My Ex-Boyfriend is my New Step-Brother

The Price of Control

The black SUV didn't just drive through the gates of the Malibu mansion; it felt like it was swallowing us back into a cage. The gravel crunched under the tires with a sound that made my stomach turn.

The front doors were already open. Marcus was standing on the top step, his silhouette framed by the expensive glow of the foyer. My mother was pacing behind him, her silk robe fluttering around her ankles, a glass of water shaking in her hand.

The second the door opened, she was on me.

"Scarlett! Where have you been?" She grabbed my shoulders, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "We’ve been up all night. I thought... I thought something happened to the car. I thought you were hurt."

"I'm fine, Mom," I said, my voice sounding hollow. I looked past her at Marcus. He wasn't crying. He looked like he was calculating the cost of the fuel we’d used to run away.

"You aren't fine," Marcus said, his voice dropping like a stone. He didn't even look at me. His eyes were locked on Roman, who was stepping out of the other side of the car with his hands in his pockets, looking like he couldn't care less. "Roman, in my study. Now."

"Marcus, please," my mother sobbed, reaching for his arm. "She’s home. Let’s just go inside."

"Lydia, take your daughter upstairs," Marcus commanded. He didn't yell, which was worse. He just spoke like it was a done deal. "I need to understand why my son thinks kidnapping his new step-sister is a productive use of his time."

"He didn't kidnap me," I blurted out, taking a step forward. "We were just—"

Roman caught my eye. It was a split-second look—sharp, cold, and a clear warning. Don't. He didn't want me telling Marcus about the drone. He didn't want me giving Marcus any information at all. He shook his head just a fraction of an inch, telling me to stay quiet.

"Go upstairs, Scarlett," Roman said, his voice flat. "Let the man have his talk."

My mother pulled me away, her grip tight on my elbow. "Come on, baby. Just let them handle it. You’ve done enough for one day."

She dragged me up the grand staircase, but I didn't go into my room. I stood at the top of the landing, listening as the heavy oak doors of Marcus’s study slammed shut. The sound of their voices started as a low rumble, but it didn't stay that way for long.

"Are you trying to ruin this family before the ink is even dry on the marriage license?" Marcus’s voice boomed, loud enough to vibrate through the floorboards. "I just brought her into this house. I just brought her mother into my life. And you take her to some dump of a motel? What were you doing, Roman? Bullying her? Trying to scare her off so you can have the house to yourself?"

"I don't give a damn about the house, Marcus!" Roman shouted back. "And I don't need to scare her. She’s already terrified because she’s living under the same roof as a man who thinks people are assets on a balance sheet."

"You listen to me," Marcus hissed, and the house went terrifyingly quiet for a second. "From now on, you are in separate cars. Different drivers. Different schedules. You don't speak to her unless your mother or I am in the room. If you pull a stunt like this again—if you take her so much as a mile off the route to school—I will freeze every account you have. You’ll be on the street, Roman. Do you understand me? You’re trying to ruin my marriage with your pathetic rebellion, and I won't have it."

"Is that all this is to you?" Roman’s voice sounded jagged. "A marriage to protect? You don't even know what’s happening in your own backyard."

"I know exactly what's happening," Marcus snapped. "I have a reputation to protect. Now get out of my sight."

I scrambled back into my room and shut the door just as I heard the study doors fly open. I leaned my back against the wood, my heart thumping against my ribs. The mansion felt smaller than the motel room had. At least at the motel, it was just us. Here, it was a war.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I picked it up, expecting another lecture from Marcus or a threat from the stalker.

It was a text from Chloe.

Chloe: Good news, Angel. The director for 'The Gilded Cage' just called. They think you've taken enough of a 'personal break' after the wedding drama. They want you for a screen test on Monday. It’s time to get back to work. Don't be late.

I looked at the message, then out the window at the high stone walls surrounding the estate. Work meant leaving the house. It meant being seen. It meant the "Pure Angel" had to go back on stage while the real Scarlett was falling apart in a house full of liars.

The "vacation" was over.