My Ex-Boyfriend is my New Step-Brother

The Eye in the Kitchen

The mansion was never truly silent. It hummed with the sound of the industrial AC and the faint, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the ghost of Roman’s arm around my waist from the motel, followed immediately by the memory of Marcus’s security hammering on the door.

I gave up at 2:00 AM. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper, and the expensive bottled water in my mini-fridge was empty.

I crept down the stairs, my bare feet silent on the cold marble. I didn't turn on the lights. I didn't need to. The moon was hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the kitchen into a room of silver and deep blue shadows.

I stopped in the doorway.

Roman was sitting at the massive marble island. He wasn't drinking or brooding like a movie character. He was just sitting there in a grey hoodie, staring at a bowl of cereal he hadn't even started. He looked younger in the dark, less like the "Blacklisted King" and more like the boy who used to wait for me after rehearsals.

"You're supposed to be in the guest wing," I whispered.

He didn't jump. He didn't even look up. "Marcus moves me where he wants me, Scarlett. Apparently, I'm a 'security risk' near your hallway now."

I walked over to the fridge, the light from the door spilling across the floor as I grabbed a water bottle. "He was loud. I heard him shouting from my room."

"He likes the sound of his own voice," Roman muttered. He finally looked at me, his eyes tracking the way I was shivering in my thin pajamas. "You should be sleeping. You have that screen test on Monday, don't you?"

"How do you know about that?" I leaned against the counter, facing him.

"I hear things. This house is a giant ear, Scarlett. Everything Chloe says to Marcus, and everything Marcus says to his lawyers... it all ends up in the vents eventually."

"Is that why you won't tell me why we really went to the motel?" I stepped closer, my voice dropping. "You said you knew Marcus. You said you were doing it for my sake. What did you mean by that?"

Roman’s jaw tightened. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced up at the corner of the ceiling, near the molding. I followed his gaze. There, tucked almost invisibly into the shadows, was a small dome camera. A tiny, pin-sized red light was blinking.

"I mean that it’s a nice house," Roman said, his voice suddenly louder and flatter, as if he were reading from a script for an audience. "It’s got everything. Great security. Great views. You should just focus on your movie, Scarlett. Be the 'Pure Angel' everyone wants you to be. That’s what Marcus wants."

"Roman, stop it," I hissed, moving until I was standing right in front of him. "Don't do the act. Not right now. It's just us."

"There is no act," he said, but his hand reached out under the marble lip of the counter, away from the camera’s view, and gripped the edge of my sleeve. Just a small, firm pull. A silent command to stay quiet. "Marcus is just looking out for us. Separate cars are probably a good idea. I’m a bad influence, remember? That’s what he told the school."

"I don't care what he told the school."

"You should." He let go of my sleeve and stood up, pushing his untouched cereal away. "In this house, what people see is more important than what’s actually happening. If Marcus thinks I’m bullying you, then I’m bullying you. If he thinks we’re strangers, then we’re strangers. It's easier that way."

"But we aren't," I whispered. "Not after this morning at the motel. You know we aren't."

Roman stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. For a second, I thought he was going to say something real—something about the way he held me in his sleep. His eyes searched mine, and for a heartbeat, the "King" mask slipped. He looked like he wanted to reach out, to say something that the cameras couldn't hear.

Then, the camera in the corner made a soft, mechanical whirring sound. It rotated five degrees to the left, centering perfectly on the two of us.

Roman didn't flinch. He just looked up at the lens and gave it a mock salute, his face turning back into a mask of cold indifference.

"See? He’s always watching, Scarlett. Even when he’s sleeping, he’s checking his assets." He looked back at me, his expression turning distant again. "Go to bed. And lock your door. Not because of me—because you never know who has a master key in a house this big."

He walked out of the kitchen without another word, leaving me alone with the blinking red light.

I went back to my room, but I didn't read the script Chloe sent. I sat on the floor and stared at the door. Roman was right. The walls had ears, the ceilings had eyes, and Marcus Reed wasn't just my step-father. He was the warden. And worst of all, Roman was acting like a stranger again because he knew the warden was recording every word.