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.