Ruin Me Stepbrother

His Words

Cindy's POV

I woke up early the next morning. Sleep did not come easy. Blake's words kept playing in my head all night, over and over, like a song I could not turn off.

"One day I'll forget you're my stepsister."

I touched my ear where his fingers had brushed me, and even in the daylight my skin still remembered it. My heart felt strange, unsteady in a way I could not explain.

I sat up in the big soft bed and looked around the beautiful room. Sunlight came through the pretty curtains and lit up every corner. Everything was perfect. But I reminded myself quietly, "Do not get attached, Cindy. This is not really your home. Atleast not yet"

I got dressed in my simple jeans and a plain T-shirt. I stood in front of the tall mirror for a moment and made a small promise to myself. I would prove to everyone in this house that I was not after the Knight family money.

I would work hard. I would stay humble, just like Mum had always taught me, even when we had nothing. Especially when we had nothing.

I went down for breakfast. Victor and Mum were already at the table, talking quietly, looking happier than I had seen them in a long time. Victor smiled when he saw me. "Good morning, Cindy. Did you sleep well?"

Before I could answer, Blake walked in. He was dressed for work in a sharp black suit that made him look even taller and colder than the night before.

He sat down without saying good morning to anyone. He ignored Mum completely, like she was a piece of furniture nobody had asked for.

Victor tried to be kind. "Blake, your sister needs help settling into the city. Maybe you can show her around later?"

Blake's face stayed cold as stone.

"I'm not interested in babysitting," he said sharply.

The words landed hard, and I felt them more than I wanted to admit. Victor looked disappointed. "Blake, please."

But Blake stood up, took his coffee, and left without another word. I saw the sadness pass across Victor's eyes before he hid it. He looked guilty, like a man who did not know how to reach his own son anymore.

I wanted to say something to comfort him, but I did not know what words would help. Some wounds are not mine to fix.

After breakfast, I walked around the mansion just to see more of it. I told myself I was only curious, but really I think I needed to move, to do something with my hands so my mind would stop circling back to Blake. I saw some servants carrying heavy boxes down a long hallway.

They looked tired, their arms shaking slightly under the weight. Even though I was now the owner's stepdaughter, I did not want to just stand there and watch people struggle. That was never who I was, and I was not about to start now just because the floors were made of marble.

"Let me carry this one," I said with a smile, reaching for a box before anyone could argue.

The servants looked surprised. An elderly maid stared at me like I had grown a second head. We worked together moving the boxes down the hall.

I laughed when one box turned out to be lighter than I expected and I nearly stumbled backward from the surprise. My cheek got a little dirt on it in the process, but I did not care enough to notice.

The elderly maid smiled softly at me once we set the last box down.

"You're nothing like we expected, Miss Cindy," she said quietly. "You are very humble."

Her words settled into my chest and stayed there, warm and steady. At least some people in this big house did not look at me like I was a problem to be solved.

What I did not know was that Blake had come back for a file he forgot. He stood at the corner of the hallway and watched me for longer than he probably meant to.

I was laughing with the servants, my hands dirty from work, my hair falling loose from its tie. For one unguarded second, a small smile touched his lips before he caught himself. His jaw tightened right away, like he was angry at his own face for betraying him.

Why was he looking at her like that? She was supposed to be the enemy, the girl whose mother had taken his mother's place. He turned and walked away quickly, before I could ever see him standing there.

Later that afternoon, I wandered into the big library, drawn in by the sheer size of it. The room took my breath away. Walls full of books rose from floor to ceiling, more books than I had ever seen outside of a real library.

I have always loved books, ever since I was small and Mum would bring home worn paperbacks from the secondhand shop. I felt a small flicker of joy for the first time since arriving, and I started scanning the titles slowly, running my fingers along the spines.

One book on a high shelf caught my eye, something with a faded gold title I could not quite read from where I stood. I reached up on my toes to grab it.

At the same moment, another hand reached for the same book.

I turned and it was Blake.

Our fingers touched. Both of us froze completely still. His skin felt warm against mine, warmer than I expected from someone who acted so cold all the time. For a second, neither of us moved, and I do not think either of us breathed either.

My heart beat very fast, faster than it had any right to over something as small as touching someone's hand. He pulled his own hand back quickly, like my skin had burned him.

The air between us grew heavy and thick, the kind of silence that says more than words ever could.

Blake stepped closer instead of stepping away, which surprised me. His voice came out low.

"This house is full of places you shouldn't be."

I looked at him calmly, even though my legs felt weak underneath me. I refused to let him see how much he unsettled me.

"Your Dad said this is my home too."

That sentence hit him harder than I expected. I saw something flicker behind his eyes, something that looked almost like pain before it disappeared again. He reached up and grabbed the book from the shelf himself.

"Don't mistake my father's kindness for acceptance," he said coldly. Then he walked away, leaving me standing there among all those silent books with my heart still racing and my mind spinning with questions I had no answers for.

That evening, Victor called me to his study. He looked tired, older than his years for a moment.

"I am sorry about Blake again, Cindy. He wasn't always like this".

Victor sat down slowly and spoke softly, like the words cost him something to say. "After his mother died, he changed completely. He became cold.

He never allowed any woman into this mansion, not one, not until your mother. Please be patient with him. He is hurting inside, even if he never shows it."

I nodded, and something in me softened a little. I understood him a bit more now, understood the shape of the wound even if I could not see all of it.

But understanding did not make his words hurt any less. Sometimes knowing why someone is cruel does not stop the cruelty from cutting deep.

Later, restless and unable to settle my thoughts, I decided to explore more of the mansion. The halls were long and confusing, all identical doors and matching paintings, and I quickly lost track of which way I had come from. I turned a corner and opened a door, thinking it was another guest room like all the others.

But it was not.

It was Blake's bedroom.

I stepped inside without thinking, my curiosity moving faster than my sense. The room was dark and masculine, nothing soft about it anywhere.

A big bed sat against the far wall. Dark furniture lined the edges of the room. His scent hung in the air, something clean and deep that I would recognize anywhere now. Before I could turn around and leave, the bathroom door opened.

Blake walked out wearing only a towel around his waist.

Water still dripped down his chest and along the hard lines of his shoulders. His muscles were strong and clearly outlined under the soft light.

Our eyes locked across the room, and I could not look away no matter how much my mind screamed at me to. My face grew hot with embarrassment. I felt completely frozen, rooted to the spot like my feet had forgotten how to move.

Blake slowly reached back and closed the bedroom door behind him. The click of the latch sounded far too loud in the quiet room. He stared at me with dark, unreadable eyes. The towel hung low on his hips.

Tension filled the space between us until it felt like something I could reach out and touch.

I was trapped. Alone with Blake in his bedroom. And from the look on his face, he did not seem like a man in any hurry for me to leave.