Maliya
Chapter one— Maliya
★Maliya's pov★
“Why did you run away, little sister?”
Micaiah's cold fingers wrapped around my throat the moment our parents left the room.
I didn't even have time to think before my back was slammed hard against the wall. I groaned in pain.
His hold wasn't strong enough to choke, but it was deeply uncomfortable. My step brother was always this violent. This… repulsive.
My mind raced for words. But I couldn't find the right ones to make the perfect lie.
“I…”
“Think carefully before you lie to me, Mali. We both know you're not a really good liar.”
I cold chill ran up my spine. He was right.
"Two years, Mali." His voice was low, and dangerous. "Two years I waited for you to come back."
I couldn't move. Couldn't think. I could only stare at him and wonder if he remembered anything that happened on that night two years ago. Wondered if he knew how much his presence and nearness were affecting me.
"Let go of me, Micaiah."
I frowned.
"Not yet." He leaned in closer, and I caught the scent of his cologne. "You ran away. Blocked my number. Wouldn't even tell me what city you'd gone to."
"I had reasons."
I gulped, praying deep inside me that he didn't remember.
"I'm sure you did." His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back up. "Want to tell me what they were?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. "You know why."
"Say it."
"Micaiah—"
"Say it, Mali. Or are you still going to pretend that night didn't happen?"
Heat flooded my face. So he did remember what had happened that night. My hands reached out to push him away, but he didn't even budge.
"That was a mistake."
His laugh was dark. "Was it?"
"Yes."
"Funny." He shifted closer, his thigh pressing between mine, pinning me completely. "Because I've spent two years thinking about it. Two years wondering if you touch yourself and remember the way I—"
I brought my knee up hard.
He blocked it with his leg, catching my thigh and holding it against his hip. The position forced me higher against the wall, more trapped than before, and the satisfied smirk that crossed his face made me want to slap him.
Or kiss him.
I hated that I couldn't tell the difference anymore.
"Let. Go."
"Make me,"
He smirked.
We were breathing hard, faces just inches apart.
"I hate you," I whispered.
"No, you don't."
"I do."
"Then why are you shaking?"
Because you're too close. Because I can feel your heartbeat. Because two years wasn't long enough to forget what your hands feel like on my skin.
"Micaiah! Maliya!" Mom's voice echoed down the hallway. "Dinner's ready!"
He didn't move. Just kept staring at me with that intense focus that made me feel like prey.
"This isn't over," he said softly against my skin.
Then he released me and stepped back, smoothing his shirt like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just pinned me to a wall and threatened to unravel every defense I'd spent two years building.
I leaned against the wall, my legs weak, my wrist still burning where he'd gripped it. Micaiah was going to be the death of me.
He reached for the door, then paused. Looked back at me over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Mali?" His smile was dark. "Welcome home."
