My Ex-Boyfriend is my New Step-Brother

The Gilded Cage

The rain wasn't just falling; it was hammering against the windshield of Roman’s SUV like it was trying to break in. The second we cleared the Northcrest gates, I expected him to head toward the coast, back to the mansion. Instead, he yanked the wheel the other way, pointing us toward the messy, neon glow of downtown LA.

"Roman, where are we going?" I asked, my voice tight. I was gripping the door handle so hard my fingers were starting to go numb. "My mom’s going to freak out if I’m not back for dinner. Marcus already has that PR guy coming over to scrub my reputation."

"Let them freak out," he muttered. He wasn't even looking at me. He had this look on his face—this quiet, focused kind of anger that was way scarier than when he was actually yelling. "You aren't going back there, Scarlett. Think about it. If there were cameras in the theater and the fitting room, you really think your bedroom is safe? Every move you make is probably being watched by some creep."

I felt a wave of nausea hit me. I leaned my forehead against the cold window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of yellow and red. "Who is it? Is it a fan? Some kid at school? What about Zane?"

"It’s not Zane," Roman said, his voice dropping into that low growl. "Zane’s an i***t, but he’s not this calculated. This is professional. Someone’s bypassing Reed Tech security like it’s nothing. That shouldn't be possible."

We ended up in the parking garage of a nondescript, industrial-looking building in the Arts District. It didn't look like a home; it looked like a fortress with tinted windows and a massive steel gate.

"What is this place?" I asked as we got into the elevator. It was so quiet I could hear my own heart thumping against my ribs.

"My place," he said shortly. The doors opened to a huge loft—all exposed brick and dark leather. It was nothing like the Malibu house. One wall was covered in monitors showing lines of code and security feeds. "Marcus doesn't even know this exists. I bought it with the money my grandfather left me. It’s the only place I know for a fact isn't bugged."

He tossed his keys on the kitchen island, the sound echoing through the empty room. I just stood by the door, feeling like a stray cat someone had dragged in off the street.

"You’ve been living a whole different life," I whispered, staring at all the tech.

"Everyone in our family is a liar, Scarlett. I’m just the best at it." He turned around, his face totally blank. "Strip."

I blinked. "What?"

"The blazer. The shirt. All of it," he said, walking toward me. "I need to check the seams. If they got into your locker, they could’ve tucked a GPS thread into the lining. I’m not taking that risk."

"I can check my own clothes, Roman—"

"I don't trust you to be thorough," he cut me off. Before I could move, he reached out and grabbed the lapels of my school blazer, sliding it off my shoulders. His hands were moving fast, feeling along the fabric. It felt weirdly clinical, but my heart was still racing.

I stood there in just my camisole, the cold air hitting my skin. The room was so quiet I felt like I could hear the tension humming. He dropped my blazer on the floor and reached for the button of my skirt.

"I’ve got it," I said, my voice barely working.

He looked up then, and his eyes were dark. The "protector" part of him was still there, but that other side—the boy who’d broken my heart three years ago—was definitely winning. He didn't move his hands. He just leaned in until I could feel the heat radiating off his chest.

"You're shaking," he murmured.

"I have a stalker, my career is probably over, and my step-brother has me locked in a loft. Yeah, I’m shaking, Roman."

"Good," he whispered. He slid his hands around to the small of my back, pulling me hard against him. I could feel the cold metal of his belt buckle against my stomach. "Fear keeps you sharp. It reminds you that I’m the only one you can actually trust right now."

"And I’m supposed to trust you?" I asked, my hands landing on his shoulders.

"You don't have a choice."

He leaned down, his lips grazing that sensitive spot right under my ear. It wasn't a fast move; it was a slow, agonizing burn. He traced the line of my jaw with his tongue, and I couldn't help it—I gasped and arched into him. The fear of whatever was outside just kind of melted into the danger of what was happening right here.

He reached back and unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to the floor. I was standing there in almost nothing, trembling as his eyes moved over me.

"Nothing," he muttered, his voice sounding thick. "You're clean."

"Am I?"

He didn't answer. Before I could pull away, he grabbed my waist and hoisted me up onto the kitchen island. The granite was freezing against my skin, but I barely felt it because his body was right there, crowding into my space. He stepped between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go.

When he kissed me this time, it wasn't like the library. It wasn't a threat or a dare. It was slow and heavy, like he was trying to breathe me in. His hands were everywhere—on my neck, tangled in my hair, tracing the line of my shoulder—as if he was trying to remember exactly how I felt. It was a lot. It was too much. My brain was screaming at me to push him off, to remind him that he’d spent three years pretending I didn't exist, but my body wasn't listening.

I found myself leaning into him, my fingers curling into the front of his shirt just to pull him closer. For a second, the humming of the city and the fear of the photo in my locker just... blurred out. It was just the heat of his mouth and the way he whispered my name against my neck, sounding more broken than I’d ever heard him. It felt like a fight—like we were both trying to claw back something we’d lost on that cliff three years ago.

But then, my eyes drifted past his shoulder.

One of the monitors on the wall flickered. A new window popped up, and my heart dropped straight into my stomach.

It was a live video feed.

I was looking at the back of Roman’s head. I was looking at my own face, flushed and messy, over his shoulder. A drone was hovering right outside the floor-to-ceiling window, its red light blinking like a steady, mocking heartbeat.

A message flashed in white text across the screen: "I see you, Angel. Even in his cage, I see you. I'm coming to take you home."

Roman saw it a split second later. He lunged for the remote, killing the power to the screens until the room was plunged into darkness, but the silence that followed was terrifying.

The cage wasn't a safe house. It was a display case.