Elowen

"I don't do virgins, blondie."

It had been nine solid months since that night, and yet the embarrassment still lingered heavily in my chest whenever I remembered the events that occurred.

“I want to hold another party, in celebration of you getting into Whitmore College!” Isa shrieked through the phone, her voice bright and obnoxiously chipper.

“Isa, no. Absolutely no,” I groaned, balancing my phone between my shoulder and ear as I put on the kitchen gloves, getting ready to bring out my cookies from the oven. I hoped they wouldn’t be bland or too sugary this time.

“Come on, Elowen,” she whined, dragging my name out like a kid begging for candy. “You’re officially a college student now. You’re not supposed to be this reserved. At least be wild and crazy. We only live once, you know.”

“First of all,” I said, rolling my eyes as I opened the fridge, only to find it depressingly empty, “I got into Whitmore because I literally had no other choice. It’s not my dream college. It’s not Belmont. I need to study harder and become abundantly rich so I can live how I want to.”

“Yeah, duh,” Isa mocked, her dramatic tone practically dripping through the phone. “So what if Whitmore isn’t Belmont? At least you’re still going to college and studying music or some other boring course, which is, like, the most amazing thing ever.”

I sighed, opening the oven door and leaning in to grab the tray. The cookies looked sumptuous. I hoped the taste would too.

“Isa, do you even know what music is?”

“It’s like... screaming above your voice and playing some ridiculously boring instrument, right?” she said, and I could practically hear her smirking on the other end.

“Oh, good Lord,” I muttered, rubbing my temples.

“Anyway,” she continued, undeterred, “I’m still gonna throw that party, and you’re going to come, and you’re going to have some fun. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll get laid again.”

“Isa!” I snapped, heat rushing to my cheeks.

“What?” she replied, feigning innocence. “You can’t tell me you’re still not thinking about him. It’s been what now... nine months? Nine months, Elowen.”

“I’m not thinking about him,” I said firmly, though the lie was obvious even to myself.

“Hmm,” Isa scoffed. “Last month when you came to my house, did you think I didn’t hear you talking in your sleep? Saying words like, ‘Oh, please touch me here.’”

“Shit, Isa.” I was horrified.

She chuckled loudly, the sound making me smile embarrassingly.

“You still dream about him, right?” she continued, laughing between her words. “That hot stranger who gave you the best night of your life and—”

And the worst. I clenched my teeth. Isa knew nothing about what happened later that night and I wanted to keep it so.

“I know what I did, Isa,” I interrupted, feigning a groan.

I had told Isa that the stranger and I had only made out because I didn’t want her knowing about how he said things that made me feel humiliated. How, because of those words, I couldn’t bring myself to be close to any other guy again.

I would keep my promise to my mother, and this time no one would be here to make me do otherwise.

“I took a shower and washed off our little encounter from my body. Can we move on?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “I’m never letting you live that down. Do you know how rare it is to find someone who looks like a Greek god and actually knows what to do in bed? And you just let him poof, disappear.”

I sighed, leaning against the counter and pinching the bridge of my nose.

“I didn’t let him disappear. The whole idea of a one-night stand is just that... a one-night stand. Only one night of your life. Not more. That’s literally how it works.”

“Not when they’re that good,” she quipped. “Honestly, I’m just disappointed in you. I expected you to be smart and use this opportunity to corner such a guy.”

“Well, sorry but not sorry to disappoint,” I said dryly. “Now can we talk about my cookies or something else? Like how you’re going to manufacture the money to pay for this party you’re so determined to throw.”

“You like to worry too much about things that shouldn’t be worried about,” she said breezily. “I’ve got it all figured out. All I need you to be concerned about is how you’ll dress up and look hot. Not girl hot, but boy hot.”

I rolled my eyes.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about the money involved in paying for this party. The last time Isa told me that “she had it figured out,” we both ended up begging and pleading with the store owner she bought drinks from on credit. And the store owner called the police on us.

Thanks to my dad, who was one of the cops that came to arrest his own daughter and her best friend. Seeing me, he sighed, told me how embarrassing this was for him, and ended up paying for the drinks.

Speak of the devil.

“Isa, I’ll call you back,” I said quickly, cutting her off mid-rant.

“What? Why?”

“Dad’s here,” I said, already lowering the phone.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But we’re not done talking about this party, Elowen!”

I hung up before she could say anything else, stuffing my phone into my pocket and pulling off the kitchen gloves before walking into the living room.

“To what do I owe you coming back this early?” I asked, frowning as I took in the sight of my father sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch, a cigarette on his lips.

The air had already started to smell of smoke. And the type he smoked wasn’t the kind that smelled sweet. This habit disgusted me to my core.

“That’s not a way to greet your dad.”

“Well, that’s how I greet the dad who hasn’t been there for his daughter since her mother died a year ago. You didn’t even bother showing up to my graduation. Mum wouldn’t have done that,” I snapped, arms crossed tightly over my chest. “I was the best in my class, by the way. Not that it concerns you.”

“Oh, come on, baby,” my father said, drawing me close to him. “You’re a big girl now. Besides... Dad is always busy now. Trying his best to make sure you experience a proper life.”

“Yeah, by dodging your responsibilities pertaining to my life,” I shot back, moving two steps back. The smell of smoke oozing from him was disgusting. “Great way to be a dad.”

His face twitched just for a second before he composed himself and smoothed his shirt. It looked way too expensive. I swear the cost of that shirt alone was enough to buy half the clothes he owned.

His hair was gelled back, making him look younger than usual.

“My little pessimistic baby girl,” he said with a sigh, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “I heard you got into Whitmore.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. A low-class school. Exactly what I know you were about to call it.”

He looked out the window, breathed in and out, then turned back to meet my gaze.

“I wasn’t going to say low-class. Why do you think so lowly of me?”

I ignored his question.

“Spare me the lies. Swear that you weren’t going to say that,” I challenged, glaring at him.

“I didn’t,” he said. “It’s not Belmont, is it? But it’s... okay, I suppose.”

“Wow, Dad, thank you so much for the wonderful review.” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “If you’d love to know, I was doing great before you stepped in. It’s either you go back to wherever you came from or you go to your room as always. I don’t need you.”

I turned to go, but he reached out and grabbed my hand, stopping me in my tracks.

“What if you got into Belmont?”

I laughed, but there was no humor in it.

I whirled around, eyeing him up and down before forcefully pulling my arm from his grasp.

“They don’t give scholarships, for your information, Dad. That’s the whole point. It’s for elite and rich kids and, let’s not forget, trust fund babies. Not for people like you and me.”

“No, baby,” he said. “I want you to learn the habit of being optimistic.”

“And I want you to learn the habit of not being delusional,” I shot back, frowning. “Not being optimistic has saved me from a lot. It has saved me from fooling myself into thinking you’ll ever be the father I want you to be. Now, please let me go.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he tilted his head, his gaze distant for a moment before his eyes lit up with an unnerving enthusiasm.

“You’re going to love it, Elowen. Just imagine: a big college, a gorgeous campus, parties on yachts, a better life.”

“A better life? How?” My brows shot up. “Mum died entrusting me to your hands. You barely make anything from your work, and even the little you do make, what do you use it for? Gambling? Smoking? You have never been there for me. Now what the hell are you saying?”

I stopped talking because I knew if I continued, I might tear up.

My father didn’t say anything after my outburst. He just held up his hand for me to see.

There, sitting on his ring finger, was a ring.

My jaw tightened.

“You’re a police officer and you don’t even live by what your profession preaches against. Who did you steal that from?” I asked coldly.

My father’s face twisted, his lips pulling into a frown as he stared at me. He looked hurt.

“Elowen,” he said quietly.

He rarely called my name. It was his favorite move whenever he was trying to communicate his hurt feelings and, in doing so, make me feel guilty enough to submit.

I shoved the guilt crawling up my chest away.

“Abandoning your daughter is no way to be a father,” I said, turning away.

I’d had enough.

I clenched my fists, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something worse.

“What are you trying to say to me?” I muttered, staring at the wall instead of him.

He exhaled slowly.

“Baby, if you tried paying attention to the news, you’d know why.”

I turned back to face him, arms crossed over my chest.

“I don’t care about rich people and their problems, Dad. I have enough of my own. You would’ve known that if you were present in my life.”

His lips twitched into a proud smile, one that immediately made me suspicious. I narrowed my eyes.

Without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, ridiculously expensive-looking phone. He typed something quickly, his fingers clicking against the screen, before holding it out to me.

I hesitated, eyeing the phone before snatching it from his hand.

The headline made my stomach drop.

“Billionaire Heiress Mirabelle Knox Announces Engagement to Police Officer Cassian Vale.”

Zephyr

In spite of my best intentions to avoid adhering to my mother, here I was in her fucking car on our way to meeting my “new family.”

“You could at least try not to look like a fucking criminal for one day.”

My mother’s voice sliced through the car like broken glass.

I kept my eyes on the rain dragging itself across the tinted window beside me. Greene’s streets blurred into silver and black while cigarette smoke curled lazily from my lips.

“Did you hear me?” she snapped.

I took another drag.

“Unfortunately.”

Mirabelle Knox gripped the steering wheel tighter. Her diamond rings flashed under the streetlights. Everything about her screamed elegance.

Well, everything except the way she looked at me.

That part was always ugly.

“You embarrass me every time you open your mouth, Zephyr.”

“Then stop talking to me.”

Her laughter was cold. “You think this attitude makes you tough? You’re twenty-one years old and still acting like a self-destructive asshole.”

I smirked faintly. “Genetics, maybe.”

That hit the nerve I expected. Her head whipped toward me for half a second before she looked back at the road and quietly said, “Don’t you dare compare yourself to him.”

There it was.

The ghost sitting between us in the car.

My father.

The drunk, violent bastard. Rotten to the fucking core.

The man whose face I apparently inherited.

I leaned my head back against the seat. “You already do that enough for both of us.”

“You are just a replica of him.”

I stayed quiet.

“You fight like him.”

Another silence.

“You make it a point to ruin everything precious around you exactly like—”

“For fuck’s sake, Mother,” I muttered. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

The brakes jerked slightly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Mother.”

Her jaw tightened. “You think moving into this house is easy for me? You think it’s nice to be called the wife of a drunk?” she hissed. “You think I wanted to drag you into my new marriage looking like this? Looking like him?”

I laughed under my breath, bitter and tired.

“There it is.”

“You should be grateful Caspian even agreed to let you stay with us.”

“Yeah?” I looked at her finally. “Tell your new husband thanks for adopting the family disappointment.”

“Stop acting like a victim.”

“Start acting like a mother.”

The silence became loud. The kind that made storms feel quiet.

Mirabelle’s nails dug into the steering wheel as the mansion gates slowly opened ahead of us.

Massive iron gates. Tall stone walls. Warm golden lights glowing through enormous windows. All a replica of our last home. My mother’s type of taste when it came to mansions.

New York City royalty type of rich.

Caspian Vale definitely had money hidden somewhere beneath that police badge or else—

I snapped my head toward my mother.

She must’ve bought it for him.

My reason for drawing to this conclusion was because I’d researched every fucking thing about my “stepfather.” The summary of my research was none other than the fact that the man was one of the poorest police officers here in the city.

“Listen to me carefully,” my mother said coldly as the car rolled into the driveway. “You will not ruin this for me. You will not bring your filthy habits into that house. And you will stay the hell away from Elowen.”

My expression darkened slightly.

“Elowen?”

“My stepdaughter.”

I frowned.

Something about the name felt familiar. I didn’t try to think deeper. I had lots of girls falling at my feet every day, screaming their fucking names in my ears. Maybe that’s where I heard Elowen from.

The car stopped. Rain hammered against the roof.

Mirabelle stepped out first without another word.

Good.

I was done hearing her voice.

The second my boots hit the wet driveway, I slammed the car door hard enough to shake the entire vehicle.

Thunder cracked somewhere above us.

I reached into my jacket, pulled out the half-empty cigarette pack, and lit one immediately.

The smoke burned my lungs.

Perfect.

Just what I wanted.

For a few seconds, I just stood there in the rain outside the mansion while movers carried boxes through the front doors.

A fresh start.

That’s what Mirabelle called this.

Bullshit.

There was no such thing as a fresh start for people like me. Only different ways to rot.

I inhaled deeply before crushing the cigarette beneath my boot.

Then I headed inside.

The house smelled warm. The faint scent of vanilla filled the air.

Voices echoed somewhere deeper in the mansion. I walked toward them to see my supposed stepfather laughing.

“Zephyr’s here!” he called out warmly.

I nearly rolled my eyes.

I caught sight of a girl who appeared at the top of the staircase.

And my entire body went still.

She was dressed in a soft blue sweater, short skirts that did nothing to cover her great shape, long hair falling over one shoulder. She glanced below at each of us, one after another, before her eyes rested on me.

They went wide immediately.

No fucking way.

Her lips parted slightly as she stared at me from upstairs.

I knew that face. Knew those eyes.

Knew the sound she made when I pinned her to the bed nine months ago at that graduation party before I stopped everything.

Elowen.

The shy girl who saw me jerking off some steam.

The girl I never expected to see again.

Fate is a bastard.

I swept my eyes across her body again. Her face lost all colour. Mine probably did too.

Beside me, Caspian smiled proudly.

“Zephyr,” he said. “Meet my daughter.” He turned to the girl. “Elowen, meet your new stepbrother.”

The cigarette taste turned bitter in my mouth.

Elowen Vale looked at me like she had just seen a ghost, and judging from the horror in her eyes— she remembered me too.

I smirked.

This was going to be a fucking fun summer.

Elowen

It had to be a dream.

Please tell me it’s a dream.

In fact, a nightmare.

Whoever said “be careful what you wish for” deserved a Nobel Prize.

There was a time in my life when I wanted a sibling. You know, someone to talk to.

Someone to annoy. Someone to protect me from our emotionally constipated parents.

Apparently, the universe heard that prayer and said: Sure, Elowen. But let’s make him the most arrogant, insufferable, emotionally unavailable jerk you’ve ever met.

And because the universe clearly enjoys chaos…

Here he is, standing before me.

I surely don’t recall asking for a six-foot-something menace with sinful blue eyes, an ego the size of a planet, and a talent for humiliating me in under five minutes. Nor did I ask for someone who has seen me half naked and shattered my pride in a single night.

Honestly, if this was karma, I’d like to know what crime I committed.

A sigh escaped my lips. I closed my eyes briefly, trying not to show my emotions.

When I opened them, Father signaled at me with his eyes. Behave, they said.

I wanted to roll my eyes, but right now, a thousand and one million questions were going through my head.

“Hi,” I said to my “stepbrother,” the fakest smile I’ve ever created appearing on my face as I sat on the dining chair.

“Hello.” That irritating smirk I hated so much was on his face. “You must be Elowen.”

Goddammit, jerk. Like you don’t know already.

I nodded. His eyes never left my face as he sat across from me.

How in the world did the guy I had the best kiss with and almost made out with become my stepbrother?

It was supposed to be a probability of zero, maybe every negative number, but here I was, sitting at a dining table so extravagant that it looked like it was made out of a movie.

And there he was, Zephyr, sitting across from me, his dark wet hair longer than I remembered it to be in a way that made me want to pull it and wipe that annoying smirk off his face.

His eyes were still on me, never leaving me for even a second.

I tried my best to keep my expression in check. Not to give any signal that we knew each other. Or the fact that I had kissed those lips and moaned to him where to touch me for me to feel more ecstatic pleasure.

Oh, universe. What could be my offense?

“So,” he said, his voice smooth as he leaned back in the chair, clearly enjoying himself. “Who are you?”

I rolled my eyes. “My dad basically told—”

“Baby, be nice,” Father cut in.

I turned in his direction. His eyes pleaded with me.

I sighed for the umpteenth time tonight. “Elowen. I am Elowen. Nice to meet you…?”

He extended his hand toward me. “Zephyr.”

I stared at his extended hand for a second before taking it in mine. “Nice to finally meet you, stepbrother.”

He gave my hand a little squeeze, and I didn’t want to look him in the eyes to understand what that meant. I pulled away quickly.

“Why didn’t you come in right after me, Zephyr?” Mirabelle asked, her sharp voice breaking the moment.

The whole room stood still. I saw a muscle tick in Zephyr’s jaw.

I glanced at Mirabelle, taking in the contrast between her platinum red hair and Zephyr’s almost-dark, relaxed curls. They had the same beautiful sharp blue eyes, but everything about their energy was different.

Her hair was probably dyed, I thought, staring at Mirabelle’s hair before catching myself.

“Am I supposed to answer that, Mirabelle?” Zephyr said, his eyes glaring at her.

I almost gasped. He calls his own mother by her name?

She scoffed, shook her head, and turned away from him.

Zephyr ignored her, standing and casually making his way around the table. To my absolute horror, he sat down beside me, his leg brushing against mine as he leaned back, looking completely at ease.

I, for one, wasn’t. Especially as his scent hit me.

He smelled of cigarettes, or maybe it was pipe smoke because it was sweeter. Better than the one that hovered in the air back in our apartment. The one Father uses. I hated the smell of cigarette smoke, but Zephyr’s own was weirdly intoxicating.

“Zephyr,” my father said, his voice overly cheerful as trying to pacify the tense atmosphere. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your music career.”

Mirabelle scoffed, which I don’t understand the reason for.

I am truly surprised that Zephyr was into the major I’m going to study at Belmont. If I finally do get in.

“Thank you,” he said flatly, flashing a fake polite smile before turning his attention back to me.

I avoided his gaze, focusing on the growing crowd of maids filtering into the room. Rich people are crazy. Why would someone want people hovering around them, doing basically the littlest things they could do by themselves?

And just so you know, these maids are just kitchen staff only. There are more.

As they placed our food before us, I was tempted to dive in immediately. But seeing as I was in the middle of rich folks, and I could feel Father staring at me, telling me not to embarrass him in front of his billionaire heiress wife and son—

Napkin first.

I quickly unfolded the napkin and placed it on my thigh, feeling like I was under a spotlight.

Dinner was served, course after course of food that looked more like art than actual meals. When I first brought my fork to my mouth and tasted the food, I frowned. All my appetite was gone in an instant.

If this was what rich folks loved, then I didn’t mind not being one of them.

Don’t get me wrong. I would love to be rich one day, but these foods… nope.

My mind suddenly drifted back when I felt something rest on my thigh.

A hand.

Warm and smooth, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of my dress.

My entire body went rigid. My fork clattered against my plate as I coughed sharply.

“Sorry,” I quickly apologized, reaching for my glass of water. My cheeks burned. “The food went down the wrong pipe.”

Mirabelle’s eyes showed no emotion. Father looked at her face and then back at me, his eyes pleading again.

Giving him an apologetic look, I turned and shot a glare at Zephyr, who completely feigned innocence. He seemed amused.

Then his hand started to move.

Slowly, his fingers crept higher, brushing against my bare skin in a way that made my stomach tighten.

I tried to look completely unbothered, but my traitorous body clenched involuntarily, and I bit my lip, willing myself not to react.

I really need to set some rules here against my stepbrother’s actions and my heart, which had started to race.

I placed my hand on his, stopping him from going any further.

He glanced at me, his smirk deepening as he flexed his fingers slightly under my palm.

My glare intensified.

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of forced smiles and awkward little conversations. I barely registered the talks around me, too focused on the heat of Zephyr’s hand and the infuriating way he seemed completely unaffected.

Something unexpected happened.

Zephyr suddenly pulled his hand away from my thigh. He was no longer looking at me.

I followed his gaze to see his mother glaring at him, looking back and forth between my thigh and his hand.

My blood turned cold.

She said nothing. Absolutely nothing. But somehow, that silence felt worse than yelling. Her expression didn’t change. There was no anger in them. No shock at all.

Just a cold, calculating stare that made the tiny hairs on my arms rise.

It felt like she was studying me. Judging me.

Measuring exactly what kind of threat I could become. Then—slowly—her gaze lifted to mine.

And she smiled.

It was elegant. Polite. Beautiful. And somehow the most terrifying thing I had seen all night.

That smile made me shiver.

After a moment, Zephyr stood up abruptly, and I could feel the air in the room get chill in an instant. He didn’t look at me again.

His gaze landed on Father, and his voice was gravelly. “Where’s my room?”

“Upstairs,” Mirabelle replied, her teeth clenched. “But you’re not going anywhere until you say goodnight to everyone.”

I felt the temperature in the room drop so fast. Did Mirabelle see his hand on my thigh or was it all my imagination?

Oh, God. If she did I hope she doesn’t say a word about this to Father, or worse, let the matter escalate. She might think I’m trying to seduce her son so I could climb the ladder of their rich social status.

Calm yourself down, Elowen.

“Goodnight to everyone,” Zephyr repeated in a monotone voice, his eyes on his mother while he smiled tightly. “Now, can I please know where my room is?”

“Would you like me to show you to your room?” I asked, trying to ease the tension in the room.

His eyes turned to me. He sized me up and down with an ice-cold stare.

What the hell?

Just minutes ago, he was all smiles—even though it sickened me—but now? How fast does he switch emotions?

A strange sense of déjà vu hit me immediately. I still remembered how his countenance had changed on the bed nine months ago when he noticed I was still a virgin.

This was worse than then.

He ignored me, and headed toward the stairs. What’s up with that attitude?

Great. Now we are back to how we were supposed to be from the very beginning.

ENEMIES.