Stepbrother's Little Secret.

The gates opened slowly, dragging a deep groan through the air as Ava peered out the car window. Her breath caught. Mansion wasn’t even the word. The house looked like something torn straight from the pages of a celebrity magazine — wide stone steps, gleaming glass panels, perfectly trimmed hedges, and a fountain that didn’t even seem real. Her hand tightened around the strap of her bag. "This is it," her mother said quietly from the driver’s seat, trying to force a smile. “Home.” Ava didn’t reply. She couldn’t. The word home felt too big. Too fake. Like trying to shove their quiet, rented two-bedroom apartment into this glass kingdom of chandeliers and marble. Her chest felt tight. She had known things would change when her mother married Richard Lennox, but she hadn’t expected this — to feel so small in front of someone else’s life. The car rolled into the driveway, past rows of shiny, black cars that looked too expensive to touch. A butler—yes, an actual butler in a black suit—opened her door before she even reached for the handle. Ava blinked. "Miss Ava. Welcome." Miss Ava. Not hey or hi there, but Miss. Already, she felt like she didn’t belong. “Thank you,” she murmured awkwardly, stepping out. Inside, the house was cold and spotless, like no one really lived there. The air smelled like fresh lilies and something sharp, expensive. Her worn sneakers squeaked against the marble floor. Crystal chandeliers hung from ceilings too high to be real, and a wide staircase curled up like something from a fairytale. Except this wasn’t a fairytale. And Ava definitely wasn’t the princess. Her mom's heels echoed beside her. "Richard had to step out for a business call," she explained. “He said to make yourself comfortable. He’ll be back soon.” Ava nodded. She didn’t care. The idea of meeting her new stepfather made her stomach flip. She hadn't even wanted to come in the first place. This wasn't her world. She dropped her backpack beside a couch that probably cost more than her mom’s entire salary before the marriage and took in the space. Everything was perfect. Clean. Distant. "Your room is upstairs," her mom said, gesturing toward the staircase. "Third door on the left. Richard said it was redone just for you." Ava nodded again. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Her throat felt tight. “Come on,” her mom offered gently. “Let me show you.” The stairs felt endless — not because they were high, but because with each step, Ava’s chest grew heavier. She followed her mother quietly, her eyes darting over gold-rimmed portraits and mirrors framed like something out of a palace. It was hard not to stare. When they reached the third door on the left, her mom stopped and turned the knob gently. "I told them to keep it simple. I know you don’t like too much clutter." Ava stepped in slowly. It wasn’t just simple — it was stunning. Soft white walls, a pastel blue comforter on a queen-sized bed, and floor-to-ceiling curtains that let in golden sunlight. A desk sat in the corner with a lamp that looked untouched. A shelf had already been filled with a few books she mentioned she liked — someone had clearly been paying attention. Still, something about the room didn’t feel like hers. Everything looked staged, like a showroom version of what someone thought a teenage girl’s room should look like. “It’s nice,” Ava said finally, forcing a small smile. Her mother looked relieved. “You’ll settle in soon. I know it’s... a lot.” Ava didn’t respond. “I’m going to check in with the housekeeper downstairs,” her mom added after a pause. “Unpack if you can. Dinner’s by seven.” As the door clicked shut behind her, Ava sat slowly on the edge of the bed. The mattress gave slightly under her weight, soft and untouched. She glanced around the room again. So this was her new life. She missed the sound of the rickety ceiling fan from their old place. The creaky floorboards. Even the smell of groundnut oil that always lingered no matter how much they aired out the kitchen. That place might’ve been small, but it was real. A knock at the door jolted her thoughts. She stood up quickly, expecting her mother again. “Yeah?” No answer. Just the soft creak of the door opening. And then she saw him. Tall, broad shoulders, dressed in a black hoodie and dark jeans, his tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. His hair was slightly tousled, and he looked like he hadn't slept much. He wasn’t just handsome — he was unnervingly intense. He leaned against the doorframe with a brow raised, his gaze sweeping over her like he was sizing her up. “You're the girl who’s moving in?” His voice was low, calm, a little mocking. Ava blinked. “Uh… yeah. I guess.” He didn’t move. Didn’t offer his name. She knew who he was — Rylan Lennox. Her new stepbrother. She’d seen his photos once, briefly, on her mom’s phone. He hadn’t been at the wedding. She hadn’t expected to meet him so soon — or for him to look at her like she’d just walked into the wrong house. He gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Right.” And just like that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps disappearing down the hall before she could even breathe. Ava stood frozen. So… that was Rylan. Ava stood in the doorway for a moment longer, her heartbeat thudding a little too loudly in her chest. What was his problem? He hadn’t even said hello. No “Nice to meet you,” no “Welcome.” Just that deadpan stare and a tone that made her feel like an unwanted guest. Shaking it off, she closed the door and sat back on the bed, but her nerves didn’t settle. Maybe she was imagining the tension. Maybe Rylan just wasn’t the warm, fuzzy type. Still, something about his eyes had unsettled her — sharp, unreadable, like he already didn’t trust her and wasn’t planning to. Later, she unpacked her clothes slowly, folding them into drawers that smelled of new wood polish. The silence in the house was uncomfortable. She could hear the soft hum of distant voices downstairs, the occasional clink of cutlery, but it didn’t feel like a home — it felt like a museum. By the time evening came, she wasn’t even hungry. But her mom had insisted earlier: "Dinner’s at seven. It’ll be good for you to show your face." So, at 6:58, Ava made her way down the marble stairs, her palms slightly sweaty. She’d changed into a clean blouse and jeans, something simple, but she still felt like she stood out in a house like this. The dining room was massive, like everything else — a long glass table with tall-backed chairs that looked like thrones. Her mom sat near the head, smiling nervously. The seat beside her was empty — her stepfather’s. Still not back. But Rylan was there. He sat at the far end, head bowed slightly, phone in hand, one tattooed arm resting lazily on the table. He didn’t look up when she entered. Ava quietly took the seat next to her mother. Dinner started with soft-spoken house staff serving the first course. Roast chicken, buttered vegetables, wine glasses even though none of them were drinking. She barely touched her food. Her mom tried to make small talk — about school, the new room, how the move had been — but the silence from across the table was too loud to ignore. Rylan didn’t speak. Didn’t glance up. It was like he wasn’t really there. Until her mother said, “Ava’s going to be enrolling in Brentford College soon. Just needs to settle in a bit first.” That was when Rylan looked up. Just briefly. His eyes met Ava’s. There was no smile. No nod. Just a flicker of something — surprise, maybe — before his expression went back to blank. “Brentford’s intense,” he said simply. “Hope you can keep up.” It wasn’t a compliment. Ava blinked, unsure how to respond. “I’ll try.” That mocking smile tugged at his lips again, and he leaned back in his seat. “Good luck with that.” Her mother shot him a sharp glance, but said nothing. The silence stretched until it suffocated. After dinner, Ava slipped away quietly, letting her mom handle the polite goodnights and awkward small talk with the housekeeper. She didn’t know where Rylan went — he’d disappeared the moment his plate was cleared, not even pretending to care about the evening. Back in her room, she changed into an oversized T-shirt and sat on the edge of the bed, legs curled up beneath her. The silence settled again, but now it felt heavier. Like the walls were listening. She picked up her phone — no messages. No missed calls. Her old friends hadn’t even texted her since the move. Maybe they didn’t know what to say. Or maybe they figured she’d changed already. She hadn’t. But maybe she was starting to. The thought made her chest ache. Suddenly, a soft knock tapped at her door. She frowned. “Yes?” The door opened — just a crack — and there he was again. Rylan. Ava stiffened. “What do you want?” He didn’t step inside. Just leaned on the doorframe again, like he was trying to decide something. “You left your charger downstairs. On the table,” he said. “Oh.” He held it up between two fingers, then tossed it toward the bed. It landed beside her with a soft thud. “Thanks,” she said, unsure. He didn’t leave. Just watched her for a beat longer than necessary. “I didn’t ask for this either, you know.” The words came out low and quiet, but sharp. And then he was gone again. Ava sat there, staring at the space he’d just filled, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name. So that was how it was going to be.