyes widened when he saw me. Took in Asher's paint-stained shirt, my bare legs, my tangled hair.

His expression went carefully blank.

"Maya."

"Don't." I couldn't handle another confrontation.

But Dominic caught my arm as I tried to pass. "Whose shirt?"

"None of your business."

"Like hell it's not." His grip tightened. "You're wearing Asher's shirt. Which means-"

"Which means nothing."

"Maya-"

I yanked my arm free. "You don't get to kiss me and then act possessive. You don't get to call this a mistake and then demand explanations."

"I never said it was a mistake."

"Yes, you did. In the elevator."

"I said it was a mistake. Not that I regretted it." Dominic stepped closer. "There's a difference."

My breath caught. This close, I could see the stubble on his jaw, smell whiskey on his breath.

"You've been drinking."

"Three glasses. Barely enough to feel." His hand came up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Tell me you didn't sleep with my brother."

"I don't owe you anything."

"Tell me anyway."

I met his eyes, saw the vulnerability hiding beneath the command.

"I did," I said quietly. "And I'd do it again."

Something flickered across Dominic's face.

"Then you're in more trouble than you know."

He released me and walked away.

I stood frozen, Asher's phone burning a hole in my pocket.

I'd come to this party as the daughter of a woman seeking a better life.

I was leaving as something else entirely.

I turned toward the exit.

My mother stood blocking my path, her face pale, eyes wide with horror.

"Maya," she whispered. "What have you done?"