Off Limits: My One-Night Stepbrother

chapter five: Silent submission

*Kian’s POV*

Family.

Right.

Like that word meant anything to me five minutes ago.

Mrs. Vivienne and Mercer were at the door, all polite smiles and low voices. No cheek kisses, no drawn-out hugs. Just the kind of goodbye adults give when there’s nothing real behind it.

Mercer clapped me on the shoulder on his way out. “There’s a client I want you to call later this evening. 8 PM. Don’t forget.”

“Noted,” I said.

The door closed. Silence settled back into the house like it belonged there.

And there she was.

Ariana.

Still sitting across from me, pretending the table was a safe distance. Her eyes kept dropping to her plate, then flicking back up when she thought I wasn’t looking. She was tense. Wound tight like she expected me to say something stupid.

I didn’t.

I watched her instead.

The way her fingers curled around the edge of the table. The way she shifted in her seat like she couldn’t get comfortable with me in the room. Like she could pretend last night on that hotel bed never happened if she just moved fast enough.

She stood.

No word. No look in my direction. Just pushed her chair back and walked toward the stairs, quick and quiet, like if she didn’t acknowledge me, this whole thing would stay buried.

I let her go.

Watched her all the way up until she disappeared around the bend.

Then I set my phone down on the table with a soft click, picked my fork back up, and finished eating.

No rush.

Mom said show her around. Mercer said call a client at 8.

But right now, the only thing I was thinking about was how fast she walked away, and how slow I’d make her walk back.

It took me maybe three minutes to get bored of waiting.

I stood up, left my plate half-finished, and made my way to the west wing. Her door wasn’t locked. Of course it wasn’t. She’d been too rattled to think about it.

I didn’t knock.

She was sitting at the dressing table, phone in her hand, face lit up by the screen. She didn’t hear me come in. For a second I just watched her - shoulders tense, eyes darting, still trying to pretend everything was normal.

Then she caught my reflection in the mirror.

Her head snapped around so fast I heard her neck crack.

“What’s wrong with you?” she hissed, already on her feet. “Don’t you have manners? Like, what - ”

She cut herself off, shaking her head like saying more would make it worse.

“What if I had taken off my clothes or - ”

“Not like I haven’t seen all of that before.”

The words came out flat, bored, like I was commenting on the weather.

She froze.

Her mouth opened a fraction, but no sound came out. Her fingers curled against the edge of the table, knuckles going white. Shock first - wide eyes, lips parted like she wanted to slap me. Then anger, hot and quick, flushing her cheeks. And underneath it, that little flicker she hated me seeing: recognition. She remembered. Every detail.

I liked that.

Her breathing hitched, just once. She looked away fast, like if she didn’t look at me, she could pretend I wasn’t standing two feet from her in her room.

“Now stand up,” I said.

“You don’t give me orders.” Her voice was sharper now, defensive. Good.

I scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t be so sure of that. And I’m following orders myself. I was asked to show you around. Now get up.”

“I don’t need to be shown around,” she said quickly, too quickly.

“Okay.” I tilted my head, letting a slow smirk pull at my mouth. “So you know where the music room is? The indoor garden? Parents’ room? The cinema? You know where all that is, right?”

I didn’t wait for her answer. I turned and walked out, my voice casual over my shoulder. “I’ll save myself the stress.”

I was halfway down the hall when I heard it - the soft scuff of footsteps behind me.

She was following.

Her face said _I don’t want to be here_. Jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders stiff like she was bracing for something. But she was still walking. Still keeping pace two steps behind me, not saying a word.

Silent submission.

Hate that she had to follow me. Hate that she didn’t have a choice. But doing it anyway.

That look on her face - caught between defiance and resignation - it did something to me. Satisfying in a way it shouldn’t be.

I didn’t slow down.

Let her catch up if she wanted to keep up.

I took her to our parents’ room first.

No point dragging her inside. Door was shut, and I wasn’t about to explain why Mercer and Vivienne kept it locked half the time anyway. She didn’t argue. Just nodded once and kept walking behind me like she’d rather be anywhere else.

I led her straight to the third floor. That’s where the good rooms are.

Cinema first.

Doors swung open to a room that looked like it belonged in a private theater in LA. Black leather recliners, three rows, cup holders built into the armrests. A screen that took up the whole wall, sound system tucked into the ceiling. The lights dimmed automatically when the door opened.

She stopped in the doorway.

Didn’t say anything, but her eyes did that thing - widened, then darted around like she was trying to take it all in without looking too impressed. She failed.

“Try not to drool,” I muttered, and she shot me a glare that didn’t quite land.

Music room next.

Grand piano sat in the center, polished black, and a wall of other instruments lined up neat and untouched. Synths, guitars, a drum kit in the corner.

She walked in like she forgot I was there.

Her fingers hovered over the piano before she pressed a few keys. The sound that came out was clean, melodic. She played a few more notes, tentative at first, then faster, like she couldn’t help it.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched her.

There was something about the way she focused when she played - lips parted slightly, brows pulled together, like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

For two seconds I didn’t think about last night. Didn’t think about anything but the sound she was making.

She stopped abruptly when she realized I was still there, cheeks flushing.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I said.

She didn’t start again.

Indoor garden was next.

Glass roof, vines crawling up the walls, a small fountain in the middle that made the whole room sound quiet. White lilies, ferns, a stone path that curved around the plants. It smelled like rain and citrus.

She walked in slow, like she was afraid she’d break something.

Her hand brushed over the leaves as she passed, head turning every direction. No words. Just that wide-eyed look she kept trying to hide.

She looked... right.

Like she belonged there. Like the light hit her differently and made her less sharp, less guarded.

It hit me wrong.

Warm.

That stupid, unwanted warmth spread through my chest before I could kill it. I didn’t want to feel it. Didn’t want to notice how she looked when she wasn’t glaring or flinching.

I shoved it down, fast.

She wasn’t supposed to do that to me.

She turned suddenly, catching me off guard.

“The girl,” she started, then paused, jaw tightening like she hated saying it. “The one who… you…”

She couldn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

I already knew who she meant.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

I smirked. Slow. Deliberate.

“So you’re interested in my girlfriends now, Ariana?”

Her face did that thing again - defiance warring with something else she wouldn’t name.

I stepped closer, just enough that she had to tilt her head up to keep eye contact.

“Careful,” I said low. “You start asking about her, and you might not like the answer.”