Six Months Living With My Adopted Brother

"If I may continue," he tried again, voice rising slightly, like that would make the situation any better. "The estate has specific conditions. Miss Kingston and Mr. Castillo must reside in the primary property... together... for a minimum of six months."

Loretta Kingston crossed her legs and glared at the lawyer like he was the one who ruined her life.

Like he was the one who let Martin Castillo into it in the first place. Which, okay, wasn't true. But still, she needed someone to blame since she couldn't blame her dead mother.

The lawyer cleared his throat, nervous. That made her smile. At least someone was sweating.

Across the mahogany table sat Martin, arms folded, jaw locked. Looking like he hadn't slept. Still smug though. Still existing, which was offense enough.

"Miss Kingston, I'm sorry," the lawyer said, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. "But the clause is non-negotiable. The conditions of your mother's will are very clear..."

"She hated me," Loretta snapped.

"No...," he mumbled.

Martin let out a soft chuckle. Of course he would laugh.

"You're not exactly a ray of sunshine, Lore," he said, leaning back in his chair like he owned the damn office. Like this was a business meeting and not her actual hell.

She turned to him, slow and lethal. "You don't get to talk to me."

He smirked. "You mad I didn't visit you on time?"

"You mad your brain never developed past age sixteen?"

"Still smarter than you."

"Still breathing. Tragic."

The lawyer looked like he wanted to disappear into his folder.

"If I may continue," he tried, voice rising slightly, like that would help. "The estate has specific conditions. Miss Kingston and Mr. Castillo must reside in the primary property...together...for a minimum of six months."

Loretta blinked. "You're telling me," she said slowly, voice dripping with disbelief, "that I have to live with Martin Castillo, the walking definition of emotional constipation, for six months just to get what my mother left me?"

"Yes."

"Like, under the same roof?"

"Yes."

"Like, breathing the same oxygen?"

"Miss Kingston..."

"Oh, I'm gonna vomit."

Martin leaned in, elbows on the table, grin wider. "What, no celebratory shots? This is the most quality time we've ever had."

She shoved her chair back and started pacing the conference room. The same stupid painting on the wall; two deer in a field or something kept staring at her like, yeah, you're screwed.

Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She ignored it.

"This is insane. My mom wouldn't do this to me."

"Your mother was... very intentional in her final wishes," the lawyer offered.

Loretta turned slowly, narrowed her eyes. "Intentional? You mean deranged."

Martin shrugged. "I dunno. I think it's kind of cute. She wanted us to bond."

"I will light you on fire."

"You tried that once. Didn't stick."

The lawyer cleared his throat again. This man was probably rethinking law school.

"She knows I hate him. Hated. Present tense. Future tense. All the tenses."

"Hate's such a strong word," Martin said, resting his chin on his hand. "You used to have a thing for me, remember?"

Loretta froze.

There it was.

The moment her brain begged her not to remember, but her body already had.

Loretta gripped the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping her from launching across the room and choking someone.

Preferably the smug bastard sitting two seats away, legs sprawled out like he owned the damn building.

"Why him?" she asked quietly, eyes still locked on the idiot.

The lawyer opened his mouth, hesitated.

Martin didn't.

"Because I'm irresistible," he said, voice low, smooth, and laced with that signature arrogance that made Loretta want to throw her iced latte in his face.

She didn't look at him. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction. But her hands tightened around the table edge. Hard. She pictured his face and her fist meeting. It helped.

The lawyer cleared his throat. "It's... in your mother's letter. Would you like to read it?"

"No."

"But..."

"I said no."

"You sure?"

That voice. That damn voice.

Martin leaned back in his chair, arms spread like he was posing for a magazine cover, that lazy smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Might be fun watching you spiral. We could frame it."

Loretta glared. "Don't you have some toxic ex to go bother?"

"You're my toxic ex."

"That was one night and half a bottle of tequila."

"And the best night of your life."

She whipped her gaze to the lawyer. "Do I have to live with him? Or is there a refund policy on this inheritance? Because honestly, I'd rather chew glass."

"The clause is non-negotiable," the lawyer said, nervously adjusting his tie again.

Loretta pressed her palms to her eyes. "My mother really hated me."

"No," Martin said, sitting forward now, tone annoyingly casual. "She just had a twisted sense of humor."

"You mean she liked watching me suffer."

"She liked watching us suffer." He grinned. "Equal opportunity chaos."

She let out a laugh. "You're enjoying this."

"Oh, I'm thriving."

Loretta folded her arms. "You still live in that overpriced cement box in LA?"

"Penthouse," he corrected. "With a view. And a pool. And no emotionally damaged little sister throwing tantrums in every room."

"I wasn't your sister."

"You wanted to be something more."

She went still. Just for a second. "You know what? Fork. I'm bringing a fork. A sharp one."

"I'll wear Kevlar. You think I wanted this too?"

She blinked at him. "You're telling me you're not dying to shack up in a cozy house with your least favorite person on Earth? Wow. Progress."

"I'm saying this wasn't exactly my dream scenario either," he said.

"Oh, please. You probably bribed the old woman into writing it. Rub some fake tears on your cheeks and boom-inheritance conditions: torture Loretta for six months."

He leaned forward. "Trust me, if I wanted to torture you, sweetheart, I wouldn't need a will to do it."

A beat of silence. Her blood boiled. The lawyer looked like he wanted to disappear into the ficus plant in the corner.

The lawyer blinked between them. "Are you two always like this?" he asked.

"No," Loretta and Martin said at the same time.

Then looked at each other. Then away.

Martin shrugged. "It's worse when we're in the same room."

Loretta exhaled, slow and forced. "So let me get this straight. We have to live together. Six months. Same house. Same air."

"Same kitchen," Martin added. "Try not to poison my cereal."

"Don't tempt me."

"Can't help it."

She turned to the lawyer again, voice flat. "Tell me it's a mansion with twenty-seven bedrooms."

"It's... moderate."

Martin snorted. "It's a house, Lo. Not the Four Seasons."

"Don't call me that."

"What? Lo? You always liked it."

"When I was twelve and still thought you were cool."

His eyes sparkled. "You did think I was cool."

"I also used to eat glue."

Martin tilted his head, mock serious. "So what I'm hearing is you're finally admitting your crush."

Loretta rolled her eyes so hard her soul nearly left her body. "God, you're exhausting."

"Charming, actually."

"You keep using that word..."

"I'm a delight."

"You're a disease."

He grinned. "Still cute when you're angry."

She turned back to the lawyer. "And if I say no?"

"You forfeit your share."

Silence.

Loretta drummed her fingers on the armrest. Thought of all the scenarios where Martin had made her life a living nightmare.

Sixteen. He'd hacked her school email and sent a fake love confession to her math teacher.

Seventeen. He told everyone at a party that she had a foot fetish. (She didn't.)

Eighteen. He kissed her best friend at her graduation party just to piss her off.

Nineteen.

The night that haunted her.

The lawyer coughed. "If we could just confirm that you both agree to the terms..."

"I agree," Loretta said, through gritted teeth. "On one condition."

The lawyer blinked. "Which is?"

"If I stab him with a knife," she said, slowly, "you testify it was premeditated."

Martin leaned in, elbows on the table. "That's hot."

"Don't talk to me."

"Impossible. You're literally my favorite migraine."

Martin leaned over her shoulder, chin nearly brushing her hair. "You still smell like vanilla and vengeance."

She elbowed him. "Back off, Devil."

He laughed. Full and low and way too good. Like he didn't have the decency to sound like a villain.

Loretta slammed the folder shut. "Okay. This is done. I'm leaving before I commit a felony."

Martin stood too, stretching like he owned the air around him. "See you in Aspen."

She froze. "Wait...Aspen?"

He smiled, teeth sharp. "Didn't they tell you? House is in Colorado. Mountains. Snow. One bathroom."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're lying."

He winked. "Guess you'll find out."

Loretta turned to the lawyer. "If I push him off a ski slope, do I still get my money?"

The lawyer looked like he genuinely didn't know how to answer that.

"You say that, but we both remember how fast your morals vanished the last time we were alone." Martin said with a smirk.

"That night was a mistake."

Martin just slung his coat over his shoulder and strolled out, all effortless swagger and smug bastard energy.

Loretta stared after him, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

She hated him.

She really, really did.

Probably.

Maybe.

Ugh.

Fuck her life.

He knocked on the door.

Loretta stood, leaned against the frame, and waited.

She didn't rush. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the snow-blotted street of Aspen outside the window.

Everything was silent, almost hauntingly beautiful, if you could ignore the raging headache behind her eyes.

And the man knocking like he hadn't ripped her life apart years ago, like he had the right to stroll back in like it was nothing.

Thanks to her own mother. She blamed that woman, dead or alive. The choices her mother made still tasted bitter on her tongue.

Adopting Martin ruined her family, especially her life. And that was the ugly truth.

"Don't go there, Loretta. Don't!" She said silently, encouraging herself. She needed it.

Another knock. Louder. More impatient.

She rolled her eyes. "Persistent little bastard."

She refused to rush to do his bindings. Not when it came to him. Not since their mother's funeral. Not since that night etched in her bones.

She made her way to the door, cracking her knuckles just for the dramatic effect. She opened it.

And there he was.

Martin Castillo.

Hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, snow clinging to the tips of his dark hair, like he'd practiced it in the mirror.

His hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, snow melting on the tips of his dark hair, his usual smug grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Lo." His voice, as always, was infuriatingly smooth. "Miss me already?"

She stared at him in silence. He looked like someone who'd never lost sleep a day in his life. Like he hadn't once stood in her mother's kitchen, blaming her for everything, calling her selfish for leaving.

"Did you expect a parade?" she snapped, stepping aside. "Because all I've got is a middle finger and a migraine that feels like it's trying to split my skull. Thanks to your unwanted presence."

Martin stepped in like he owned the damn place.

"I'm honored."

Of course he was.

He took off his coat and tossed it onto the back of the couch, already making himself at home. He just barged in and assumed the space was his.

Loretta's gaze flicked to the couch and her chest clenched painfully.

She remembered the night her mother died. Martin pacing, screaming into the phone, then turning on her.

"You should've been there. She asked for you." The words still hung heavy, suffocating. Even though she'd been drowning in her own guilt.

The memory sliced through her, the icy night wind, the silence after the scream swallowing her whole.

She blinked hard, shoved the memory back down where it belonged, and followed him into the house.

"This place already has your personality stamped all over it," he said, glancing around. "Cold, mildly terrifying."

Loretta narrowed her eyes. "You mean clean, organized, and blessedly free of your bullshit? Thanks. I worked hard on that."

Martin grinned. "Oh, come on. You missed me a little."

She snorted. "I missed the part where you disappeared."

They locked eyes for a moment. Something flickered between them. History. Pain. Bitterness soaked in sarcasm.

"Still holding onto that night, huh?" he said casually.

Loretta froze.

Her mouth parted, then shut again.

"Don't start," she warned, voice low.

Martin raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say which night."

"You didn't have to."

There it was, that crack in her armor she thought she had buried. But he knew exactly where to dig.

She turned away before he could see the pain in her expression and headed toward the kitchen.

Martin followed, always a step behind, like a shadow she couldn't shake.

"Six months of domestic bliss," he teased. "Think you can survive me?"

"I don't need six months. I need duct tape and a shovel."

He laughed. "You always did have a way with words."

"You always had a way with delusion."

In the kitchen, Loretta's eyes instantly landed on the fridge and her stomach dropped. The apple. Her apple. The one she'd saved from the farmer's market. Crisp, red, perfect. She'd been dreaming about it all morning.

Martin's eyes zeroed in on it immediately.

"No," she said firmly.

He ignored her warning.

"Martin," she snapped. "Touch that apple and I swear I'll end you."

He opened the fridge like it was a treasure chest. "Relax, Lo. It's just an apple."

She lunged forward, snatching the apple out of his hand like it was a live grenade. "You don't get to take what's mine."

His smirk faded just a little. "Still the same Loretta."

"It means something," she whispered, clutching the apple. "You don't get to waltz in and claim things that were never yours."."

"Oh, come on," he said, leaning on the counter. "If we're talking about things that were never mine, you might want to blame Mom, not me."

Loretta froze.

"Remember what she used to say?" he continued, "Martin needs us more, Loretta. Don't be so hard on him. I guess I got used to it."

Her grip on the apple tightened, nails digging in.

It was nothing new. Martin Castillo was an asshole.

"Stupid idiot," she spat. "You've always been an idiot. I remember you failing algebra and somehow I got grounded because I wouldn't remind you to do your homework."

He winced. "Not one of her best parenting moments, but you did it to spite me. You told her yourself. Your fault, Lo."

"You think?" she snapped. "She treated you like the fragile one. Like you were always on the verge of shattering and I was made of stone."

He didn't respond right away. For once, his cocky grin faltered.

"She loves you Lo," he said quietly. "You just have to believe it."

Something thick and ugly twisted in her chest. She hated that he sounded sincere. Hated that part of her wanted to believe him.

"I didn't ask for her love," she whispered.

Silence filled the room.

Then, like flipping a switch, Martin clapped his hands and said, "So, after that heart-to-heart, can I have the apple? I'm starving."

Loretta turned, storming down the hallway, muttering curses under her breath.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Loretta groaned, pulled it out, and saw the name flash across the screen.

Uncle Raymond.

She smiled and picked up.

"Loretta," came the gravelly voice. "He's with you, isn't he?"

She didn't reply.

"I told your mother not to baby him. Look where that got you. Now he's waltzing into your house like he owns it."

Loretta pinched the bridge of her nose. "Uncle Raymond, please. Not now."

"You need to be careful," he warned. "Martin always wants something. And when he doesn't get it, people get hurt."

Her fingers clenched around the phone.

"I mean it, Loretta. Don't let him sweet-talk his way into your heart. Or worse, your plans."

Loretta hated that she was tangled in this mess, the one her mother left behind. A mess that left her with the secret wound no one knew but her.

The day she left her mother and when she met him. The man. Her secret wound only she knew.

"I know you have a good heart," Uncle Raymond said, "but be careful. You know I care about you."

Loretta's eyes drifted to the hallway wall, still covered with old photographs her mother had hung.

Looking at her mother, she swallowed hard, her throat tightening with a silent ache no one could see.

Her throat tightened. A silent sob broke through her. She instantly swallowed the tears.

If only her mother had chosen differently.

Maybe she wouldn't have left.

Maybe she wouldn't have met him.

But those questions were too dangerous to ask aloud.

So instead, she wrapped herself in bitterness and blame, hiding the truth in the shadows.

"Yes, Uncle. Thank you, but I'll handle it," she said quietly.

"I hope you do," he muttered, then hanging up.

Loretta stood there for a moment. She didn't know how to handle this situation that her own mother put her in.

She didn't want Martin in her space when she was still a mess.

She sighed, shoved the phone into her pocket, and walked back to her room.

She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, heart thudding like she'd just locked in a ghost she wasn't ready to face.

How would she hide her demons from her supposed adopted brother?

Loretta didn't sleep well.

She'd tossed and turned all night, her pillow growing hotter under her cheek the longer the noises kept coming-low, breathy moans through the paper-thin walls.

Seriously?

Day three. That's all it took for her adopted brother to turn their house into a brothel.

Why her mother adopted that devil, she'd never know. But she did know-deep in her bones-that she hated Martin.

Very much.

Morning sunlight mocked her through the blinds. Loretta shuffled into the kitchen wearing an oversized sleep shirt and a frown, her coffee mug gripped like a weapon.

And of course-there he was.

Martin. Bare-chested. Gray sweats slung low. Flipping pancakes like he hadn't just ruined her night. Humming.

He didn't even glance back when he said, "You good?"

Her jaw tightened. "Are you serious right now?"

He looked over his shoulder, unfazed. "Wow. Drama already? What did I do this time?"

"Don't play dumb."

"I'm not." He plated a pancake, then leaned against the counter, arms crossed-abs obnoxiously on display.

"You had someone over."

"Yep."

"You had sex. In this house."

"Technically, my part of the house. And yes, welcome to adulthood."

She stared. "Do you have no self-control?"

Martin smirked. "Self-control's a myth."

Loretta set her mug on the table with a loud thunk. "You're disgusting."

"Thanks. She didn't think so."

Her face heated. Not from the coffee. "You think this is funny?"

"I think you're funny," he said. "Storming in here like I ruined your life."

"You ruined my sleep."

"You'll live."

"You're unbelievable."

He tilted his head, still maddeningly calm. "Why does it bother you so much?"

"It doesn't," she snapped.

"Right." His grin said he didn't believe her. "Totally explains why you're five seconds from launching that mug at my face."

She folded her arms. "It's rude."

"It's natural."

"It's my house."

"Our house," he corrected. "I love your mom, remember?"

Loretta's fists clenched. "You're not even family."

His smile didn't waver. "Too bad the paperwork disagrees."

She stepped forward. "Do you do this just to piss me off?"

He paused. Smiled wider. "Is it working?"

She didn't answer.

Martin's gaze didn't waver. "Tell me something. When you heard us last night... were you thinking about us? Or are you still pretending that night never happened?"

Her breath caught.

And then, slap.

His head turned with the impact, but the smile didn't fade.

"There she is."

"You're a bastard."

"I've been called worse."

"I mean it."

"I know."

Her eyes burned. Her hands were shaking. From rage. From something she didn't want to name.

Martin's gaze softened-not kind, but curious. Studying her like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

"I'll make your life hell if you keep pushing me."

He shrugged. "You already do. Weirdly, I don't hate it."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet you're still here."

She turned to leave, mug forgotten.

"Love you too, sister."

She should hire an assassin.

***

Flashback

She had to stop looking.

She really had to stop.

She turned away, grabbed a cup of something orange and too sweet. But the second she looked back, his eyes were there.

On her.

She froze.

He raised his beer like a toast. "You stalking me or what sister?"

She rolled her eyes. "You wish."

He walked over, slow and loose, like he owned the floor. "I do, actually," he said, voice low. "Wouldn't mind being your little obsession."

"Gross," she snapped, too fast.

He grinned wider. "That blush says otherwise."

She nearly choked on her drink. "I'm not blushing."

"You always do when I talk to you."

"I don't."

"You do. It's cute."

She crossed her arms, heart hammering. "Are you drunk?"

He shrugged. "Buzzed. Are you?"

"Maybe."

"Then stop looking at me like you wanna kiss me."

Her whole face flamed. "I'm not..."

Martin stepped closer. His eyes dropped to her mouth. "You sure about that?"

Oh no.

This wasn't happening.

He couldn't know. Couldn't know she'd been obsessing over him since. That she wrote about him in her Notes app like some pathetic Wattpad cliché.

He smelled like beer and soap and something distinctly boyish. Her knees wobbled.

Her brain went fuzzy.

"You've had, like, ten girlfriends," she muttered.

"Jealous?"

"No."

He cocked his head. "You're cute when you lie."

"I'm not lying."

He leaned in like he could smell the truth on her skin. "You wanna find out what it's like?"

"What what's like?"

He smiled like sin. "Kissing me."

She swallowed. Hard. "That's... you're insane."

"Could be," he murmured, "but you're still not walking away."

Her mouth opened. Closed. They were useless but not for long.

His fingers brushed her hip. Barely. But it sent a jolt of heat down her spine.

She didn't move.

"Say the word," he said.

"Martin, we can't..."

"Can't or won't?"

He kissed her.

Mouth on hers soft but hungry. Her fingers grabbed his hoodie like they had a mind of their own. His hands slid around her waist.

Her body turned to static. She'd kissed one guy before and it wasn't like this. It hadn't melted her. It hadn't made her feel like her bones were smoke and her soul was escaping her skin.

His hand tangled in her hair. Her body curved into his like it belonged there.

Like she'd been waiting for this since forever.

Because maybe she had.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered against her lips. "Tell me to back off. I will."

She didn't.

Instead-her hand curled into his shirt. Her mouth found his. Or maybe it was his mouth that found hers. Who cared?

His lips were rough and hot and messy and right. Her back hit the fridge.

"Still hate me?" he rasped.

She moaned. "Shut up."

"Thought you'd never ask."

Clothes hit the floor.

They barely made it up the stairs. He pulled her into a room-his room. Bedroom door slamming shut. Mouths still locked.

She should've stopped it.

They were practically family.

Adopted siblings. Shared a damn house. It was wrong, it was dangerous, it was something that would wreck them.

But she didn't stop it.

He peeled her dress down her body like it was made of silk and secrets. Her skin burned under his touch.

"God," he whispered, eyes drinking her in. "You're driving me crazy, Lo."

He kissed down her throat, over her collarbone, lower.

She moaned his name, her head tilting back.

He sucked gently where her neck met her shoulder and she knew it'd leave a mark.

She didn't care.

Her fingers shook as she reached for his jeans. "Off."

"Bossy," he teased again, breathless now.

"I mean it."

He stepped out of them, eyes never leaving hers.

She knew what this was.

She wasn't stupid.

She was nineteen. Drunk. Horny. Obsessed with a boy who wasn't really hers but somehow always had been.

"You're sure?" he asked, hands pausing at the hem of her underwear.

And for a second, she was scared.

"I've never done this before," she admitted.

His expression froze.

"You've never...?"

She shook her head. "You'll be the first."

Martin stared at her like she'd just dropped a live grenade between them.

"Lo..." he said softly, the cocky grin gone. "You don't have to. We don't have to..."

"I want to," she said, voice firm this time. "I want it to be you."

Even if it broke the rules.

Even if they were never supposed to cross that line.

Because she'd wanted him.

Since day one.

Adopted brother or not.

He exhaled like that knocked the wind out of him. "Fuck."

Then he kissed her again, gentler now. Like he understood what she was giving him.

And he didn't rush.

Not once.

He touched her like she was something breakable. Guided her, coaxed her, made her laugh between gasps, and called her beautiful like he meant it.

When he pushed inside her, her breath hitched. His hands cradled her face.

"Eyes on me," he said. "I've got you."

She arched against him, nails in his back, body trembling. It felt like everything.

His name spilled from her lips like a prayer and a curse.

"God, Lo," he groaned into her mouth. "You're gonna ruin me."

You already ruined me, she wanted to scream.

She didn't. She kissed him instead.

Loretta gasped awake, chest rising and falling like she'd run a marathon. Her heart thudded in her ears, and her thighs still tingled like the dream.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up, trying to shake the image of his mouth on her skin, the sound of his voice in her ear, the way her body had opened for him like he still belonged there.

Him thrusting into her...

God. What the hell!

She hadn't dreamed about that night in years.

"Sweet Mom, what did I do to deserve to be paired with my past mistakes?"