Under One Roof

Stepbrother Unfortunately

Aria’s POV

The doors opened into another world entirely.

Marble floors. Velvet drapes. Ceilings so high they made my neck ache. It felt like I had walked into a cathedral. Gold accents lined the walls. Too much gold. The kind that did not whisper wealth, but screamed it.

Luxury hung in the air like perfume. Expensive. Choking. Impossible to ignore.

“No wonder my mom was in such a hurry to divorce my dad,” I muttered to myself.

I glanced around the room again. Every corner screamed wealth, every surface polished to a blinding shine. It was beautiful, yes, but cold. Impersonal. It did not feel like home. Instead, it felt like a display. And I was just another prop in the scene.

My mother had already claimed the largest sofa, sitting like a queen on her throne.

“Welcome home, once again,” Mr. Micah, her new husband, said, brushing a kiss against her temple. Then he turned to me.

“Aria, make yourself comfortable. This is your home now.”

I nodded politely and perched on the edge of one of the sofas in the sitting room, unsure of where I fit in this house or this life.

The room had not fully settled when footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Heavy. Slow. Confident.

Someone was coming in confidently through the big front entrance.

I looked up and instantly felt something inside me go warm. Maybe my throat dried up. Maybe I swallowed too hard. Whatever it was, it hit fast and low and left a rush in its wake.

He stepped into the sitting room with the kind of presence that stole all the air.

Tall. Broad shouldered. His sleeveless training shirt clung to every defined muscle like it had no choice, soaked with sweat around the collar and spine. That body. God. That was not gym fit. That was obsession, punishment, control.

The kind of body you do not just admire. You ache for.

And me?

I have always been the quiet girl. Polite. Too well behaved. But the dark little corner of me no one ever sees?

I lose my mind over six packs and muscles.

And he was made of them.

Perfectly created to steal my damn mind away.

If I were not still in shock, I would have gotten up and reached out, just to touch. Just to confirm he was real and not some magazine cover walking through the damn door.

I could not believe it. The kind of sculpted, mouth watering body I usually hid in my room to watch online, greased up abs, strong veiny arms, that V line girls lost sleep over, was now walking in front of me. In real life.

And then, to ruin me completely, he lifted a hand and ran it through his damp hair, pushing it back lazily while a few rebellious strands fell over his forehead. Sweat glistened at his temple, trailing down his neck, disappearing beneath the curve of his shirt.

God help me.

“No,” I whispered to myself, almost breathless. “I suddenly want to stay here forever.... For the first time in my mother’s life, she did something right.”

He looked older. Definitely older than me. No way that kind of build came from someone in my age bracket. This was a grown man. Probably in his late twenties. Dangerous. Controlled.

A storm with a heartbeat.

A million questions bounced around my head. Who was he? Why was he here?

But the adrenaline rushing through my veins made it hard to think clearly, let alone move.

Then he stepped closer, his gaze sweeping the room, sharp, practiced, like he could break everyone down in a single glance. It landed on the man seated at the head of the couch, my mum new husband.

“Dad,” he said, flat and emotionless.

Just that.

No greeting for my mother.

No look at me.

Just Dad.

My stomach dropped.

“Dad?” I echoed in my head, blinking. Wait, what?

He is the son of my mom’s new husband?

My heart stuttered in protest. That would make him my stepbrother.

Why stepbrother?

He was supposed to be something else. Something… mine.

That body. That face. That entire presence. He should be calling me babe, not stepsister.

Instead of my mother marrying his father, fate could have introduced us like normal people. Without rules. Without titles. Without limits.

Someone tell me this is a joke before I start imagining things I shouldn’t. Before this dangerous little fantasy sinks too deep into my bloodstream.

This had to be some kind of joke. A cruel, cosmic joke.

“Noooo, it can never be,” I blurted out.

The words exploded out of me before I could swallow them back.

The entire room froze.

Every head turned in my direction.

Eyes wide. Silence thick.

And me?

Standing there like an i***t. Heart pounding. Face flushed. Voice echoing in the dead air.

Because of course I just screamed that out loud.

Every head snapped in my direction.

My mother blinked at me, confused. Mr. Micah frowned slightly, trying to make sense of my sudden outburst.

But it was him, the cause of my thoughts, who made my lungs forget how to work.

His head turned slowly. Cold eyes locked on me as if I had just barked in the middle of a funeral. Unblinking. No hint of amusement. Just a quiet intensity that made my skin tingle and my heart trip over itself.

I scrambled for a cover up.

“Sorry. I just remembered I left my straightener outside our former house,” I lied, my voice too high, too quick. “Fire hazard, you know?”

I forced a nervous laugh and dropped back into the couch like gravity yanked me down. My knees were jelly. My face was burning. I did not even own a straightener, let alone forget it outside.

My mother side eyed me, but thankfully did not press.

Mr Micah cleared his throat, bringing the room back to order.

“This is Wyatt,” he said. “My son and my only one. He’s twenty-five.”

“Just… Twenty-five”i muttered to myself

My head whipped toward him again.

That man was only twenty-five?

How was that body even legal? At early twenties, most guys were lanky and confused about deodorant. But Wyatt looked like he ate steel and lifted cars for fun.

Wow. Life is about to get interesting, I muttered to myself, smiling, maybe out of excitement, maybe pure wickedness.

The thought of waking up every day under the same roof as that body, that perfectly sculpted, sweat slicked, walking Greek god of a man, yeah, part of me was definitely thrilled.

Then the reality hit.

He is your brother.

Well, stepbrother.

“Not exactly a dealbreaker,” I thought, my lips twitching.

Sure, I could not have him the way I wanted, as mine, as the body I would wake up next to and shamelessly run my hands over, but maybe waking up and seeing it was not such a bad consolation.

A brother is okay too. I would love that.

A little eye candy never hurt anybody, right?

Especially when it looked like that.

I sank back into the couch, letting a quiet thrill settle in my chest. Maybe this new life wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it could even be… interesting.

Just a little… dangerously interesting.

And somehow… it felt exactly what I wanted… though I knew I shouldn’t want it at all.