The Wrong Brother

Chapter Thirteen—Nova

Mornings in Adrian Castellane’s penthouse felt like stepping into a museum of wealth where everything looked untouchable. The kitchen gleamed—marble countertops, chrome appliances, and a scent of coffee that smelled rich enough to make your wallet ache. I stood there in a borrowed oversized T-shirt from Ariana, hair in a messy bun, holding a loaf of plain bread I’d secretly smuggled in because the fancy artisan stuff in his fridge was inedible.

“Good morning,” Adrian said, his voice calm, controlled, as he carefully prepared his French press. His movements were deliberate, like each motion was choreographed to perfection.

I dropped the bread onto the counter and grabbed a knife, hacking through it with reckless abandon. The slices were jagged, some almost falling apart.

His gaze flicked toward me once, then back to his coffee. “You know there’s a bread knife for that.”

“A knife is a knife,” I muttered, trying to ignore his judgmental stare.

“Not in this kitchen,” he countered without looking up.

I stuck my tongue out at him, childish but satisfying. “You sound like a tyrant in your own palace.”

He didn’t flinch, just lifted one brow slightly, his mouth twitching with something almost like amusement.

“Insufferable,” he said calmly, as though the word was both fact and compliment.

I groaned, slathering butter across my jagged slice. “And yet here I am, your unwelcome guest, turning your kitchen into chaos.”

By the time I sat across from him at the breakfast bar, my toast dangerously oozing butter, Adrian was scrolling through his phone, posture perfect, everything about him precise. I carefully balanced my plate, trying to ignore the way his eyes flicked to the mess I’d made.

“Paper towels,” he said softly, nodding toward the roll beside me.

I gave him a look. “Relax. You act like I’m committing a crime.”

“You’re dripping butter on marble that costs more than most cars,” he said, tone deadpan.

I rolled my eyes and stuffed a bite into my mouth. “And you’re dramatic. Everything you do is dramatic.”

“And yet you’re still sitting here,” he said, voice calm, almost teasing.

I huffed, but my chest warmed in a way I refused to acknowledge. I hated that he could provoke me without trying.

Later, we moved to the living room where I pretended to study while he dealt with company emails on his laptop. I sat cross-legged on the couch, textbooks open but mostly ignored. I’d read the same paragraph five times without absorbing a single word.

“Do you ever focus?” he asked, not looking up.

“I’m focusing,” I shot back. “Just in a more… artistic way.”

“Artistic,” he repeated dryly, “is a fancy word for procrastination.”

I smirked, realizing he was right. But I wasn’t about to admit it.

___

The next few days had passed in a blur of awkward domestic routines. Breakfast again, lunch handled awkwardly because I didn’t know where anything was, and every small collision in the hall made my pulse skip. Adrian was always moving with purpose; I moved with chaos. And yet, our movements started to align accidentally. Passing in the hallway, our shoulders brushed. It was small, but enough to make me flinch, and I swear I saw a flicker in his eyes that wasn’t irritation.

Later that evening, I couldn’t sleep. The penthouse felt too quiet, the city lights outside hypnotic, making my thoughts spin. I padded barefoot to the kitchen for a snack, thinking maybe I could find comfort in a cold glass of juice or a granola bar.

Adrian’s study door was slightly open. A soft glow spilled into the hallway, and curiosity won. I peeked inside. He was at his desk, glasses perched on his nose, head bent over paperwork. Zeus, his massive German Shepherd, lay at his feet, ears twitching every so often.

I leaned against the frame. “You’re still at it?”

He looked up, eyes locking on mine. There was a slight startle, a trace of vulnerability. “Some things can’t wait,” he said quietly.

I stepped inside. “What’s so urgent that you’re reading at midnight?”

He closed the folder in front of him, resting his hands on the desk. “Business decisions. Things that affect hundreds of people. I don’t get to switch off.”

I swallowed, not knowing how to respond. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” he admitted, eyes meeting mine longer than usual. For a second, the sharp, perfect mask fell. I saw a man weighed down by responsibility, and it struck something in me.

I shifted, embarrassed at my own curiosity. “Well… don’t work yourself into an early grave.”

He smirked faintly. “Noted.”

____

Zeus, of course, had decided by this time that I was his person. Wherever I went, he followed. He lay by the couch while I sprawled with my laptop, nudged my hand for attention while I tried to eat, and even placed his massive head in my lap at the oddest times.

When Adrian walked in on one of these moments, arms folded, he smirked. “Looks like you’ve been chosen.”

I groaned, trying to push Zeus gently. “More like stalked.”

“He doesn’t warm up to people easily,” Adrian said, leaning against the doorway, watching.

“Well, he won’t leave me alone,” I muttered.

“Maybe he knows better than you do,” Adrian replied, and I could feel the warmth of his gaze in a way that made my cheeks flush.

“I don’t like dogs,” I said, even as Zeus nudged my hand again.

“You like him too. Admit it.”

“Do not,” I said quickly, swatting the dog away.

Zeus ignored me, nudging again. I sighed and rubbed behind his ears, secretly enjoying the warmth, the softness, the absurd loyalty.

Adrian chuckled softly, a rich, amused sound that made my stomach twist.

“Shut up,” I muttered, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me with a small smile.

He didn’t answer, just left, letting Zeus and I be. I sat back, petting the dog, feeling the weight of the day melt slightly. Even in the chaos of Adrian Castellane’s penthouse, even under his unspoken scrutiny, and even with his massive, judgmental dog, I felt… oddly at home.

And yes, the tension between us hadn’t vanished. Sparks lingered in our accidental touches, in the way he observed me when he thought I wasn’t noticing. Humor threaded through the chaos of the mornings. Vulnerability peeked out in late-night exchanges.

And Zeus, ridiculous as it was, somehow became the silent witness to it all, bridging the gap between our clashing personalities.

By the end of the day, I knew one thing: living here wouldn’t be easy. But it might be worth it.

And as Zeus curled up against my feet while I scrolled mindlessly through my phone, I realized something else: Adrian Castellane was starting to feel less like a fortress I couldn’t breach, and more like… maybe a person I could stand beside, if only I dared.