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)
Unlikely. Worst off, the thought of having sex with her leads me to other questions. She’s most likely a virgin. With how sheltered she is, and god knows my pathetic brother wasn’t man enough to take her. If that’s true, then I’ll be the first to slam deep inside her. The mere thought makes my cock ache in a way it never has before.
I sit in front of the security feed I set up on campus, watching and waiting. It’s unhealthy the way my heartbeat quickens at the appearance of Lilian on the screen.
She’s crossing the quad, and something about her movement catches my attention. The careful fragility that’s standard in her steps is gone—no more delicate steps, no performative pauses to catch her breath. She walks with purpose, her head held high, like someone who’s shed their victim status.
I switch camera views, following her progress across campus through the network I installed weeks ago. She’s changed clothes since our encounter—darker colors, practical shoes, nothing like her usual expensive delicacy. The transformation goes deeper than appearance. There’s anger in her stride and determination in the set of her shoulders.
What changed in the few days since I threatened you, little brat?
I’ve been tracking her all day, telling myself it’s necessary surveillance. Can’t have her interfering with my plans, running to Daddy Dearest with suspicions about his prodigal son’s return. But if I’m honest—and I do try to be honest with myself, if no one else—I’m fascinated by this new shift in her.
The laptop screen shows her checking over her shoulder, scanning rooflines and shadows. My lips feel weird, and I realize I’m smiling. Really smiling.
Wait, did I just fucking smile because of this brat? No, I smiled because I’m proud of her. She knows she’s being watched and no longer playing the role of prey.
A sound from the secured area reminds me it’s time to feed Aries. Still, I don’t move from the monitors. My dear brother can wait. Right now, I’m more interested in how his stepsister has gone from frightened bird to potential predator in the space of a few days. I know she visited home this past weekend because I made sure to stop by, but she seemed...fine. The fragile daughter, still, when I left her.
My fingers trace the surgical scars on my wrist—remnants of restraints and “treatments” they claimed were for my own good. Ten years of systematic destruction, and here’s this girl who’s supposed to be weak, supposed to be controlled, walking like she’s ready for war.
She’s headed toward the old botany buildings now, a relatively isolated part of campus. There are fewer cameras there and less foot traffic.
She’s either being very stupid or very clever.
What are you doing, Lilian?
I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. That she’s a means to an end, and the only thing I care to know is what happened that changed her demeanor so quickly, but as I watch her disappear into my camera blind spot, the fear of something happening to her, of someone touching what’s mine, sends me into action.
I shrug on my jacket and head to the door.
Time to have another chat with my dear stepsister.
The drive to campus takes exactly seven minutes. I park in Aries’s usual spot, muscle memory making me adjust the mirrors exactly as he would. The role sits uncomfortably tonight—I’m not here to play the golden boy.
My security cameras track her last known position near the old botany buildings. Perfect hunting grounds. Isolated paths, overgrown gardens, plenty of shadows to hide in. A smart girl would avoid an area like this after our last encounter.
But Lilian isn’t playing the smart girl role anymore—either that, or this was intentional. A way to lure me out of the warehouse. For that, she’d have to know I’m watching her, or maybe this is her way of confirming it.
I catch sight of her ahead, moving between pools of lamplight with unexpected grace. No sign of the breathing trouble from our last meeting. No performative weakness. Her steps are precise but unafraid.
Oh yeah, she knows I’m following her. Knows I’ve been watching her.
The game shifts something in my blood. Usually, I’m calculating, controlled—everything planned to the minute. This feels different. Primal. Her pace quickens as I close the distance between us, but she doesn’t run.
Instead, she veers to the right, taking a path leading deeper into the abandoned gardens.
Interesting choice, Little Sister.
I mirror her movements, keeping to the darker patches, appreciating the way she checks her surroundings without being obvious about it.
She’s learned something since our last encounter.
Question is, what?
The path narrows between a pair of old greenhouses, their glass panels reflecting moonlight like broken mirrors. She pauses at a junction, pretending to check her phone. What she’s actually doing is checking the reflections for my approach.
Very interesting.
I’m fully aware that I could end this game right now. Grab her and remind her what happens to people who don’t heed my warnings. I’m curious to see where she leads me, though, because she is leading us—each turn she takes is deliberate, moving farther from campus security cameras and emergency phones.