My Ex-Boyfriend is my New Step-Brother

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The drive back to the Malibu estate was a suffocating exercise in silence. Harris didn’t mention the script again, and I didn't offer a single detail about the audition. I just watched the sun dip lower over the Pacific, casting long, bruised shadows across the highway. I had been an actress since I was fifteen, long before my mother ever met a billionaire, but sitting in the back of this armored SUV, I felt like a beginner again—one who had just been bought and paid for.

When we pulled through the massive iron gates, the mansion was glowing. It didn't look like a home; it looked like a set prepared for a performance I hadn't rehearsed for.

"We’re here, Ms. Wood," Harris said, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror as he killed the engine. "Mr. Reed is expecting you in the dining room. He’s already started the toast."

"I haven't even changed out of my audition clothes, Harris," I said, looking down at my rumpled shirt. "I need ten minutes."

"He said the 'work-worn' look adds to the authenticity of the story he’s telling the guests," Harris replied, his voice devoid of any warmth. "He’d prefer you go in as you are."

I gripped my bag, my knuckles turning white. I stepped into the foyer and was immediately hit by the scent of seared lamb and expensive lilies. It was the smell of money trying to mask the scent of control. My mother, Lydia, hurried toward me in a cocktail dress that was far too formal for a casual Tuesday, her hand trembling as she smoothed my hair.

"Scarlett! Thank God," she whispered, her eyes darting toward the closed dining room doors. "Director Leo Hart’s office called Marcus. They said you were 'revelatory.' Marcus has the head of the studio and a lead columnist from the trades in there. Please, just smile and go along with it."

"Go along with what, Mom? I earned that role. Leo Hart didn't even look at me until I started screaming the lines."

"I know, honey, I know," she breathed, her voice thin and desperate. "But Marcus... he’s telling them he’s the one who suggested the 'edge' to the character. He’s framing it as a family victory. Just let him have this. For the sake of the house."

I pushed past her and threw open the doors.

The dining room was a sea of crystal and silver. Marcus Reed sat at the head of the table, looking like a king presiding over his court. Beside him was an empty chair—mine—and across from it sat Roman. He was dressed in a black button-down, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the heavy watch he always wore to hide that flower tattoo. He looked bored, his eyes fixed on the wine glass he was slowly rotating. He didn't look up when I walked in. He didn't even flinch.

"There she is!" Marcus stood up, his voice booming with practiced, predatory warmth. "The 'Pure Angel' herself. Everyone, my daughter, Scarlett Wood. We were just discussing how her new role in The Gilded Cage is going to redefine the Reed-Wood brand."

I sat down, the chair feeling like an electric seat. "It’s just Scarlett. And I’m surprised you’re celebrating, Marcus. I didn't think you’d have time to read the trades today."

"I don't need the trades when I have the director on speed dial," Marcus said, sitting back down and flashing a shark-like smile at the studio head. "Leo Hart and I go way back. I told him months ago that Scarlett had a depth the public hadn't seen yet. I’m glad he finally took my advice and saw the vision."

I felt the blood drain from my face. I looked at the studio head, who gave me a knowing nod, then back at Marcus. "You spoke to Leo Hart months ago? The casting call was only public last week."

"In this industry, Scarlett, the 'public' is always the last to know," Marcus said smoothly, cutting into his steak with precision. "I simply ensured the right doors were unlocked. You were the one who walked through them."

"You bought the role," I said, my voice low and shaking. The clinking of silverware stopped instantly. My mother’s face went pale as she stared at her plate.

"I invested in the production," Marcus corrected, his eyes turning cold behind his glasses. "There is a significant difference. One is charity; the other is a business strategy."

"Don't act so surprised, Scarlett," Roman’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. He finally looked up, his dark eyes mocking and cruel. "Did you really think you were going to escape the Reed machine? This isn't a movie set. It’s a showroom. And you’re just the newest model."

"Roman," Marcus warned, his voice dropping an octave.

"What? I’m agreeing with you, Father," Roman said, leaning back and spreading his arms. "It’s brilliant. You use her 'pure' image to soften your tech monopoly, and in exchange, she gets a leading role. It’s a classic trade. Isn't that right, Scarlett? Or did you actually think Leo Hart cared about your 'craft'?"

"I know I earned it," I hissed, looking directly at Roman. "I know what I did in that room today. I didn't need a bribe to get him to notice me."

"Maybe you didn't," Roman said, his gaze dropping to the table. "But in this house, nobody cares how hard you worked for the cage. They only care that you’re inside it and the door is locked."

The rest of the dinner was a blur of ash-tasting food and Marcus’s endless boasting. He talked about "brand synergy" and "marketable innocence" as if I weren't sitting right there. I wasn't an actress anymore. I was an asset.

When the guests finally left, I didn't wait for a "goodnight." I headed straight for the stairs, my heels clicking sharply on the cold marble.

"Scarlett."

I stopped. Roman was standing in the shadows of the hallway near the guest wing. He’d ditched the formal shirt for a hoodie, looking like the boy who had broken my heart three years ago.

"What do you want, Roman? Come to tell me how much I’m worth again?"

"I came to tell you to stop looking for a way out," he said, walking toward me. The hallway was dim, the only light coming from the moon hitting the floor. "You took the role. You’re wearing the Reed jewelry. Don't act like a victim when you’re cashing the check Marcus signed."

"I didn't know he was talking to Leo Hart! I’ve had my own career for years!"

"And now he owns it," Roman whispered, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating off him. He reached out, his hand hovering near my arm but never touching it—conscious of the cameras we both knew were watching. "He doesn't want an actress. He wants a puppet that makes him look like a family man. And you just gave him the strings."

"I'm doing this for me, Roman. Not for him."

"Then you’re even more delusional than I thought," he countered. "He’s already planning the press tour. He’s already decided what you’ll say. You think you’re a star? You’re a distraction. And the second you stop being useful, he’ll turn those cameras off and leave you in the dark."

He looked up at the camera in the corner—the one that had followed us in the kitchen—and gave it a mock salute.

"Welcome to the Reed family, Scarlett," he said, his voice turning into ice. "Try not to break too many of the toys. Marcus hates it when his things get scratched."

He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. I stood there, shivering in my expensive dress, staring at the red light of the camera. I’d won the role. I was the nation's rising star. But as I watched Roman disappear into the shadows, I realized the "Blacklisted King" was the only person in this house telling me the truth.

I was in a cage.