Claimed by my Stepbrothers

Chapter 2: The Hallway of Whispers

The weight of the silence in the Blackwood manor was worse than any scream.

As I dragged my suitcase up the grand staircase, the plush velvet runner muffled my footsteps, making me feel like a ghost haunting a house that wasn’t mine. My breath hitched in my throat with every step. I didn't look back. I knew they were down there, three sets of predatory eyes tracked the sway of my hips, the trembling of my shoulders, and the way my cheap, worn-out sneakers looked like trash against their marble floors.

Don’t look back, Khylie. If you look back, you’ll vanish.

I reached the second-floor landing. The air up here smelled different—colder, infused with the scent of expensive floor wax and something metallic, like the edge of a blade. I looked down at the slip of paper the lawyer had handed me. Room 2B.

The hallway stretched out like an endless throat, lit by dim sconces that cast long, flickering shadows against the dark wood paneling. Every portrait on the wall seemed to watch me, the ancestors of the Blackwood line looking down with the same judgment I’d seen in Liam’s winter-cold eyes.

I found the door. It was heavy, dark oak, with a brass handle that felt like ice against my palm. I pushed it open, expecting a closet, a servant’s quarters—something that matched how my father had treated me my entire life.

Instead, I gasped.

The room was vast. A king-sized bed sat on a raised dais, draped in charcoal linens that looked softer than a cloud. A massive fireplace stood cold against the far wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out into the black abyss of the woods. It was a room meant for a queen, but as the door clicked shut behind me, it felt more like a tomb.

I let go of my suitcase. The sound of it hitting the floor was like a gunshot in the stillness.

"Is this a joke?" I whispered, my voice sounding small and pathetic.

I walked toward the bed, my fingers grazing the silk. Why would they give me this? Liam hated me. Jax looked at me like I was a toy he couldn't wait to break. And Roman… Roman looked at me like I was a puzzle he’d already solved.

I turned toward the vanity, intending to splash some water on my face, but I stopped dead.

There, sitting on the polished glass, was a black box.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, rhythmic thud. I didn't want to touch it. I wanted to throw it out the window. But curiosity is a cruel thing. I reached out, my fingers trembling so violently I almost dropped the lid.

Inside, nestled in white velvet, was a gold anklet. It was delicate, beautiful, and looked far too expensive for a girl who had spent the last year working double shifts at a diner just to pay for her mother’s insulin.

I picked it up. It was heavy. Real gold. And then I saw the engraving on the inner clasp.

Property.

The word scorched my skin. I dropped the jewel back into the box as if it were white-hot. My breathing came in shallow, jagged gasps. They weren't welcoming me. They were marking me.

"Do you like it?"

I spun around so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet.

Jax.

He was leaning against the doorframe of the en-suite bathroom, his arms crossed over a chest that was broad, scarred, and intimidatingly bare. Water droplets still clung to his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles before disappearing into the low-slung waistband of his black jeans. He looked like a storm given human form.

"Get out!" I choked out, clutching my chest. "How did you get in here?"

Jax didn't move. He just tilted his head, a lock of damp, dark hair falling over his forehead. "There’s a connecting door through the closet. Did you think we’d put you somewhere we couldn't reach?"

"I want a different room," I said, my voice rising with a desperate, shaky courage. "I want a room with a lock that works."

Jax took a step forward. Then another. He didn't rush. He moved with the slow, agonizing confidence of a man who knew I had nowhere to run. I backed up until the backs of my knees hit the bed, trapping me.

"Locks are for people who have something to hide, Khylie," he purred, stopping so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body. He smelled like rain and cedar. "Are you hiding something? Is there a little fire behind that 'poor orphan' act?"

"I'm your sister," I hissed, trying to push past him.

His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my upper arm. His grip wasn't painful, but it was like iron. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his amber eyes burning with a dark, twisted amusement.

"Let’s get one thing straight, little bird," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "We shared a father, but we don't share blood. You’re a Blackwood in name only. To us? You’re just the final piece of the inheritance."

He reached out with his free hand, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

"Put the anklet on," he commanded.

"No."

Jax’s eyes darkened, the amusement vanishing into something sharper, something more dangerous. "Liam wants to see it on you at dinner. And trust me, you don't want to disappoint Liam. He doesn't play as nicely as I do."

He let go of my arm, but the heat of his touch lingered like a burn. He walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

"Dinner is at eight sharp. Don't be late, Khylie. We're hungry."

The way he said hungry made my stomach flip in a way that wasn't just fear. It was something darker. Something I refused to name.

When the door finally shut, I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the charcoal pillows. They were silk, but they felt like thorns.

I looked at the clock at 7:12 PM.

I had less than an hour to decide if I was going to be their doll, or if I was going to fight three men who owned everything in this town—including the house I was currently trapped in.

I reached for the gold anklet. My hand shook.

I wasn't just in the lions' den. I was invited to dinner. And I was starting to realize that I wasn't a guest.

I was the main course.