Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Barely look at you? I want to tell her the problem isn’t looking at her, it’s stopping myself from doing so, because somewhere between childhood and now, the lines that should have remained crystal clear are blurred. I’m old enough to know better, which is why I’ve maintained a careful—oh-so careful—distance lately.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I tell her, trying to soothe her worries.
The smile she gives me makes my heart clench. “I brought you something. I know it’s early since your birthday isn’t until next week, but I figured you probably wouldn’t come home, and I wanted to hand deliver it.” She reaches into her purse and produces a small wrapped package.
The gesture is innocent enough, but the tremor in her hands as she extends the gift speaks volumes. Shit. I can’t do this. Not when she’s wearing that fucking sundress.
I accept the package reluctantly, careful not to let our fingers touch. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Open it,” she urges, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear—a nervous gesture.
I do as she asks, unwrapping the package slowly. Inside the carefully wrapped box is a vintage watch—elegant, understated, and nothing like the flashy timepieces Father favors. It’s exactly to my taste, showing an attention to detail, to preference, that makes my stomach clench.
“How did you know I’d like something like this?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Her smile brightens. “I pay attention. I remember you mentioned liking that style once, when we were shopping with Mother last Christmas.”
A casual comment from almost a year ago, remembered and acted upon. That seems a bit much.
“It’s perfect,” I admit, setting it carefully on my desk rather than putting it on. “Thank you.”
She beams at the approval, straightening slightly, her confidence visibly building. I’ve spent months deliberately ignoring what I thought was nothing but a desire for closeness, which has clearly been something far worse all along.
She’s here to confess feelings that should never exist between us.
Part of me—a part I’ve fought to silence, to bury beneath propriety and family obligation—recognizes her feelings because they mirror my own forbidden desires. The way I’ve noticed her transformation from child to young woman. The inappropriate thoughts I’ve shoved so far down inside me nothing can touch them. The reason I’ve maintained such careful distance.
I’ve stayed away precisely to prevent this moment. Kept my distance to protect her, not just from our family’s toxic dynamics but also from my own dangerous potential to return feelings that would destroy us both. Or give my father a weapon to wield against me—against us.
Another level of control, another vulnerability to exploit. Another reason to keep me tethered to the family business, the family legacy.
As much as it hurts, I need to stop this before it gets out of hand. I need to crush whatever confession is building behind those hopeful eyes.
I need to be cruel to be kind.
“Lilian.” I harden my voice. “It’s getting late. I think I should take you home.”
“Not yet,” she says, standing suddenly, hands clasped before her to stop their trembling. “I need to tell you something first. It’s important.”
The determination in her voice tightens my chest. I should interrupt, should prevent what’s coming, but some perverse curiosity keeps me silent. Some need to hear the words, even knowing I’ll have to crush them immediately after, stops me.
“I’ve been trying to find the right time.” She paces in a small circle, her rehearsed speech clearly abandoning her in the moment. “There never seemed to be a perfect opportunity, and then you stopped coming home as much. I realized I might never get the chance to tell you if I didn’t make it happen for myself.”
I remain motionless, tense. “Whatever it is, Lilian, I’m sure it can wait.”
“No, it can’t.” She stops directly in front of me, closer than she should be, close enough that I can smell the light floral scent she’s started wearing recently. “I’ve waited too long already.”
She draws a deep breath into her lungs, squaring those slight shoulders, embodying a courage I hate to crush out of her. But it’s the only way.
“I’m in love with you.” The words tumble out of her in a rush. “Not as a stepbrother. As...as a man, and I have been for over a year now. I know there’s an age gap, and I know our parents are married, but that doesn’t change how I feel.”
This is exactly what I feared. Her eyes search mine, looking for any sign of awareness, any hint that these forbidden feelings are returned.
“I see the way you look at me sometimes,” she continues, voice gaining confidence as she speaks. “When you think I don’t notice. I think—I hope—that maybe you feel something, too. That…that may be the reason you’ve been staying away.”
She’s more perceptive than I’ve given her credit for. The realization only strengthens my resolve to end this before it can damage us both.