Living with my forbidden stepbrother

Chapter 2

The next morning, sunlight poured through my wide windows, but it didn’t make me feel any brighter. I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at my phone, still replaying Adrian’s texts from last night. Thin walls. He wasn’t teasing. He saw everything. Every movement, every flinch, every sigh.

I tried to focus on unpacking, but each shirt I folded felt heavier than the last. Boxes were everywhere, each one a reminder that this wasn’t temporary. This was my life now. I kept glancing at the staircase, imagining him leaning there, watching me, reading me like he had the first day before. My chest tightened every time I imagined it.

A soft knock at the door startled me.

“Come in,” I called, my voice tighter than I wanted.

Adrian stepped in, holding a tray with coffee, toast, and a small container of jam. “Dad said you might be hungry,” he said, voice low, smooth. “Thought I’d save you from living on cereal.”

I froze. Coffee. Toast. Him, standing in my doorway, calm and casual, like he wasn’t about to crush me with that quiet presence.

“Uh… thanks,” I muttered, trying not to look flustered.

He set the tray on my desk, careful not to touch me. “You need anything else? Blankets, pillows, snacks?”

“No… I’m fine,” I said, heat creeping up my neck.

“Sure,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. His presence filled the room, and suddenly the air felt too warm, too small, too charged. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Before he left, he tilted his head. “Maya?”

“Yes?”

His small, knowing smile made something twist deep in my stomach. “Don’t overthink today. Just… survive it.”

I nodded too quickly. My pulse raced. Why did he make me feel so off balance?

The day dragged in tiny, excruciating moments. Unpacking wasn’t just about clothes and boxes it was about navigating the new house, the new rules, and Adrian’s presence. Every creak of the floor made me flinch, imagining him somewhere nearby, watching. Every sound, every shadow, seemed alive.

Eventually, I had to leave my room. Bathroom, kitchen, laundry. Every step brought me closer to Adrian. Every encounter made my stomach do flips.

“Hey,” he said from the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I walked in. “Coffee?”

“Uh… no, thanks,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow, that faint smirk again. “Suit yourself. But if you starve, don’t blame me.”

I rolled my eyes, but my chest still tightened. He moved with effortless ease, calm but alert, like a predator disguised as a roommate. I hated that thought and yet, I didn’t.

We bumped into each other several times that morning. Moving dishes, carrying laundry, checking boxes. Every accidental touch, every brush of his hand, made me conscious of him in ways I wasn’t ready to admit. His scent lingered, faint and sharp. His eyes seemed to catch me in ways that made my heart hammer.

By mid-afternoon, I was exhausted not from moving, but from trying not to notice him. I retreated to my room, shutting the door, pretending to read, though my mind replayed every glance, every slight touch.

Another knock. My stomach lurched.

“Yeah?” I called.

Adrian stepped in, holding a small stack of books. “Thought you might like some company while unpacking.”

I frowned. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” His voice was low, teasing. “Because it’s a lot more fun with someone else.”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to retreat. But before I could respond, he stepped closer, placing the books on my desk, close enough that his arm brushed mine. My stomach flipped violently.

“I… thanks,” I muttered.

He smirked faintly, stepping back just enough to leave a careful distance between us. “You’re welcome. But seriously, if you need help… just ask.”

We spent the next hour organizing my shelves. We didn’t talk much, but every glance, every movement, felt loaded. I noticed the way he lingered on a book, the tilt of his head as he studied my little stacks, the hum of his presence in the room. Every second made me hyperaware of him, and of myself.

When we finished, I sat back, trying to calm my racing heart. “Done,” he said, straightening. “Looks good.”

I nodded, suddenly aware of the silence. “Yeah… thanks.”

He hesitated. Then, softly: “Maya… do you want to watch a movie later? Just… something light.”

I blinked. My pulse skyrocketed. “Uh… sure,” I said, trying to sound casual.

He smiled that faint, knowing smile. “Great. I’ll grab some snacks later. Don’t overthink it.”

My chest ached. I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

Later, I lay on my bed, thinking about every detail of our interactions. Every glance. Every accidental brush of hands. The way he noticed me. The way he stayed just far enough not to be intrusive but close enough to feel magnetic.

I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t think about him. I shouldn’t notice him at all. And yet, I couldn’t stop. Every glance, every word, every little gesture pulled me closer in ways I wasn’t ready for.

The text buzzed again.

Adrian: Finished with unpacking yet?

Me: Almost.

Adrian: Don’t work too hard. You need breaks.

Me: I know.

Adrian: Coffee later? For moral support.

My fingers hovered over the screen. Should I say yes? Could I say yes?

Before I could reply, I sank back onto the bed, heart hammering. Dad’s words echoed in my head: Stay away from your stepbrother.

I wanted to follow them. I really did.

But every time I saw him, heard his voice, felt the brush of his arm or the faint scent of him, I felt the pull. Dangerous. Magnetic. Impossible to resist.

And the worst part?

A part of me… didn’t want to resist at all.