The Playboy Who Called Me Mate.

Vivienne's Pov. Moving trucks, echoing footsteps, and the metallic scent of unpacked boxes. That was the first thing I noticed as Mom and I stepped into the Blackwood estate. My stomach twisted—not with excitement, but with this uncomfortable tightness I couldn’t shake. The house was huge. Too huge. Gleaming floors that reflected every awkward shuffle of my feet, walls hung with art I didn’t recognize, and a chandelier in the entryway so big it practically had its own zip code. It wasn’t just a house—it was a kingdom. And I was an intruder. “Here we are, sweetheart,” Mom said, her hand brushing mine as she tried to anchor me. “Your new home.” I nodded, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. My heels clicked against marble as I followed her deeper into the house. Every step made me feel smaller, like the walls themselves were watching, judging me. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something else I couldn’t name. Something sharp and… alive. “This will be fun,” Mom chirped, dragging a suitcase that was almost as heavy as my anxiety. “We’ll make it our own.” I swallowed. “Yeah… fun,” I muttered, my voice sounding foreign even to me. After dumping bags in my room—which was stunning, too big, and had a view that made me nauseous with its perfection—I wandered upstairs. I didn’t have anywhere else to be, and maybe if I pretended to be confident, the house would pretend I belonged. The hallway was long, lined with closed doors that might as well have been prison cells. I ran my fingers along the polished railing, feeling the chill of the wood beneath my touch. That’s when I heard it—a soft, deliberate shuffle behind one of the doors. “Hello?” I called, my voice steadier than I felt. No answer. I kept walking, curiosity pricking at me, until I rounded the corner. That’s when I saw him. He leaned casually against the doorframe at the end of the hall, arms crossed, smirk tugging at his lips like he owned the world. And maybe he did. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Every inch of him screamed danger wrapped in perfect charm. I froze. “Uh…” My brain sputtered. I had no idea what to say to him. “New girl?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something sharper underneath it. Something that made my chest skip a beat. “Yes,” I managed, my voice tiny compared to the confidence radiating off him like heat. “I… I just moved in.” He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he’d already solved but wasn’t done admiring. My stomach fluttered, which made no sense. I didn’t even know him. And yet—there was something in the way he looked at me that felt like recognition. “You have that look,” he said softly, stepping closer. Not too close, but close enough that the air between us thrummed. “Like you’re trying not to be noticed.” I flushed. “I’m not—” I stopped. I had no comeback. I wanted to run, but some part of me was frozen in place, too aware of the way he moved, the way he leaned slightly closer, like he could smell my nervousness. He raised an eyebrow. “Relax,” he said, but the corner of his mouth lifted in that dangerous, crooked smile. “This isn’t school. You don’t have to hide here.” Something in his voice made me shiver, even though the hallway was warm. I swallowed hard. There was a scent on him—not cologne, not anything ordinary. Something raw and magnetic. I shook my head. I had no idea why it made my pulse thump like a drum in my ears. “I—I should go,” I said, stepping back. My foot hit the edge of a rug, and I nearly tripped. He caught my arm. “Careful.” His grip was firm, but not cruel. Just… aware. My skin tingled where his hand brushed mine, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted him to let go or hold me there. My head screamed at me to move, but my body didn’t listen. He leaned slightly closer, his nose brushing the edge of my hair. And then he pulled back, as if confused, his eyes narrowing. “You… smell different,” he murmured, almost to himself. I blinked. “Excuse me?” He smirked again, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. They were sharp, calculating, like he’d just discovered something dangerous about me and didn’t yet know how to handle it. “Nothing,” he said finally, stepping back. “Forget I said anything.” I wanted to, desperately. But the way he looked at me—like he could see inside me, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he was desperate to solve—made my chest ache. The moment stretched, taut and electric, until he finally pushed off the doorframe, giving me space but keeping his gaze locked on mine. “I’m Aiden,” he said smoothly. “Don’t get lost.” I swallowed. “I—yeah. I’m… I’m new here.” He gave a short nod, like that explained everything, and then he turned and walked away. Confident, impossible, infuriating. Every step he took echoed against the hallway, leaving me with the unsettling sense that he’d left a mark on the air itself. I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to calm the wild rhythm of my heartbeat. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to me. I wasn’t supposed to feel… drawn to someone the moment I met them. And yet, even as I leaned against the railing, trying to convince myself that it was nothing, I couldn’t stop smelling him in the air. Something primal and confusing clung to the memory of him. My pulse kept thumping, my stomach kept twisting, and somewhere deep down, a part of me knew that this wasn’t just a new house I was in. This was the beginning of something that would change everything. Something forbidden. And I had no idea how dangerous that could be. I sank onto the edge of my bed, pressing my palms to my eyes as if I could erase the memory of him from my mind. But I couldn’t. Not the way he’d looked at me, not the way his presence seemed to hum in the air long after he’d walked away. Why was it so easy for him to make me feel small, and yet… alive? The room around me felt alien now. The soft ivory walls, the velvet drapes, the faint scent of lavender that Mom had sprayed—it all seemed wrong. This wasn’t my home. None of it. And yet, here I was, pretending that it was. I couldn’t stop replaying our encounter in my head. The tilt of his head. The smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. That… sniff. My pulse jumped again just thinking about it. What was that about? It was absurd, but part of me felt exposed, like he could see something in me that I didn’t even understand. The floorboards creaked behind me, and I jumped, whirling around to see my reflection in the full-length mirror. My heart was still hammering, my hands shaking just a little. I looked ridiculous. I was ridiculous. I pressed my palms to my cheeks, breathing deep. Focus. Don’t make a fool of yourself. But even as I muttered that, a part of me hated myself for thinking about him at all. He was my stepbrother now—or would be, eventually. I didn’t even know the rules yet, but I knew one thing for sure: I shouldn’t feel like this. Not about him. I sank back against the pillows, my mind drifting. What kind of house did we even move into? It wasn’t just big. It was… alive. There was a pulse here, a rhythm that seemed almost to follow me. I could feel it in the walls, in the polished wood, in the faint vibrations under my feet. And there was something else. Something that prickled at the edges of my skin. I shook my head. Don’t be ridiculous. The sound of a door opening downstairs made me startle again. Mom’s voice carried up faintly. “Vivienne? Are you okay?” “I’m fine!” I called, trying to make it sound casual, though my voice came out a little too high. There was a pause, and then her footsteps receded. The house settled into silence again, but it wasn’t really silence. Not with him somewhere inside it. I couldn’t stop thinking about his scent, the magnetic pull I felt when he’d been so close. It was confusing, and it was wrong, and somehow… I wanted it to happen again. I grabbed my journal from the nightstand and opened it, trying to write down my thoughts to make sense of them. The pen hovered over the page, but no words came. Every line I tried to write turned into a mental image of him—his smirk, the way he’d leaned forward, the intensity in his gaze. Vivienne, I scolded myself. You don’t know him. You don’t even know who he really is. And yet, there was a pull. Something in my chest coiled, tight and urgent, like a thread linking me to him that I didn’t want to follow but couldn’t resist. I pushed the journal aside and pressed my forehead to the pillow. My mind kept running through questions I didn’t have answers for: Why did he look at me like that? Why did he hesitate like he couldn’t quite place me? Why did the air feel charged when he was near, like static in my veins? It was ridiculous. He was my stepbrother. Soon, he would just be a boy I had to live with. I should be thinking about unpacking, organizing my room, maybe even making a decent impression at school. But my body betrayed me, remembering the brush of his hand, the way his eyes had lingered. A soft creak from the hallway made me freeze again. My heartbeat skittered like a trapped bird. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him like this—not really. Not yet. But something told me that this house, this moment, and Aiden… weren’t done with me. I pressed myself deeper into the bedspread, trying to anchor myself. Then, almost instinctively, I caught a whiff again—faint, just in the corners of the room. Him. It shouldn’t be possible. He wasn’t here. And yet, I could feel him. As if the air had memory, as if the walls themselves remembered him and were teasing me with it. I closed my eyes and whispered to no one, “Why does he feel like… everything I’m not supposed to want?” The answer didn’t come. But deep in my chest, I knew one thing with a terrifying clarity: I hadn’t just met him. Something had met me. Something old, something primal, and something I didn’t yet understand. And from the way my skin tingled and my pulse hammered, I had a feeling… he knew it too.