My Three Stepbrothers' Dirty Games

2. A Shadow In My Room

Mia’s POV

The second floor of the Montgomery mansion was a labyrinth of polished hardwood, floor-to-ceiling glass, and minimalist art that looked more expensive than my father’s entire net worth.

Lucas walked half a step behind me, his sneakers silent on the plush runner carpet that lined the corridor. The easy, playful charm he’d projected out by the pool had dissolved into a quiet, watchful presence that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“It’s quiet up here,” I said, mostly to break the suffocating silence.

“For now,” Lucas replied, his voice smooth and low. “My brothers and I keep odd hours. You’ll get used to the quiet. Or you’ll learn to fear it.”

I stopped in my tracks and turned around to face him. “Is every sentence out of your mouth supposed to sound like a threat, Lucas?”

Lucas paused, looking down at me with those ocean-blue eyes. For a fraction of a second, his smirk faltered, replaced by an expression so dark and unreadable it sent a chill straight through my chest. Then, as quickly as it had vanished, the lazy grin snapped back into place.

“Just friendly advice, Mia. Bel-Air isn’t Ohio.” He pointed a finger toward a heavy white door at the far end of the hall. “That’s your suite. Private bath, balcony overlooking the gardens, walk-in closet. Eleanor had it decorated herself. She thinks you’re going to be best friends.”

“And what do you think?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

Lucas leaned against the wall, crossing his ankles. He looked completely at ease, but there was an underlying tension in his shoulders—like a tiger stretching before a pounce.

“I think you’re a distraction,” he said simply. “And my family doesn’t handle distractions very well. We tend to…dismantle them.”

Before I could process the cold edge in his voice, he tapped the doorframe twice with his knuckles. “Dinner is in an hour. Don’t be late. Micah hates waiting.”

Without another word, Lucas turned on his heel and sauntered back down the hallway toward the grand staircase, leaving me alone in the silent, sunlit corridor.

I let out a slow breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. Dismantle. The word hung in the air like smoke.

Turning toward my room, I grabbed the heavy brass handle, pushed the door open, and stepped inside—only to freeze dead in my tracks.

The room was vast, bathed in the gold light of the late afternoon sun streaming through massive French doors. But I didn’t notice the canopy bed, the plush velvet lounge chair, or the bouquet of fresh white roses on the vanity.

My attention was pinned entirely on the man standing by the balcony railing, his back to me.

He was tall—taller than Lucas—with broad, powerful shoulders stretched tight beneath a fitted black polo shirt. His dark hair was slightly messy, as if he’d spent the day running his hands through it in frustration. As the door clicked shut behind me, he turned around with lethal slowness.

If Lucas was a hidden razor blade, the man in front of me was a sledgehammer.

He had sharp, angular cheekbones, a shadow of dark stubble along a hard jawline, and eyes so dark they were almost black. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look welcoming. He looked at me the way an apex predator looks at a trespasser in its territory.

“You’re in the wrong room,” he said. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated straight through the floorboards.

“Actually…this is my room,” I said, holding my breath and forcing myself not to back away as he took a step toward me. “Eleanor told me—”

“I don’t care what my mother told you,” he interrupted, his dark gaze raking over me from head to toe with brutal, unblinking efficiency. “This floor belongs to the family. Guests stay in the east wing.”

“I’m not a guest,” I retorted, my temper flaring despite the instinct screaming at me to retreat. “My dad married your mom. That makes me family. Like it or not.”

The man stopped less than three feet away from me. The sheer heat radiating off him was overwhelming, carrying the sharp scent of cedarwood, leather, and smoke. He loomed over me, casting a shadow that swallowed the sunlight entirely.

“Family?” He let out a dark, breathless sound that was devoid of any humor. “Is that what Calloway is calling it? A family merger?”

“His name is Arthur,” I snapped, squaring my shoulders and glaring up into his pitch-black eyes. “And you must be Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. He stepped closer—so close that if I took a deep breath, my chest would brush against his. The sudden, claustrophobic proximity sent my pulse skyrocketing.

“Listen to me very carefully, Mia,” he growled, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. His breath was hot against my skin. “Your pathetic father might have convinced you that this house is a fairy tale, but you don’t belong here. You don’t know what happens behind these doors, and you sure as hell aren’t ready for the men who run it.”

I swallowed hard, refusing to look down, refusing to show the trembling in my knees. “Are you trying to scare me, Sebastian?”

He lifted one heavy hand, his long, calloused fingers hovering just millimeters above my collarbone without actually touching my skin. The restraint was almost more intimidating than physical force.

“I’m giving you a warning,” he murmured, his dark eyes dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back to mine. “Stay out of my way. Don’t wander around at night. And above all…stay out of the basement. If I catch you where you don’t belong, I won’t be as nice as Lucas.”

“Nice?” I choked out a dry laugh. “Lucas practically threatened to throw me in the pool.”

“Lucas plays with his food before he eats it,” Sebastian said coldly, stepping back and breaking the electric tension that held us frozen. “I just get rid of it.”

He didn’t wait for my response. Sebastian brushed past me, his shoulder heavy against mine as he walked out into the corridor. The door slammed shut behind him with a sharp, definitive thud that echoed through the vast bedroom.

I stood there alone in the middle of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My skin felt hot where his shadow had fallen over me, and my hands were shaking.

They were insane. All of them.

I walked over to the massive king-sized bed and slumped onto the edge of the mattress, burying my face in my hands. The silk sheets beneath me felt smooth and cold, a stark reminder of the absurd wealth surrounding me.

My father thought this marriage was his saving grace. He thought we had finally made it—that after years of scraping by and fighting to keep his company afloat, we were safe.

But looking at the dark, possessive intensity in Sebastian’s eyes and listening to the slick, deceptive threats from Lucas, I knew the truth.

We weren’t safe. We were in a lion’s den, and the lions were hungry.

A soft chime sounded from the vanity clock on the nightstand. 5:30 PM.

Dinner was in thirty minutes.

I looked up at my reflection in the gilded mirror across the room. My hair was windblown from the flight, my cheeks were flushed, and my eyes were wide with a mix of fear and an exhilarating, dangerous spark of defiance that I hadn’t known I possessed.

They wanted me scared. They wanted me to hide in my room, lock the door, and meekly play the helpless step-daughter until they got bored and pushed my father out.

I grabbed my hairbrush from my carry-on bag, smoothing down my dark strands, and pulled a clean, simple dark green dress from my luggage.

If Micah Montgomery was the master of this house, and his brothers were his enforcers, they were about to learn that I wasn’t going to break as easily as they thought.

I unzipped the back of my dress, determined to show up to their precious dinner table with my head held high—unaware that the eldest brother, the true puppet master of the family, was waiting downstairs to deliver the final strike.