Chapter 13

"Kasmine, why don't you talk to your brother? Tell him how much I like him," Claire was at it again.

It was lunchtime, and we sat in the cafeteria together, including Jake. I hoped Kester wouldn't get angry over this because I wasn't alone with Jake. In fact, he should feel much better that it was all three of us, which would further prove to him that there was nothing going on between me and Jake.

"I've told you before," I said, stabbing my fork into my food with unnecessary force. "My brother and I are sworn enemies at the moment. I can't help you, Claire. Sorry."

Claire gave a theatrical sigh.

"You haven't been eating, Mine. Is everything okay?" Jake asked.

I froze, the concern in his voice startling me. Was it that obvious? My hand hovered over my plate as I fumbled for a response.

"I'm fine," I lied smoothly—or tried to. "I just..." My breath hitched, betraying me, so I added, "I miss my mum. I wish I could see her soon."

Another lie. It tasted like ash on my tongue, bitter and unspeakable.

How could I tell them the truth? How could I let them know that my brother, the man who everyone else seemed to see as perfect, had become the source of my nightmares?

That he'd been acting in ways that hinted at... No. I needed to stop having such ridiculous thoughts. Kester was my brother. My brother. He couldn't possibly harbor those kinds of feelings for me.

But I wouldn't blame myself for thinking it. Not when he grabbed me the way he did, touched me, stared at me—spoke to me—in ways that made my skin crawl and my mind spiral.

But maybe that's just how Kester was. Intense. Controlling. Overwhelming.

"You've drifted off again," Jake said softly, breaking through my haze and pulling my attention back to him.

"Why did you accept the internship at my brother's company?" I asked, going straight to the point.

I hadn't had the opportunity to ask him yet. I needed answers.

"Mine..." Jake leaned forward, reaching for my hand, but I pulled back quickly, fear thrumming through my veins. What if Kester saw us? What if someone told him?

"I knew you wouldn't be happy about it," Jake admitted, "But I didn't have a choice. My original internship let me go, and no other companies were willing to take me in. Zamfort was the only offer I got."

"And you couldn't even tell me?" My anger bubbled to the surface.

"How was I supposed to tell you when I can't even get you on the phone?" he fired back. "We hardly ever talk, Mine. You know that."

He wasn't wrong, but that didn't stop the sting. "We spoke the day before you arrived. You could've mentioned it then!" I shot back, frustration coloring my tone.

"The call ended abruptly. Remember?" His voice rose, matching mine now. "That was the first time we'd spoken in two weeks, and we couldn't even finish the conversation. What was I supposed to do?"

He was getting upset. Did he just try to yell at me? I was about to reply to him in the same measure, but before I could, Claire chimed in, clearly bored with our spat.

"Look, Kasmine; I'll do anything you want. Just talk to him for me. Please?" She clasped her hands together in an exaggerated plea, setting her face in a playful frown, which made me scoff.

"He's going to be engaged soon, and you know it. You're setting yourself up for heartbreak." I reminded her. She was going into something that would hurt her in the end.

"I don't care," Claire declared with a dreamy smile. "Once I get my chance, he'll see reason. He'll realize I'm the obvious choice over June." She gestured to herself confidently, and I scoffed.

"What do you even see in this douchebag?" Jake finally spoke up, his voice dripping with disdain.

Claire gasped as if personally offended. "Are you blind, Jake? His ripped abs, those tanned muscles, that sharp jawline—" She trailed off, her eyes glinting with a faraway look. "Have you seen his eyes? Selene above, they're the most gorgeous things I've ever seen. And his hands…" Her voice dipped, becoming almost reverent. "Those strong, powerful hands. It makes me wonder what they could do to a woman when he's alone with her, in the right setting..." She giggled, oblivious to the heat that rushed to my face at her words.

Yes... Those strong hands. The same ones he'd been using to terrorize me. The ones that had grabbed my neck more times than the breaths I've taken just trying to forget how it made me feel.

"And I know he'd be perfect in bed," Claire added with a wicked grin, the final nail in the coffin of my composure.

"Stop it, Claire!" I scolded, "He is my brother! You shouldn't be saying such things about him to me!"

"I'm sorry!" she said, laughing as if the entire thing was a joke. "But if you don't help me, I'll just seduce him myself."

"Perfect," I muttered bitterly. "That'll probably work better for you anyway."

***

It was going to be a long day, and I hated the sinking, suffocating feeling that came with it.

I never thought I'd live to see the day when Saturdays no longer felt like a breath of fresh air. Saturdays used to be my favorite day of the week—the day for movies, spontaneous visits to Claire's, shopping, and laughter. It was my escape from the school stress. It was freedom until Jake came along and made those Saturdays even brighter, even better.

I used to sneak off to see Jake when I was still at the pack house, and we'd spend time together. That's how we fell for each other. But just at the peak of it all, Kester happened.

And now, here I am, alone with him in his house while his usual, controlling self has refused to let me go home for the weekend.

This wasn't the plan.

I threw my blanket off with an angry sigh, the sudden need for food gnawing at me, pulling me out of the safe, silent bubble of my room. I had promised myself I wouldn't let him see me, wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt me. But starvation had a way of breaking promises.

I had to stay alive to make good on that promise.

The house seemed empty. I hurried into the kitchen, trying to fix something quick to eat. I would have made Cacio e Pepe, my favorite pasta, but I'd be damned to do so. He'd have crawled out from wherever he was at the moment.

I settled for something simple, something quick. Scrambled eggs. Toast. Easy. Efficient. No chance for him to catch me alone in the kitchen, no opportunity for him to slink in and ruin it all.

Before I even realized it, it was done. Quicker than I expected.

But as I turned to pour myself a glass of water, the hair on the back of my neck prickled—a subtle warning that I wasn't alone anymore.

I froze, the glass in my hand hovering above the counter. Slowly, as if drawn by some unseen force, I turned toward the doorway. And there he was.

I didn't hear him come in. One moment, I was standing in the kitchen, trying to gather my thoughts and the next, he was there—leaning casually against the doorframe as though he'd been there for hours, watching me.

Kester.

My heart slammed against my chest, and I froze. My breath caught, and my eyes found his before I could compose myself.

Sweat glistened on his bare chest, the faint sheen catching the light and drawing attention to the hard planes of his muscles. His abdomen was carved like marble, the deep ridges of his abs trailing downward to where his low-slung workout shorts clung to his hips.

The damp fabric molded to him, accentuating the lean strength of his thighs, and the waistband sat dangerously low—just enough to reveal the beginnings of his V-line.

I swallowed hard, but my throat stayed dry. My traitorous eyes moved without permission, drinking in every detail: the sharp curve of his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat along his collarbone, the veins snaking down his forearms as he held a bottle of water loosely in one hand. His hair was slightly tousled, damp at the edges, as if he'd just finished an intense workout.

'This is Kester,' I reminded myself. 'Your brother. Stop looking at him like that.'

But Claire's words from earlier wormed their way into my mind, unwelcome: His ripped abs, those tanned muscles, that sharp jawline... His hands...

Heat rushed through me, shame and something else—a treacherous, burning curiosity—coiling in my stomach.

My gaze betrayed me again, and it lingered over the shape of his V, making me wonder...

"Do you need something?" he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes... his eyes were anything but. They trailed over me with a quiet intensity, lingering just a moment too long.

"I—" My voice faltered, my throat suddenly dry. "I was just making breakfast."

His lips curved into the faintest smirk, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "At this hour? noon?"

"I wasn't hungry earlier."

"Hmm." He tilted his head slightly, his damp hair shifting with the movement. "Is that so?"

Selene, above, I was so shameless. What would he think if he knew what was running through my mind a moment ago? He'd see me as a whore.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, stepping back toward the door, "I have to go."