My Ex-Boyfriend is my New Step-Brother

The Chase

Roman didn’t take me to a hotel. He didn’t even take me to a place with windows. He led me down a set of rusted metal stairs behind a dumpster in an alleyway I didn't recognize. My designer shoes were clicking against the concrete, and the smell of damp earth and old oil was making my nose wrinkle.

"Roman, what is this? I’m not sleeping in a basement," I said, my voice echoing in the narrow stairwell.

"It’s not a basement. It’s a lead-lined storage vault," he said, not even looking back at me. He was carrying the duffel bag like it weighed nothing. "Signal can't get in. Signal can't get out. No drones, no eyes. It's just us."

He kicked open a heavy steel door, and a single flickering light bulb hummed to life. The room was tiny—barely bigger than the walk-in closet in my old apartment. There was a cot in the corner with a thin gray blanket, a stack of crates, and a single chair. It was cramped. It was suffocating.

And the second he shut the door, the silence hit me like a physical weight.

"Sit down," he muttered, dropping the bag.

I didn't move. I was still half-undressed, and the humidity in that tiny room was making my skin feel sticky. Between the adrenaline from the drone and the way he’d touched me back at the loft, I felt... restless. My heart was thumping against my ribs, and there was this heavy, dull ache between my legs that I couldn't ignore. My underwear felt damp and uncomfortable, and every time I moved, I was hyper-aware of the friction. It was a raw, physical pull toward him that I absolutely hated.

"I’m not staying here," I whispered. "It feels like a tomb."

"It’s the only place they can't see us," Roman said, turning to face me. He was so close I could see the tiny flecks of silver in his eyes.

"Is it? Because every time you say we're safe, another camera pops up." I stepped toward him, my voice shaking. "You say you're saving me, but you're just locking me in smaller and smaller boxes."

He didn't say anything for a long time. He just watched me, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a split second. The air in the tiny room suddenly felt like it was running out. He took a step forward, pinning me between his body and the cold concrete wall. I could feel the heat radiating off him, and for a second, I thought he was going to finish what he started at the loft. His hand reached out, his thumb grazing my lower lip, and I felt my knees go weak.

I wanted him. I wanted to forget the cameras and the stalker and just drown in the way he looked at me. But then I remembered the three years of silence. I remembered the school parking lot and the way he’d looked at me like I was nothing.

I shoved his hand away, my breath coming in jagged gasps. "Don't. Don't act like you care now just because you’re bored and we’re trapped in a basement. You're just like Marcus, Roman. You don't love things. You just manage them until they aren't useful anymore."

The look that crossed his face was like I’d actually slapped him. His eyes went dark, and his jaw tightened so hard I thought it might snap. The "protector" mask crumbled for a split second, showing a raw, jagged kind of pain that made my chest ache.

"Is that what you think?" he growled, his voice dropping an octave.

"I know it is. Why else would you be here? You aren't doing this for me. You're doing it for your ego. You're doing it because you can't stand the thought of someone else touching your favorite toy."

Roman flinched. He backed away from me so fast it was like I’d burned him. He grabbed the duffel bag, his knuckles white.

"Fine," he spat, his voice flat and cold again. "If that's what I am to you, then let's go. We're leaving. I can't be in this room with you another minute."

He led me out to an old, rusted-out sedan hidden under a tarp in the alley. It smelled like stale cigarettes and old oil. He hot-wired it, the engine screaming as we peeled out into the rain.

Ten minutes onto the highway, I saw the headlights. A black sedan was weaving through traffic, closing the gap between us like a predator.

"Roman, behind us," I breathed, clutching the seat.

"I see them."

He floored it. The old car shook like it was going to fall apart. The black car lunged, clipping our rear bumper. The metal-on-metal screech made my teeth ache. Roman yanked the wheel, sending us into a terrifying skid across three lanes. I screamed, squeezing my eyes shut as we narrowly missed a concrete divider. He wrestled the car back into control, swerving down an off-ramp and killing the lights as we ducked into a maze of dark warehouses.

By the time we reached the outskirts of the city, my hands were shaking so hard I had to sit on them. We pulled up in front of a flickering "Sleep-Well Motel" sign when the burner phone in my pocket started chirping.

I pulled it out. No number. Just a blank screen. I hit accept.

"Scarlett? Is that you, honey?"

It was Marcus. He sounded calm, like he was just checking in after a long day.

"Marcus?" my voice was barely a whisper.

"Your mother is worried, sweetheart. You shouldn't have run off like that." He sighed. "Roman knows the way home. Just have him bring you back before the police get involved. It would be a shame to have 'kidnapping' added to the headlines, wouldn't it?"

The line clicked shut. My stomach dropped.

"He knows we're together," I whispered. "He thinks you took me."

Roman hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "He’s not the one who sent the drone, Scarlett. My father doesn't play games with toy drones. Whoever was at the loft... that’s someone else. Someone who wants you for themselves."

I looked at the flickering "Vacancy" sign. Marcus wanted me home to fix the scandal. The Stalker wanted me in a way that made my skin turn to ice. And Roman? I still wasn't sure if he was the one protecting me or the one I should be running from.

"We have to go inside," Roman said, staring at the motel door.