The first time I saw Ethan, I knew he was trouble.
He walked into the banquet hall late, his black suit slightly unbuttoned at the collar, like he couldn’t be bothered to follow the formal dress code. His dark hair was tousled, his sharp eyes scanning the room with disinterest.
Everyone in the hall turned to look at him—how could they not? Ethan Carter carried himself like he owned the world, like nothing and no one could touch him.
Including me.
I was supposed to be celebrating my mother’s marriage to his father, Richard Carter, a billionaire businessman with more wealth than I could comprehend. This was a night of luxury, filled with champagne glasses and expensive gowns. Yet all I could think about was Ethan—the boy I had never met but now had to call my stepbrother.
He didn’t approach us. He barely acknowledged the ceremony. Instead, he found a quiet corner, nursing a drink, his gaze flickering to me once before looking away.
But that one look was enough.
It sent a shiver down my spine, an unspoken warning and invitation all at once.
I should have listened to the warning.
Instead, I stepped into the fire.