My New Stepbrother

The moving truck had left three hours ago, and I was still staring at the boxes stacked in what was supposed to be my new bedroom. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the California sun painted everything in shades of gold that felt nothing like home. Nothing like the cramped apartment in Chicago where Mom and I had spent the last ten years scraping by. Now we were living in a mansion in Beverly Hills. Because Mom had married Richard Cross a man so wealthy he probably used hundred-dollar bills as napkins-and apparently, fairy tales do come true. Just not the kind I'd ever imagined.

"Maya, sweetheart, dinner's ready!" Mom's voice floated up the marble staircase, sounding happier than I'd heard her in years. I pushed off from the window seat and caught my reflection in the mirror across the room. Same boring brown hair, same unremarkable hazel eyes, same girl who'd spent four years perfecting the art of being invisible at Lincoln High. The girl who was about to start senior year at some elite private school where everyone probably had trust funds and summer homes. The dining room could have hosted a small wedding. Richard sat at the head of an obscenely long table, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled even after a full day at his law firm. Mom beamed beside him, wearing a dress that probably cost more than our old monthly rent. "How's the unpacking going?" Richard asked as I slid into my chair. "Good," I lied, stabbing at my salmon. Everything in this house was intimidating, from the crystal chandelier hanging overhead to the actual Monet on the wall. "Thanks again for... all of this." "You don't need to thank me, Maya. You're family now." Family. The word sat strangely in the air. We'd been family for exactly six weeks-since the small courthouse wedding Mom had insisted on to avoid making a "spectacle." "Where's Adrian tonight?" Mom asked, glancing at the empty chair across from me. "Basketball practice ran late. He'll grab something when he gets home." Richard's expression softened when he mentioned his son. "You'll meet him tomorrow. I think you two will get along well." I nodded and smiled, but my stomach knotted. I'd successfully avoided meeting my new stepbrother for six weeks. Mom had mentioned he was my age, popular, and "very handsome"-which translated to exactly the type of guy who wouldn't give me a second glance at school. The type who made girls like me invisible. Better that way. My plan for senior year was simple: keep my head down, get good grades, and count down the days until college. No drama, no complications, no drawing attention to the fact that I was now living in the most expensive zip code in Los Angeles despite clearly not belonging here. After dinner, I escaped to my room and tried to focus on unpacking, but the silence of the enormous house was deafening. In our old apartment, I could hear Mrs. Peterson's TV through the thin walls and the constant hum of traffic. Here, the only sound was the distant splash of water from the infinity pool outside. Around eleven, I gave up on organizing and headed downstairs for some of those fancy cookies I'd seen in the kitchen. The house was dark except for the soft glow of under-cabinet lighting. I was reaching for the cookie jar when I heard the front door open, followed by footsteps and the soft thud of something dropping. "Shit," a low voice muttered. I froze. Adrian was home. The footsteps moved through the foyer and toward the kitchen. I could slip out through the back door to the pool area, circle around, and sneak back upstairs. Or I could act like a normal human being and just say hello. The footsteps were getting closer. I grabbed a cookie and turned around just as someone walked into the kitchen. And promptly forgot how to breathe. The guy standing in the doorway wasn't just handsome-he was the kind of beautiful that should have been illegal. Dark hair that looked like he'd been running his fingers through it, sharp jawline, and eyes so intensely blue they seemed to glow in the dim lighting. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had the easy confidence that came with knowing you were the best-looking person in any room. This was my stepbrother. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. His gaze traveled from my messy ponytail down to my oversized pajamas and bare feet, then back up to my face. Something unreadable flickered in his expression. "You must be Maya," he said finally, his voice deeper than I'd expected. "And you're Adrian." My voice came out as barely a whisper. He moved closer, and I caught the scent of his cologne mixed with something else-something uniquely him that made my pulse quicken in a way that should have been a warning. "Sorry I missed dinner. Coach kept us late." He opened the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, his movements fluid and confident. "How are you settling in?" "Fine," I managed, clutching my cookie like a lifeline. "It's... different." "Different good or different bad?" "Just different." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Diplomatic answer." The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. I needed to get out of here, away from those blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. "I should let you eat," I said, edging toward the doorway. "Early day tomorrow." "Maya." The way he said my name made me stop. "Welcome home." Home. Such a simple word, but the way it rolled off his tongue made something flutter in my chest. I mumbled a goodnight and practically ran upstairs, my heart hammering against my ribs. In my room, I leaned against the closed door and tried to process what had just happened. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Because in thirty seconds, Adrian Cross had managed to shatter every wall I'd carefully built around myself. And tomorrow, I'd have to face him at school, where I'd undoubtedly discover that every girl at Westbridge Academy was just as affected by those blue eyes as I was. My plan to stay invisible had just become a whole lot more complicated.