EMERY POV

"Do I have a generic face?"

He said it to me directly.

Of course not, it's actually you.

"Don't!"

My scream came out at the exact moment his hand reached for the pictures.

People turned to look at us because of how loud I'd been.

He picked them up anyway, like my throat wasn't burning from trying to stop him.

Sweat was sliding down from my chest to my navel, soaking through everything I had on.

I grabbed the hem of my cardigan to keep myself from collapsing.

He squinted at the picture, examining it.

"You..." his voice trailed off. "Are you a stalker?" He asked it with his nose flaring, like he found the whole thing amusing.

Dammit, this was exactly what I'd been trying to avoid.

That was when my legs finally decided they could move again.

I lunged forward, yanked the pictures out of his hand, and bolted for the door.

Who the hell could have predicted I'd act like a complete lunatic the first time I actually interacted with my crush?

I bit down hard on my lip as I ran, but I didn't stop. I couldn't even look back.

"Shit!" My foot caught on the edge of the pavement. Thank god I was wearing boots.

I didn't stop though. I kept dragging myself forward until I was completely out of his sight, away from that burning gaze I could feel on my back.

I finally let myself breathe when I reached a nearby coffee stand and dropped into a seat. I slumped over, staring down at the pictures in my hands.

I should have just stayed and tried to explain things. Now I looked like a complete fool. Worse than that, maybe actually like a stalker.

He'd really thought that. And part of me had to admit he wasn't totally wrong. I knew almost all of his routine. Wasn't that basically stalking?

God, he still had one of the pictures. I'd left behind the one I took without him knowing.

And my book? Jesus, my book.

I pulled my phone out of my cardigan pocket, fingers shaking. Why couldn't I have just fallen on my face instead, you idiot?

I opened the school group chat to see if my name had popped up anywhere, if someone had snapped a picture of us without me realizing.

Thank god, there was nothing.

And the book. He still had my book. The one with all my annotations and dog-eared pages. What if he actually read it?

I pressed my palms against my eyes. Maybe I could just transfer schools. Change my name. Flee the country.

That was when my mom's message came through.

*”Emery darling, the family dinner is tomorrow. I'll pick you up.”*

Right. My new family.

I didn't blame her, really. Who would want to stay stuck with a boring daughter and a struggling life like hers forever? Of course she'd decide to remarry.

I still had the teddy bear my dad gave me last summer. If I'd known he was going to die the next day, maybe I would have held on to him a little longer. Maybe I could have changed everything somehow.

I was pissed at first when my mom told me she was getting remarried, but when I tried to see it from her side, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to see her smile again too.

I dragged myself up, brushing off all the dust that had collected on my butt. My small, round butt, technically.

I had a pretty good ass, actually.

But what good did it do me when boys never looked my way anyway?

So here I was with a dead dad, a heartbroken mom, and my crush finding out I was obsessed with him and read erotic books.

What was he ever going to think of me now?

I waited until late evening before heading back to my dorm. When I got there, my roommate was already tucked into bed, probably out for the night.

I looked around the room one more time, then picked up my phone to text my mom.

I'm free for the next few days. Can you still pick me up today?

The reply came fast.

*”Of course darling, momma is on her way.”*

Yeah, I did what I always did. Ran away from my problems. Even though I was always the one creating them for myself in the first place.

I threw some things into my backpack and headed down to the parking lot, leaving a note on my roommate's pillow. *Heading home.*

Mom picked me up within the hour. I spent the drive staring out the window, trying not to think about Zayn still having that picture. And my book.

Rain started pouring, hitting the windshield. I placed my hand to the window, feeling the coldness in my palm.

"Richard's kid is your age," Mom said brightly. "It'll be nice having a sibling."

I just nodded and prayed that tomorrow's dinner would get canceled. Maybe a minor earthquake. Nothing devastating, just enough.

Home wasn't exactly fun, but it served its purpose. All I needed was to get away from his eyes.

Then the family gathering actually arrived, and I was standing in front of the mirror wearing a hoodie and baggy jeans.

"Don't tell me you're planning to wear this." My mom stood in the doorway, scowling as she emphasized the word “this.”

I looked down at my outfit again. Nothing was wrong with it, right?

"Mom," I whined. "You know this is what I always wear."

She was already in my room now, and I could see a dress in her hand. I knew I was done for.

"I'm not wearing that. It's way too short." I said it after my mom had already wrestled my baggy clothes off me and shoved me into the dress.

"You look chic. I knew my daughter didn't come out of my womb looking boring. You just turned yourself into that." She wouldn't stop fussing with me, smoothing and examining and straightening my hair.

Oh god, her hands were everywhere.

"I'm not doing this."

"I'll get you unlimited access to the university's restricted archive. The rare first editions section." She winked. "Any book you want."

The restricted section. I'd been trying to get in there for months. I could disappear into those stacks and hide from my own life for days.

The floral dress wasn't that bad, actually. I smiled at how easy I was to bribe.

"You can't walk around looking like you just rolled out of bed." She said it as she left my room.

I rolled my eyes. What did that even mean?

When I was ready, I headed downstairs. I could already hear voices, so I took the steps slowly, gripping the railing.

"Thank you, Mrs. Diane."

Wait. I'd been so deep in my fantasy world that I could have sworn I was hearing the male lead's voice in real life.

"You're welcome, Zayn. Your sister is almost ready." That was my mother.

Zayn?

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I saw his face. It was really him.

Zayn Blackwood.

There was an older man beside him, and the resemblance between them was impossible to miss.

Then it hit me. No, it didn't just hit me. It crashed into me like I'd been stabbed.

My breathing went ragged. I didn't even realize my legs were shaking until I missed a step.

"Careful," Mr. Blackwood said, reaching out to steady me.

What was my mother thinking? Richard Blackwood owned the biggest sports company in Houston.

How did they even meet?

Okay, that was the least of my problems right now.

Zayn was about to become my stepbrother.

My crush. The only guy who now knew what the girl behind these freckles did with her brain in her spare time.

I managed to get down the rest of the stairs, and when I finally reached them, there was a huge smirk plastered across Zayn's face.

"We meet again, dear stepsister."

God, that was so cringe.

Right there, I made a mental note. This marriage was not going to work.

FIVE YEARS LATER

*I died the moment Richard said those words.*

"Your brother is coming back home from Houston." His face held something I couldn't fathom—it was like he was in mourning. His head was slightly down, eyes fixed wearily on the laptop on his desk.

I stood rigid, like someone had drained all the blood from my body.

*Zayn Blackwood is coming home.* I repeated it in my mind, and I nearly collapsed against Richard's desk. I felt suffocated and I had to fan myself with my hand. It was as if the AC in his office had stopped working.

"Zayn is sick, Emery," he continued, and that was when I understood the look on his face. Something bad had happened.

"Sick?" I should say that out loud for him to hear, right? But tell me why my mouth suddenly felt glued together. Why I felt this stupid rush of heat I feel every night just by scrolling online to catch a glimpse of my hot hockey stepbrother.

"Hmm." God, that wasn't supposed to be a response.

Richard looked at me like I was losing it or something, but behind his gaze I saw that sad look—that look that screams *I hope this isn't happening.*

My weight kept shifting from one leg to another as I tried to stay calm.

*Breathe in, stay calm, Emery.*

But I couldn't. I was in a panic, I can't lie.

"He's—" I tried swallowing to clear my throat, and damn, it was dry as a desert.

"He has a brain tumor and he needs personal attention." His voice turned quiet, his eyes wet with tears. "My son is dying... He's only got six months to live." He finally broke down in tears.

A heavy pang hit my chest.

*I probably didn't hear him correctly, right?*

The words didn't quite process at first. Then my legs began to shake. *Zayn was dying? My not-so-brotherly stepbrother who had made my teenage life a living hell was dying?*

Six months. The words kept bouncing around in my skull. That wasn't enough time to fix five years of running away from him. Hell, it wasn't enough time for anything.

Wait. Why the hell was I thinking like that? I should be thinking about treatment plans, specialists, clinical trials. That's what doctors do.

But I wasn't just his doctor. I was...

What? What was I to him?

I should've felt pure sympathy. Instead, all I felt was that old teenage confusion, the hate from prom night tangled up with something darker I'd never admitted.

"How severe is it? How long has he been diagnosed?" I burst out, finally finding my voice.

"A few days ago. We found out a few days ago." He wiped his tears and looked up at me desperately. "You can be his personal doctor, right, Emery?" His voice cracked. "He won't see anyone else. He doesn't trust outside doctors poking around. But you're not a stranger, he wouldn't mind. And you're qualified. Please, you can take care of him, can't you?"

I clutched my black dress tightly. Accepting this meant one thing: Zayn would be my personal patient. The man I couldn't stop comparing to those hot male leads in the fantasy books I read would be my patient. And the distance I tried so damn hard to build, making myself into a doctor who finally got recognized by Blackwood Sports—would probably be nothing the moment he's back.

But what choice did I have now? Richard was looking at me like I was his last hope.

"I'll be his personal doctor," I said after what felt like an eternity.

A hint of hope flashed in Richard's eyes, and I was somehow happy I'd accepted.

"He's already at the airport, Emery. You should wait for him at home. I'll join you soon," he said.

My eyes widened. *So soon?* I thought it would be... shit. How do I face him this soon?

"Alright, I'll take my leave." My hands were trembling as I walked out of his office. The moment I got outside, I exhaled sharply.

Running away crossed my mind, but I quickly brushed it off.

As I walked toward the elevator, I remembered prom night in my senior year. Zayn had caught a glimpse of my dress when I left my door open. The next thing that happened was my parents canceling my night. He'd told them I was boy-crazy and I'd probably get raped in my short dress. An ankle-length dress. God.

Five good years, and I still had these mixed feelings about him.

The fifteen-minute drive back home felt like two minutes. Even the universe was in his favor.

My mother was already dressed in a red flowing gown, instructing the maids on what to do. She was so lost in the tasks, she didn't notice I'd slipped in. I didn't want to talk about any of this, so I made my way upstairs quietly.

Unfortunately for me, my dazed brain didn't tell me to stop at my room. Instead, I headed directly to his room, the one that had been shut since two weeks after my eighteenth birthday.

I told myself I was checking on his room out of medical concern. But standing outside his door, I knew that was a lie. Even now, even with everything, part of me still wanted to be close to anything that belonged to him.

Without thinking, I pushed the door open and walked inside. I expected it to be stuffy, maybe dusty. But my mother had probably wiped it clean.

I stepped inside and closed the door quietly.

"Phew." A breath escaped as I looked around his room.

A phone suddenly rang, making me flich.

I squinted and walked closer. There was actually a phone on the bed.

But that wasn't why my face had settled into a big frown.

My face?

It was displaying on the home screen.

*This is definitely not me, right? It's... my freckles.* I touched my face like the freckles had disappeared.

Then the call ended, and my eyes nearly popped out.

I didn't take this picture. No, I've never worn a bikini like that before.

"You still love intruding in my privacy, dear stepsister."

*That voice.*

The phone fell from my hand, and my head snapped toward the bathroom door.

Zayn.

God. Zayn. I was breathless. He was staring at me. My eyes betrayed me and wandered down to his waistline, a towel wrapped around that waist I'd dreamed about circling my legs.

He started stepping closer.

"I..." Shit. Say something.

He'd gotten closer now. He picked up his phone gently from where I'd dropped it without a word and turned away.

I stood there foolishly. Where was all that composure I'd promised myself I'd have?

"Why do you have my... I mean, that's me. Why is my always-grumpy stepbrother using my picture as..."

His hand went to his towel. "You won't want to watch me undress, right? Get out of my room."

I walked forward. "No! I won't get out until you tell me why you have my bikini picture... the one I never took... on your phone."

His breath came out ragged. "Please, just... go out."

Did I just feel restraint coming from him?

Something shifted in his eyes. Desperate. Wild. Like he'd been drowning and I was the only air left.

"Don't make me cross the boundaries, Emery." He closed the gap between us. "I guess five years wasn't enough. You're still so damn beautiful."

*Beautiful?* My brain latched onto that word and forgot everything else.

"What... are you trying to—" He slid his hand around my waist, and I lost my breath completely.

His body pressed against mine, his long black hair dripping water right onto my neck.

"I have crazy things I want to do to you, Emery. Don't test my patience." He paused and stroked the side of my face gently, as if he'd been waiting for this moment for an eternity. "I want to make you plead my name." He leaned close to my ear. "And moan softly."

Did I just hear my stepbrother say that?

He actually lusts over me?

"Say the word, Emery, and I'll make you see stars—"

"You're sick, Zayn. Let's—"

"Fuck my sickness."

This is it. My body was aching so badly, especially with him pressed against me like this.

If I say yes, then what happens to the medical life I just built? Everything?

This wasn't right. There's supposed to be patient boundaries, ethics, my whole career. I knew all the reasons to step back. But his breath on my neck made me forget every single one.

"Fuck it..."

His head was buried in my neck, breathing in my scent.

Heat spread between my thighs, embarrassing as hell and completely out of my control.

I opened my mouth to speak... but a knock came fast.

"Zayn? Emery?" My mother's voice called through the door as it burst open.

I pushed Zayn off the moment the door opened. Our chests were still heaving, his eyes locked on me. He didn't even flinch at the knock.

My mother entered the room, her gaze sweeping over us like she'd caught something.

I swallowed hard. *Please, don't let her see the blush on my face.*

"Zayn," she said, staring at him with that loving look she always gave him.

He didn't spare her a glance.

Well, that wasn't strange. He'd been like that since we moved into the house.

Did he actually think we stole his place with his father? Yes, my mother acted like a leech sometimes.

But wasn't it time he moved on from the past? Unless he didn't really hate us. Just like I never really hated him.

*Oh god, where are my thoughts spiraling to again?*

"Your father is already downstairs waiting for you both." She announced this after Zayn had ignored her completely.

He moved to his bag on the bed and pulled out fresh clothes.

"Emery, come help set the table." My mother said as she left.

I dashed after her. If I stayed any longer, I might actually suffocate from the heat building between my thighs.

His eyes burned into my back. I knew he was watching.

Something felt different and urgent. Like we were both running out of time.

I let out a heavy breath as I followed my mother downstairs. Richard was already waiting at the dining table, and it didn't take long before Zayn joined us.

We locked eyes, and my breath caught.

Dressed in a half-buttoned shirt and black joggers, he looked unfairly good. He didn't look sick. Hell, he looked like a Greek god walking straight out of my fantasy books—the kind of man who'd pin a woman to a dining table and make her forget her own name.

My cheeks burned. *My brain was never helpful.*

"Son." Richard's voice pulled me from my filthy thoughts.

Zayn broke eye contact with me, and only then did I realize he'd been staring too.

"I'm sorry."

I looked at Richard, pity flooding my chest. His face was twisted like he was trying not to cry.

"I'm fine." Zayn said, but Richard was already tearing up. "Dad, really. I'm totally fine."

Zayn moved to the seat beside me. I should've felt relief, but all I could see was a dying man. Someone who had only six months left. Every second ticking brought him closer to his grave.

"You're not fine, Zayn. You're..." Richard choked on his tears. "God."

The weight of the room pressed down on me. My chest felt so tight I thought I might be having a heart attack.

For the past few years, I'd buried myself in work just to earn my place in the Blackwood company. I'd carried so much rage. But right now? I just felt sad.

"I always survive. This won't be any different." Zayn muttered, but I saw his jaw lock. The way his hand trembled slightly on the fork he was holding. None of it escaped me.

"Please, Richard. If you're breaking down in front of the kids, what about the rest of us?" My mother coaxed him back into his seat, her hand patting his shoulder gently.

"Tomorrow morning," Richard exhaled, composing himself. "You'll examine him, Emery. I want to see for myself how bad the tumor is. A room's been set up in his private suite." He was talking to me now.

*A room?*

"Not an—"

"It'll be safer here, Emery. The hospital is too crowded. I've sorted everything out. You don't have to worry about being sanctioned."

Okay, I wasn't afraid of getting in trouble. But being alone in a room with Zayn wasn't a good idea. Not when I'd just realized he wanted me too.

When did he start seeing me as a woman instead of his charity stepsister?

The same question I'd been asking myself since I left his room earlier.

I shook my head and stabbed the steak in front of me.

Then I felt it. The warmth of a hand on my leg. No—my thigh.

I jerked my head up in shock.

*Zayn. Oh shit.*

His hand was sliding up my thigh.

"Fuck." *No, that wasn't supposed to come out loud.*

Our parents' heads snapped toward us. I made an awkward coughing sound.

"The steak... pepper." His hand circled the bare skin of my thigh. He wasn't moving up to where I was already drenched. He just kept teasing that spot—twisting, drawing circles, rubbing slowly. The scrape of silverware against plates felt deafening.

"Pepper?" My mother looked at me, confused. "The steak wasn't made with any pepper."

Zayn chuckled quietly.

He dragged his chair closer with his free hand. My mother was sitting directly across from us.

*God, thank you for this massive table.*

*Wait—I was supposed to push him away!*

I gritted my teeth, biting down a moan that threatened to escape. The taste of blood touched my tongue.

He wasn't even looking at me. His eyes stayed on his plate. He wasn't eating, just sipping juice with that infuriating calmness.

"Zayn..." I whispered, gripping my fork so hard my knuckles turned white.

His jaw tightened. For half a second, his hand stilled on my thigh. Then his fingers resumed their torturous circles, slower this time, deliberate.

"Eat up, son. Would you like more vegetables?" Richard asked.

I let out a sound, not quite a moan, but close enough.

His hand had moved closer to my center. He wasn't touching it yet. His fingers only grazed the edges.

I caught the slight hitch in his breathing. His pupils were wide when he finally glanced my way, just for a second. Then that maddening control snapped back into place.

Goosebumps raced up my arms. My thighs clenched involuntarily under his touch.

"Laila!" My mother called for our cook. "Did you make Emery's steak separately and add pepper?" Laila appeared and shook her head.

"Your face is so red. Should I get you some water?" I could only nod. "Get her rice instead," she told Laila.

"She should have the steak." Zayn's voice was smooth and controlled. "The meat looks fresh. Tender. Savory." His hand slipped into my wetness, and he finally looked at me. "Soft."

The word rolled off his tongue like he was caressing it.

His chest rose and fell just a fraction faster than normal, it was the only crack in his perfect composure.

"I'm done eating. Dad, have a good rest, Dad." He said it so casually.

Before I could process what was happening, his hand slid away from my thighs and he stood up.

Without looking back, he headed upstairs.

Fear crept in immediately.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I looked at our parents, oblivious and chatting quietly.

Tomorrow I'd have to put my hands on him again. I'll examine him, tough him.

Only this time, I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop.