Off-limits My One-Night Stepbrother

_Ariana's POV_

He said he was stressed from work and couldn't make it to dinner again.

So I decided to bring the birthday to him.

what's the point of a birthday if you don't celebrate it on the right day?. Cake in one hand, gift in the other, I kept telling myself that a smile was worth the traffic.

The knock went unanswered.

I called. No reply.

The doorknob turned under my hand, and that's when my stomach twisted.

Adrian was paranoid about security. He double-locked everything. Always.

The door shouldn't have been open.

I stepped inside and the silence felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still.

"Babe? Adrian?" My voice sounded too bright, forced, fake.

A designer bag by the door. A familiar pink scarf draped over the chair. Heels I recognized instantly.

They weren't mine.

If they weren't mine... then whose?

My breath caught. I refused to let the thought form.

There had to be an explanation. There always was.

So I walked toward the bedroom, each step heavier than the last.

The door was cracked open. Light spilled out from the dim lamp inside.

I pushed it open.

The sound hit me first.

The low uneven rhythm of skin against skin. The muffled gasps. The way the bedframe moved against the wall.

And then I saw them.

She was under him, legs locked around his waist, head thrown back.

He was buried deep inside her, moving like she was the only person who existed.

"Sophie... you feel so good," he whispered, her name falling from his lips like it belonged there.

My brain went blank.

For a second, maybe two, I couldn't process what I was seeing. Like my mind had shut down to protect me.

Then everything snapped into place, sharp and brutal, like a switch had been flipped.

_Betrayal doesn't scream. It whispers in the quiet moments, until one day it shatters you from the inside out._

I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't felt it - the way my chest caved in and my hands turned to ice, all at once.

The cake slipped from my fingers.

The box crashed to the floor.

And Adrian finally looked up.

His eyes locked with mine.

The air left my lungs like I'd been punched.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Couldn't even blink.

All I could do was stand there, cake smeared across the room floor, while the man I'd loved for two years looked at me like I was the one who'd done something wrong.

Adrian sat up in the bed, not even bothering to pull the sheet higher. His eyes dragged over me, irritated, like I'd interrupted something important.

Sophie sat beside him, hair a mess, refusing to meet my gaze.

"You're here, what the hell are you doing here?" he said. Flat. Dismissive.

Something cold settled in my chest. I opened my mouth, but before I could say a word, he cut me off.

"I'm busy. I told you I was busy. But no, you just had to show up unannounced."

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like I was the inconvenience.

"Maybe if you'd loosen up a bit, this wouldn't happen."

My fingers curled into fists. _Loosen up._

"What did I do to deserve this?" My voice was quiet. Too quiet.

I needed him to say it. I needed to hear him say it out loud.

Adrian rolled his eyes, like I was being dramatic.

"Don't act like you don't know."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, speaking like he'd been holding this in for months.

"Is it my fault you're no fun? You barely let me touch you, let alone sleep with you. Every time I try, it's 'not tonight, Adrian', 'I'm tired, Adrian'. I'm a guy, Ariana. What was I supposed to do?"

Sophie shifted beside him, but didn't stop him. Of course she didn't.

"So you had to sleep with _her_?" The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

"Of all people, my best friend?"

His jaw tightened.

"It may sound bad, but I actually do love her."

The slap landed before I even realized I'd moved.

The sound echoed through the bedroom, sharp and final.

Adrian's head snapped to the side, hand flying to his cheek.

Sophie gasped.

"I don't." My voice shook, but I forced it steady.

"I don't want your love. I don't want _this_. All of this... you both will regret this."

I couldn't breathe. My throat was tight, my eyes burning.

I struggled to find words, but they kept catching, kept dissolving into the lump in my chest.

My voice almost betrayed me. Almost broke.

Tears were hot behind my eyes, threatening to fall. I refused to let them. Not here. Not in front of them.

I turned and walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs and through the living room where her items still lay on the floor, and toward the building door.

My legs felt like lead, but I forced them to move. One step. Then another.

I didn't run. I didn't look back.

I got to the door placing my hands on the door knob before pausing for a second. 'I didn't deserve this' was the only thought I had.

I made it to the door before the first tear slipped free.

Then another.

By the time I burst out of the building, my vision was blurry, my chest was heaving, and the sob I'd been holding back finally broke loose.

The night air hit my face like a slap.

And for the first time in two years, I wasn't Adrian's girlfriend.

I was just Ariana. Alone. Betrayed. And done.

I hauled a cab outside the building, gave my address, and stared at the city lights blurring past the window.

But when the driver pulled up in front of my building, I couldn't move.

I couldn't face an empty apartment that still smelled like him.

"Change of plans," I muttered, tossing him extra cash. "Hotel downtown. Any one."

Twenty minutes later I was at the bar, a glass sweating against my fingers, mascara smudged and dress wrinkled from running down those stairs.

I needed a drink. God, I needed it.

"Pour me another," I told the bartender.

Before he could respond, the seat beside me shifted.

A shadow fell across the counter, and I felt it before I saw it-the kind of presence that made the room quieter.

He was hot in the worst way.

Broad shoulders, black shirt stretched tight over a chest that looked like it didn't know what "sitting still" meant. Jaw sharp, eyes dark and assessing, like he was used to people doing exactly what he said without being asked.

Dominating. Unbothered. Dangerous in a way that made my pulse stutter despite everything.

I didn't know his name.

I also didn't know he was about to ruin my life all over again.

I just knew I couldn't look away.

"fourth glass, looks like someone had a rough day"

_Ariana's pov_

"Yhh, I had a day," I said, turning away from him quickly.

I didn't look at him as I tipped the glass back. The whiskey burned going down, hot and fast, and I didn't stop until the glass was empty. I slid it back toward the bartender with shaking fingers.

"Another one."

The day had been really bad.It was the kind of day that clawed at your chest and wouldn't let go. All I wanted was for it to stop existing. For two hours, for one night, to forget that I'd ever loved Adrian, that I'd ever trusted Sophie.

We exchanged maybe two more words after that. Nothing real. Nothing that mattered.

The bar went quiet again, the kind of quiet that made you hear your own pulse.

Then it slipped out of me before I could think better of it.

"You can help me forget today, you know."

I didn't know where it came from. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe the two years of swallowing everything for Adrian until there was nothing left but a hollow ache.

But God, I meant it. I wanted to forget everything.

He went still beside me.

"What are you suggesting?" His voice was low, amused, but there was an edge to it.

"I think you're drunk."

"No," I said quickly. Too quickly.

"I'm not drunk. I'm desperate. I need to forget today."

He stared at me for a long moment, dark eyes dragging over my face like he was trying to decide if I was serious or just another mess he'd have to scrape off his shoes.

Then he stood.

Didn't say another word. Just set cash on the bar and walked out.

My chest tightened. Stupid. Of course he was leaving. Why would he-

He stopped a few feet away, at the point where the bar's warm light cut off and the hallway to the elevators started. He didn't turn fully, just glanced over his shoulder at me.

A silent question.

My legs moved before my brain caught up.

The elevator ride was quiet. Top floor. VIP rooms. The air smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne.

We walked to the farthest room, past doors that were all closed, all silent.

And then I was trapped.

One second I was walking, the next my back hit the wall of the hallway outside the room, his body caging me in.

His mouth was near my ear, breath hot against my skin.

"If you're not sure of this," he whispered, voice rough, "I'm giving you a chance to walk out now."

Heat pooled low and sudden, sharp and undeniable. It made my thighs press together without me meaning to. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

I swallowed, my throat dry despite the whiskey.

I should've said no. I should've run.

But all I could think was Adrian's voice saying Sophie's name. Adrian's hands on someone else.

I looked up at him, and for the first time tonight, I wasn't seeing Adrian.

"I'm sure," I whispered.

He opened the door behind me the second I said it, and the sound of the latch clicking shut made my breath catch.

The next thing I knew, his hands were on my waist, pulling me forward, and his mouth was on mine.

It wasn't slow. It wasn't careful. It was urgent, like he'd been holding back since the bar . His lips moved against mine with a pressure that made my knees feel weak, and for a second all I could do was grip his shirt to keep myself upright. The taste of whiskey and something darker clung to him, and it chased the taste of Adrian out of my head.

His hands started moving then, sliding up my sides like he was memorizing every inch. My pulse jumped, and I let out a shaky breath against his mouth. I should've stopped him. Instead, my fingers curled tighter in his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking.

He broke the kiss suddenly, just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, searching mine like he was checking for hesitation. When he didn't find it, his hand left my waist and traced up to my cheek, thumb brushing over my skin.

The touch was gentler than I expected, and it made something tight in my chest loosen. I exhaled, my eyes fluttering shut for half a second before I forced them open again.

His hand trailed lower, down the line of my neck, slow and deliberate, until it brushed against the edge of my dress where my collarbone was exposed. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold. My breath hitched, and I couldn't stop the small sound that slipped out.

He noticed. His mouth quirked, but he didn't stop.

Carefully, he hooked his fingers under the strap of my dress and slid it down my shoulder. The fabric followed, pooling around my feet with a soft whisper against the floor.

My body stiffened the second the dress pooled at my feet.

The sudden chill of the room hit me, and with it came a flicker of nerves I hadn't expected. My hands came up instinctively, crossing over myself like that could slow down what was happening. My heart was hammering too fast, too loud, and for half a second I thought about stepping back.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice dropping low enough that it cut through the noise in my head. His hand came up to rest against my cheek, thumb brushing over my skin in a slow, grounding motion. "Breathe. Relax. I've got you."

Something in the steadiness of his voice made the tension in my shoulders loosen.

Before I could second-guess it, he slid an arm under my knees and lifted me up. A startled breath left me, and my legs wrapped around his waist without me even thinking about it.

He carried me to the bed like it was the easiest thing in the world, setting me down carefully, his body following me down until he was braced over me.

His eyes never left mine. Not when his fingers found the straps of my bra, not when they slid lower to the small hook at the back. He worked it open with one hand, steady and easy, like he'd done it a hundred times.

The moment the fabric loosened, it slipped away.

Cold air hit my chest, and I sucked in a sharp breath, my skin prickling instantly. My cheeks burned, and I tried to sit up, to cover myself, but his hand came to rest against my sternum, light but firm, keeping me still.

His eyes dropped from my face to my chest, and they darkened.

He didn't look away. He just lingered there, the heat from his gaze made me feel more exposed than the cold ever could.

His hand started moving again, slow and deliberate, tracing a path up from my stomach.

I felt every inch of it-his palm warm against my skin, fingers light at first, like he was testing how far I'd let him go.

When his hand reached the curve of my breast, I sucked in a breath without meaning to.

He didn't rush. His thumb brushed over the edge in slow circles, feather-light, enough to make my skin prickle and my pulse jump under his touch. Then his fingers closed gently, testing the weight of it, squeezing just enough that a shiver ran straight down my spine.

The room felt too quiet. All I could hear was my own breathing, uneven and catching with every small movement he made.

Heat pooled low and sudden, making my thighs press together on their own.

I arched into his touch before I could stop myself, my hands gripping his shoulders like that would keep me steady.

A soft, involuntary sound slipped past my lips, and I bit down on it immediately, heat rushing to my face.

His eyes flicked up to mine, dark and knowing, but he didn't stop.

If anything, the way I reacted made his touch slow down even more, like he was drawing it out on purpose.

Before I could steady myself, his mouth replaced his hand.

It was slower this time, deliberate, like he wanted to feel every reaction. The pressure was different-wetter, warmer-and it sent a jolt straight through me. I gripped his shoulders tighter, my breath catching as the sensation made my knees weaken again.

His eyes flicked up to mine, dark and steady.

"Still sure?" he asked, voice rough against my skin.

I didn't get the chance to answer. His hands were already moving, sliding down to the strap of my pants. He pulled them down in one smooth motion, leaving me completely bare beneath him.

From there, things blurred.

He knew exactly where to touch, how to move, how to draw sounds out of me I didn't think I could make. Every shift, every press of his body against mine, chipped away at the last of my hesitation. My hands clutched at him, my breath came in broken gasps, and I stopped thinking about Adrian, about Sophie, about anything except how good this felt.

By the time it was over, I was shaking, spent, my face buried against his shoulder.

I had let a stranger take me and I didn't even regret it.

I woke up with a splitting headache to a ceiling and bed I didn't recognize.

Then last night hit me all at once.

The stranger was gone.

_Ariana's POV_

I had just gotten to my apartment to find my mother home after a long while, then she broke it to me and just like that, without a chance to argue, I was boarding a plane to move all the way across the city.

My head was still pounding from last night, and nothing about this felt real.

We arrived at the airport where a car was waiting for us already. "Sweetie, we have dragged it long enough, it's time you meet your stepfather and stepbrother, you will love them both."

I can't believe all this was happening. One moment I caught my best friend and boyfriend cheating, the next I made up with a stranger and now I had flown all the way across the city to meet my supposedly wealthy stepfather and stepbrother who I knew nothing about but his name - Kian Mercer -.

The car stopped so abruptly my teeth clicked together.

We'd arrived at the mansion.

It wasn't just big. It was obscene. Three stories of white stone and glass, ivy crawling up the columns like it had been growing there for decades. The driveway alone could fit ten cars, and the fountain in the middle had water catching the late afternoon light like liquid gold.

Right. Wealthy. Figured it'd look like this.

I stared around, taking it in, before my eyes landed on the man standing at the top of the steps.

My stepdad. Mercer.

Tall, silver at the temples, suit tailored like it cost more than my old apartment. I'd never met him before. I didn't know what to expect.

A butler appeared at my side before I could say anything, taking my luggage with a silent nod.

"Welcome, dear. I'm so glad you're here," Mercer said, stepping forward.

The first awkwardness hit instantly.

I wanted to shake his hand. He wanted to hug me. We ended up in a half-hug that felt stiff and forced, his cologne too strong, my arms barely lifting to return it.

Then my mom walked closer, and just like that, he kissed her.

I rolled my eyes. "Welcome, love," he murmured against her hair, then turned to her and said something low that made her face burn red.

I cleared my throat. Loud.

"Ohhh, yes," Mercer said, pulling back like he'd just remembered I existed. "Let's step inside."

The inside was more than the outside. Gorgeous. Marble floors that probably cost more than a car, a chandelier hanging over the foyer like it belonged in a palace, and art on the walls that I was pretty sure was real. Everything smelled faintly of lemon polish and money.

The two of them kept talking beside me, voices low and warm, like I wasn't there.

I wasn't ready for this. For them.

"Which room?" I cut in.

"Oh, darling, it's the one on the left," my mom said, smiling like nothing was wrong.

With that, I was off.

I reached the top of the stairs, took a right, and pulled open the first door in front of me.

What I saw stopped me cold.

I heard it first-the low, ragged moans, skin slapping against skin in a rhythm that made my stomach twist. The girl was bent over the edge of the bed, on her hands and knees, hair hanging down as she got slammed into from behind.

Then she turned.

The dim light caught the curve of her body, her breasts squeezed in his grip as he shifted and thrust into her from the front. It was fast, rough, like he wasn't even trying to be quiet.

I didn't mean to look. But I did.

The guy was tall, broad shoulders cutting sharp against the shadows, muscles in his back flexing with every movement. Sweat slid down his spine. He moved with a kind of controlled power, like he was used to taking what he wanted and not being stopped.

And then it hit me.

Something about him felt oddly familiar.

The set of his shoulders. The way he held himself. I couldn't place it, but my gut said I'd seen that posture before.

My breath caught, and the room tilted for a second.

Yeah, I'd love him, I thought, sarcastically, bitter and sharp, just like Mom said I would.

I pulled the door shut, but my hand slipped and it hit with a loud _thud_ that echoed down the hallway.

"Who's there?"

His voice. Low, edged with annoyance and something darker. Familiar in a way that made my skin prickle.

I didn't wait to answer or get caught.

I wasn't supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to see this.

I realized I'd taken a wrong turn. This was the right side of the hallway.

Heart pounding, I hurried to the left, opened the first door I saw, slipped inside, and locked it behind me.

My hands were shaking.

Now this looked more right.

The room was...me.

Lilac walls with a subtle floral design that shimmered faintly in the light, soft cream bedding, and a walk-in closet so big I could've gotten lost in it. The dressing table had a marble top and gold handles, and there was even a reading nook by the window with a plush chair and a throw blanket folded over the arm.

This wasn't random.

Mom.

She picked every detail. I could see it in the way the lilac matched the color she always said calmed me down, in the little touches that were too specific to be an interior designer's guess. She was trying. Trying to make me feel at home before I'd even unpacked one box.

My luggage was already inside, sitting by the foot of the bed.

I dragged the box up, sat on the edge of the mattress, and started pulling things out. Clothes, books, the framed photo of me and Sophie from last summer.

For a second I almost reached for my phone.

You'd love this room, Soph. You have to see it._

The thought came fast, easy, like it always did.

And then it hit me-Sophie was the last person I should be calling right now.

I swallowed it down, shoved the photo face-down in the drawer, and carried my clothes to the closet. I hung them up one by one, arranging them by color, trying to focus on the sound of hangers sliding on the rail instead of the moans still echoing in my head.

It didn't work.

The image of that room, of him, wouldn't leave.

I needed water. Maybe something stronger.

I shut the closet door and headed out, making for the kitchen.

I opened my bedroom door a crack and checked the hallway.

Nothing. No voices, no footsteps.

When the coast was clear I slipped out, shut the door quietly, and headed for the stairs.

The kitchen was downstairs, and it was ridiculous.

Floor-to-ceiling cabinets in matte white, a marble island big enough to seat six, and appliances that looked like they'd never been used. The fridge alone was double-door and stainless, humming quietly. Every surface was clean, stocked. Fruits in a crystal bowl, imported water bottles lined up like a store display, shelves of snacks I'd only seen in duty-free shops.

Money didn't hide here.

I grabbed a glass, filled it with cold water first, drank half of it in one go. Then I poured myself a glass of orange juice and snagged a bag of truffle chips from the pantry.

That was the plan-get out before anyone saw me.

I turned from the counter, glass in one hand, chips tucked under my arm, and walked straight into something solid.

The juice went everywhere.

"Shit-what the hell!"

Cold, sticky liquid splashed across my shirt and shorts, soaking through in seconds. I stepped back, swearing under my breath, glaring down at the stain spreading across my chest like a bad joke.

I opened my mouth to say something else, but stopped.

My eyes lifted.

And I froze.