Forbidden to Love My Stepbrother

Chapter 5

The day I met Grey, I was ten and he was seventeen. He looked scrawny, like a half-starved rat, his hair long and tangled over his eyes. Dad said simply, “This is your stepbrother, Grey,” and nothing else. No explanation why three years after marrying his new wife I’m only now meeting her son, or why he looks like a beggar pulled off the street.

“The two of you will be staying here today,” Dad added, gesturing toward the house. When he said the two of you, he meant it literally. This mansion has seven bedrooms, eight bathrooms, and before Grey came along, I lived in it alone. My nanny used to call me Rapunzel, teasing, because I was trapped in a castle with only her and a few maids for company.

I was scared of Grey, but also relieved, I won’t be alone anymore. To force rapport, maybe, Dad placed Grey’s room directly across the hall from mine. We often collided in the hallway.

The first time I saw his eyes, I yelped and bolted into my room, heart thudding. A moment later, there was a knock. “Are you okay?” he asked cautiously with a voice roughened by age but oddly soft. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he added. “I had to cut my hair.”

With his hair gone, his eyes are bare, impossible to ignore. I cracked the door and looked up. He’s tall and doesn’t smile.

“Hi.” He lifted his hand, awkwardly, then dropped it again. “Um, you’re Freya, right?”

I nodded. “I’m my daddy’s daughter,” I declare. It always felt like something I had to prove because aside from the monthly visits, my father never came to see me. I was a doll in a dollhouse, played with when it suits him. At that time, I dressed how Johanna wanted.

Grey studied me. “You look like a Barbie, but your hair is like the moon.” He picked up a strand and twirled it through his fingers. My hair was long, like Johanna’s, because I kept hoping she’ll notice me if I mirror her. She only showed up when I misbehaved, or when something I did was good enough to force her attention.

But after Grey arrived, everything changed.

One day during a regular piano lesson, he walked in and said, “If you don’t like playing the piano, then stop.” He pulled my hand from the keys and away from the stool. The teacher had been striking my arm for every mistake I made with a ruler, the marks red and obvious on my skin. And I kept making mistakes because I wasn't good at it. Grey snapped that day. He dragged me from the studio and shut the piano with a slam.

“Mr. Zilinski, ” the teacher started, indignant.

“Your services are no longer required,” Grey silenced her calmly, but the words landed like a death threat.

With Grey, I felt like I could just be. I didn't have to play piano, or struggle through German and two other languages before high school, or dress like a doll. He took my hand and led me out of the cage Dad and Johanna built for me.

Maybe it should have ended there. Maybe I should have kept seeing him as my brother, my protector. But it didn’t.

Seven years ago, I started seeing Grey as a man, not just my brother. I did what any seventeen-year-old with a crush would do, I kept it locked inside, scribbled it into journals, drew pictures of us kissing. The secret tormented me for months. I was sure Grey would be disgusted, that he’d shut me out completely if he ever knew. And yet I carried that crush, fed it, until it burned too hot to contain. One night, I rose on my toes and pressed my mouth to his.

We were in the main kitchen. The house had gone silent, the maids already gone home or asleep. Grey and I had been sprawled in his room, laughing about nothing, until hunger drove us downstairs for a midnight snack. I can’t even remember what we’d been talking about, only the way his lips felt. Firm, smooth.

Grey did not move, he just stood there, butter knife in hand, face expressionless. And when I started to stammer out an apology, begging him not to misunderstand, he dropped the knife, gripped my waist, and lifted me up off my feet with one hand. His mouth crashed into mine.

Heat exploded in my chest. I gasped into his mouth. The kiss Grey gave me wasn’t something my seventeen-year-old self was ready for, it was wild, consuming, filthy. His tongue worked its way into my mouth, stealing every breath. I had to push against his chest to break free. He set me down, leaned close until our foreheads touched.

“Too much?” His breath was ragged, his eyes half-lidded.

I nodded, pulse racing, stomach fluttering.

“Want to stop?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He kissed me again, slower this time, as if he understood exactly what I needed. My arms wrapped around his neck. His hand stayed tight at my waist, the other braced against the counter. We kissed lazily, endlessly, like air was irrelevant, like our mouths were all that mattered. A soft sound slipped from me, and he broke away.

With his back to me, he said, “Let’s stop, Luna.”

I didn’t want to. I knew he was more experienced, that I wasn’t grown enough for him, but I didn’t care. I pressed myself to his back, arms circling his waist. “I love you, Grey,” I whispered.

He laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know what love is.”

“I do.” My face twisted into a frown. “I love you, and I want to be with you. That kiss, it means you feel the same, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t answer, only set his hand over mine. We stood like that for a while. Later, we finished the sandwich, carried it upstairs, and ate it in his room, talking as if nothing had happened. Grey wanted to bury the attraction between us, but I refused to let it die.

I cornered him in his room one day while our parents visited downstairs. In hindsight, the worst possible timing.

“I thought we were together,” I said.

Grey swallowed, shaking his head, though his gaze stayed locked on me like he couldn’t look away. “Luna, we can’t– ”

“Why? Don’t tell me it’s because we’re siblings. We’re not. Our parents are married, but that doesn’t make us brother and sister.”

“That’s not how it works.” He sounded strained, his face barely shifting, but his eyes tracked every step I took toward him.

“Do you see me as your sister?” I asked, close enough now to feel the drum of his heartbeat. My own thudded against my chest, wild.

His gaze roved over my face like a starving man at a feast. “I should,” he muttered, shutting his eyes, tilting his head to the ceiling. “I should, damn it. Luna, what you’re asking for–” He broke off, helplessness flickering across his features.

The look only spurred me on. My whole body burned with hunger I couldn’t quench. "I don’t. And I don’t care what you give me, I want it all." I fist the front of his shirt and yank him down to me. "I want all of you, Grey."

He bit his lower lip, then crashed into me, kissing hard enough to bruise. A moan ripped from my throat as I threw myself against him. I’ve been starving for his mouth, his taste, his heat, I can’t stop now.

"Luna," he whispered hungrily between kisses, his breath hot against my skin. "I want you so f*****g bad." My body sparks with emotions that I know are too strong, but I don’t care. I need this.

Grey couldn't hold back either. His hand roves my back, tangles in my hair, angling my face so his mouth claims mine deeper, harder. His lips devour me, until the door bursts open.

Johanna stands there. She sees us. She screams. “What are you doing?!" Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes blown wide as if she’s witnessing murder.

Grey doesn’t push me away. I don’t step back either. At that moment, I don’t care if we’re disowned. I won’t leave Grey, and he won’t leave me.

"Oh my God, Grey, how could you? With my daughter!" She storms across the room and seizes my arm, her grip iron, yanking me from him. I claw back at Grey, refusing to let go.

"Let me go," I snap, though fear of Johanna usually knots my tongue. One slap whips my face sideways, the sting spreading hot across my cheek. She rips me from him and hurls me to the floor.

"Johanna, please," Grey begins, but she silences him with a single raised finger.

"If you speak one more word, I’ll forget who you are, Grey, and have you thrown in prison. My daughter is still a minor. How dare you touch her?"

"I know what I’m doing!" I shout, but she steamrolls over me. Dad bursts into the room, eyes darting between us.

"What’s going on?"

"Your disgusting son was molesting my daughter!" Mom screeches, wrenching my arms behind my back when I try to get up until pain shoots up my shoulders. A groan slips from my lips.

"He wasn’t molesting me, Dad, I love him!"

"What?" Dad’s jaw drops. "Is this true?"

Grey falters, his eyes skimming past Dad instead of meeting him.

"I’m asking you, Grey. Did you do that?"

"It wasn’t like that!" I scream, but Mom slaps a hand over my mouth, her hiss venomous.

"If you don’t shut up, Freya, I’ll put you in a hospital. Be silent."

"I love her," Grey blurts, and my heart soars. He’s not denying me.

Dad staggers back, unable to shut his mouth. "Are you serious? She’s your sister, are you insane?"

"Step-sister," Grey says flatly.

"To the world she’s your half-sister," Dad grinds out, his fist trembling. "Grey, my study. Now."

"Your study?" Johanna’s eyes blaze. "You should be throwing him in jail!"

"Excuse me, Johanna, I know how to handle this." Dad spins away, and Grey’s helpless gaze catches mine before he follows.

The next thing I know, Grey’s gone, shipped out of the country, no goodbye, no word. I knew Dad forced him. Grey said he loved me, said he wanted to be with me. Dad’s grip must have broken him, pushed him into silence. He has to still be under Dad’s control. He has to be.