He didn't come to the wedding. Her mother said he was finishing grad school and couldn't make it. Olivia suspected the truth was simpler: he didn't care.
When they arrived at the house-no, estate-Elijah was on the porch, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.
He looked like the kind of person who measured every word before he spoke it. Tall, lean, and dressed in black despite the summer heat. Olivia stepped out of the car and felt his eyes sweep over her-disinterested, almost bored.
"You must be Olivia," he said.
"You must be annoyed," she replied.
A corner of his mouth twitched, maybe in amusement. Or irritation.
Their parents hugged and laughed and retreated inside, leaving them on the porch.
"Let's get one thing straight," Elijah said, his tone low and calm. "I'm not your brother. Don't expect me to play family."
She raised an eyebrow. "Perfect. I wasn't looking for one."
Neither knew that those words would echo differently years later-haunting, thrilling, and dangerously true.
Chapter 2: The Summer Return
Olivia hadn't stepped foot in the Lancaster estate in over four years.
College had been her escape, then New York City her sanctuary. But when her internship dried up and her rent nearly doubled, her mother offered a lifeline: come home for the summer, stay until you find your feet.
She hesitated. Then accepted.
Now she stood on the familiar stone steps, suitcase in hand, and rang the bell like a stranger.
The door opened before the chimes faded.
"Elijah?" she asked, surprised.
He looked almost exactly the same, but different. Sharper. Older. More refined. Gone was the brooding college boy-he had become a man.
"You cut your hair," he said, instead of hello.
Olivia blinked, caught off guard. "You noticed."
He stepped aside to let her in. "It suits you. You're early."
"I caught an earlier train."
Their words filled the echoing silence, trying to take up space where memories still clung.
Inside, the house was pristine. Too pristine.
"Mom and Grant aren't here?" she asked.
"They're in Italy. Anniversary trip."
Of course. Leave the adult step-siblings alone in a house full of memories and unspoken things.
"Just us, then," she murmured.
"Looks like it."
She felt the shift in the air-not hostile, but charged. Like something buried was starting to stir.
Olivia forced a smile. "I guess we're going to get reacquainted."
Elijah's lips lifted ever so slightly. "I never really knew you to begin with."
And as she climbed the stairs to her old bedroom, she couldn't help but wonder what else he didn't know about her-what she didn't know about herself when it came to him.
Because something about the way he had looked at her-really looked at her-wasn't brotherly at all.
Chapter 3: Unspoken Echoes
The first week passed slowly, like mist creeping over the cliffs.
Olivia settled into old routines, rediscovering the comforts of silence, coffee on the veranda, and the hum of cicadas in the garden. Her days were filled with job applications and half-finished cups of tea, but her nights-those were harder.
Because Elijah was always there.
She'd find him in the kitchen, shirtless and barefoot, pouring cereal at midnight. Or outside chopping firewood, sweat glistening down his back in a way she tried not to notice. Everything about him seemed more grounded now-confident, quiet, and deeply unreadable.
They didn't talk much. When they did, it was quick, polite. Guarded.
Until Thursday.
She found him in the library, flipping through an old copy of Frankenstein, feet propped on the coffee table.
"I didn't know you read classics," she said, leaning on the doorframe.
He didn't look up. "I didn't know you liked to sneak up on people."
"I'm full of surprises."
He closed the book slowly. "Apparently."
Their eyes met. For the first time, no sarcasm. No teasing. Just... interest.
He nodded toward the other chair. "You want to stay awhile?"
She did. She curled up opposite him, sipping from a mug of forgotten tea. They talked. About books. About her job hunt. About how different life was from what they imagined at seventeen.
When she laughed-really laughed-Elijah looked at her like she was a song he hadn't heard in years.
That night, she dreamed of him. Not as her stepbrother. Not even as Elijah. Just... a man. One who saw her in ways no one else ever had.
And when she woke up, she couldn't shake the feeling that something inside her had changed-and would never quite go back to the way it was.
---
Chapter 4: Lines in the Sand
The next evening, the summer heat clung to the walls like a secret. Olivia couldn't sleep.
She padded down the hallway in an oversized T-shirt, drawn by the glow of light spilling from under the kitchen door. There he was again-Elijah-leaning against the counter, a glass of water in his hand.
"You always awake at 2 a.m.?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
He glanced up. "You always wear my college T-shirts?"
Olivia looked down and blinked. She hadn't noticed-it was his old Columbia tee, soft and worn from years of use. "It was on top of the drawer," she said, half-defensive.
He smiled faintly. "Looks better on you."
The silence thickened.
She stepped closer and opened the fridge, pretending to hunt for something she didn't need. "I can't sleep."
"Neither can I."
Their eyes met again. There was something electric in the stillness, in the weight of the pause between them.
"Elijah," she said carefully, "do you ever think about... the way things used to be?"
He took a slow sip from his glass. "All the time."
She exhaled. "And now? This... feels different."
He set the glass down. "Because it is."
Her breath caught.
"There are things we were never supposed to feel," he added. "But it doesn't mean we didn't."
She stepped closer. "So what now?"
He didn't move. "We pretend?"
"Can you?"
He shook his head. "No."
Her heart beat faster than it had any right to. Her next words were a whisper: "Then maybe we stop pretending."
They were too close now. Inches apart. The air between them was molten.
He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Tell me to stop."
She didn't.
Instead, she leaned in.
Their lips met-tentative, then desperate. A collision of years of avoidance, of tension, of everything unspoken suddenly crashing into now.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, she whispered, "What are we doing?"
He touched her forehead gently with his. "I don't know. But I can't go back."
Neither could she.
And just like that, the line they had carefully drawn for years was gone-washed away like chalk in the rain.
Chapter 5: After the Kiss
Olivia didn't sleep that night.
She lay in bed with the memory of Elijah's lips still burning against hers, his hands gentle but firm, the low rasp of his voice echoing in her ears. Every part of her body remembered him-and trembled with the knowing.
She expected guilt. But it never came.
Only confusion. And a strange, aching kind of clarity.
By morning, the air was thick with silence. She hesitated before going downstairs, unsure what she'd find.
Elijah was already in the kitchen, barefoot, coffee in hand, reading his phone like nothing had changed. But when he looked up and their eyes met, it was all there-the memory, the question, the shift.
"Morning," he said quietly.
"Morning."
She poured her own coffee. The silence was delicate, like glass between them.
Finally, she broke it. "So... last night."
He looked down. "Yeah."
"Was it-do you think it was a mistake?"
He paused, jaw tense. Then, "No."
Olivia exhaled. "Me neither."
"But it's going to get complicated, Liv."
"I know."
He walked over slowly, setting his mug on the counter beside hers. "This isn't just tension. It never was. You feel it too, don't you?"
She nodded. "I do. And it scares the hell out of me."
"Me too."
He reached for her hand. She didn't pull away.
"We don't have to figure it all out today," he said. "But I don't want to ignore it anymore."
"Neither do I."
The front door opened suddenly-voices echoed through the foyer. Their parents were home early.
Olivia jerked her hand back. Elijah stepped away.
Within seconds, the space between them was full of casual distance, but their hearts pounded with the knowledge of what they now were-no longer just step-siblings.
Something else. Something more.
Something dangerous.
Chapter 6: Pretending Is Harder Than It Looks
Dinner that night was all smiles and laughter. Grant poured wine. Olivia's mother gushed about Tuscan vineyards and Italian gelato. But beneath the clinking cutlery and polite conversation, a storm brewed just beneath the surface.
Elijah sat across from Olivia, his face unreadable. He hadn't looked at her once-not really. Not since their parents walked through the door. And that, somehow, hurt more than she expected.
She forced a smile and nodded along with a story about Florence, all while her foot rested motionless beside his under the table. Every second of silence between them hummed with what they weren't saying.
Later, when the dishwasher hummed and their parents disappeared upstairs, Olivia slipped out onto the back porch. The air was cooler now, the stars crisp against the night sky.
Elijah joined her five minutes later, silent as always.
"I hate pretending," she said without looking at him.
"So do I," he replied, his voice low.
"But we have to."
"For now."
She turned to him. "This can't work, can it?"
He stepped closer. "It already is. That's the problem."
She let out a breath. "They'd never understand."
"They don't have to. Not yet." He reached for her hand again, his thumb brushing against her palm. "We just... take it slow. Figure it out as we go."
Olivia looked up at him, heart pounding. "And if it breaks everything?"
He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against hers. "Then at least it'll be honest. We won't have lived a lie."
In that moment, under the stars and secrets, she didn't care about labels or consequences. She only cared about how he made her feel-seen, real, alive.
They stayed like that, in the hush between fear and freedom, knowing the line they'd crossed couldn't be undone.
But maybe, just maybe, they didn't want it to be.
Chapter 7: A Glance Too Long
Over the next week, Olivia and Elijah mastered the art of distance in front of others-just enough politeness, just enough eye contact to seem normal. But when no one was looking, the tension was unbearable.
Every glance across the dinner table felt like a loaded message. Every brush of the hand in the hallway sent electricity through her skin.
One afternoon, their parents were out visiting old friends. Olivia was in the music room, fingers lazily gliding across the piano keys. She hadn't played in years, but muscle memory took over. The tune was soft, melancholic.
Behind her, Elijah leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching.
"I didn't know you still played," he said.
"I don't. Not really."
"It's beautiful."
She looked over her shoulder at him. "What are we doing, Elijah?"
He came closer, slowly. "Surviving."
"Is that what this is?"
He stopped beside the piano, his fingers grazing the edge. "Or maybe it's the first time either of us is actually living."
Olivia stood. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. "You say that like you're not scared."
"I am. Every second."
"But you keep showing up."
"So do you."
Their eyes locked, and the rest of the room seemed to disappear. No parents. No labels. No rules.
Just two people drowning in something they didn't ask for-but couldn't ignore.
He reached for her hand, tentative at first. When she didn't pull away, he held it tighter.
"Tonight," he whispered. "Meet me on the cliffs. After they've gone to bed."
She nodded once. That was all it took.
When he left the room, her fingers returned to the keys. But the song she played now was different-haunted, hopeful, and full of dangerous longing.
Chapter 8: Cliffs in the Dark
The wind whipped around Olivia's hair as she made her way toward the cliffs, flashlight bobbing with each step. The sea below roared like a warning, crashing against the jagged rocks with relentless rhythm.
She spotted Elijah standing near the edge, his silhouette carved against the moonlight. He turned as she approached, hands deep in his jacket pockets.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said.
"I wasn't sure I should," she admitted.
His eyes searched hers, serious. "You can still walk away."
She stepped closer. "But I won't."
A quiet settled between them-weighty, filled with everything they couldn't say inside those house walls. Out here, under the stars, the truth felt clearer.
"Do you remember the first time we met?" she asked.
He nodded. "You wore combat boots and a snarl."
"And you were smug and unreadable."
"I was terrified," he confessed. "You were this hurricane crashing into my quiet life. I didn't know what to do with you."
She smiled faintly. "And now?"
"I still don't."
They both laughed, softly, and for a moment it felt like something pure.
Elijah reached out and took her hand. "I know this is wrong to the rest of the world. I know what people would say. But I can't keep pretending what I feel is anything less than real."
"I don't want to pretend anymore either," Olivia whispered.
He pulled her close, the ocean wind swirling around them. When he kissed her this time, it wasn't rushed or reckless. It was slow, deep, full of everything they'd buried for years.
Their connection wasn't built overnight. It had lived in every stolen look, every avoided moment, every shared silence that stretched too long. It had always been there-just waiting for the courage to be seen.
As they stood on the cliffs wrapped in each other's arms, Olivia realized something terrifying and beautiful:
This wasn't just attraction.
This was love.
Raw. Complicated. Forbidden.
But love all the same.
Continuation.......
APP STORE
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