Ever since my brother found out I wasn't his real sister, he's been ice-cold. The pain was a constant, sharp ache in my chest. I was packing my bags, ready to get the hell out, when I stumbled upon his journal. 【It's over. She's not my real sister. I can't control myself anymore.】 【God, I want to taste my sweet little sister's...】 【She crawled into my bed last night, her face flushed from the heat, whimpering my name like a prayer. It’s going to be the death of me.】 【She can't even solve a simple calculus problem. The anger makes my heart ache. I just want to take a whip to her.】 【The shower is so damn small, and she still insists on squeezing in. Doesn't she know I could pin her against the tiles until her eyes lose focus?】 【If she calls me 'brother' one more time, I'll ship her off to the Arctic to pluck weeds.】 I snapped the journal shut. My feet carried me down to the basement, my movements silent and deliberate. My hands, trembling slightly, closed around a set of chains, a candle, and a leather whip. Brother, you get to punish me during the day. But at night… it’s my turn. … When I got home from class, Liam was doing laundry. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing the strong, corded muscles of his forearms. "Brother, you're home early," I chirped, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind and resting my head against his back. His whole body went rigid. After a beat, he resumed his task, his voice a shard of ice. "Lily, let go." Just then, my eyes landed on the pile of clothes he'd set aside on the floor—my lace bra and camisole. A bitter sting pricked my nose. Just a few days ago, before the DNA test results came back, he wasn’t like this. Was blood really all that mattered to him? When my biological parents had shown up, I’d refused to even meet them. They abandon me for eighteen years and then decide they want me back now that I'm an adult? What kind of joke was that? My adoptive parents—our parents—insisted on not getting a DNA test, saying I would always be their daughter. But Liam… my brother… he was the one who had to confirm it, to shatter that last shred of hope that we were connected by blood. And now, in just a few short days, we'd become so distant that he couldn't even stand to wash our clothes together. "Hmph. Fine, I'll let go," I snapped, kicking his shin playfully, though there was real anger behind it. "I'm moving out tomorrow anyway! You can have this whole mansion to yourself. I don't want to be a burden, living under your roof!" I snatched my clothes and stormed off. Tears streamed down my face as I started to rewash my things in the sink. Wait a minute… where were my panties? They must have gotten lost in the shuffle. At dinner, an unspoken truce hung between us. Liam was silent, his focus entirely on placing more food onto my plate. I was still fuming, stubbornly shoveling food into my mouth without looking at him. Then, a red folder slid into my line of sight. "I transferred the deed to you a while ago," Liam said, his tone casual, almost dismissive. "The house is yours. Don't overthink it." Because my university and his company were in the same city, our parents had bought this villa for us to share. It was easier than dorms, and he could drive me to and from campus. We’d grown up side-by-side, inseparable. He did my laundry, cooked my meals… he spoiled me more than our parents ever did. Everyone used to joke that he was a cold-hearted CEO to the world, but at home, he was just a pathetic simp for his sister. I had pushed myself to get into Avalon University just for him, just so we could keep living together. That way, when a horror movie scared me, I could still crawl into his bed. I could keep basking in the warmth of his affection. But that single, sterile piece of paper—the DNA report—had shattered everything. He’d become cold. Distant. I thought he was afraid I'd try to fight him for the family inheritance. But now he was just… giving me the house. Maybe I was the one with the twisted mind. Later that night, while Liam was in the shower, I snuck into his room, burrowing under his covers just like I used to. His bed smelled of ebony and sandalwood, an austere and sensual scent that was a perfect match for his restrained intensity. I was happily breathing it in when a flash of white under his pillow caught my eye. I tugged at it. It was my lace panties. My face went nuclear-hot. They were the ones from the laundry… the unwashed ones. What were they doing here? Click. The bathroom door opened. I dove back under the covers instantly. Peeking through a tiny gap, I saw Liam. His chest was bare, droplets of water tracing a path from his sharp jawline, over his Adam's apple, and down to the sharp V of his hips, where a pair of silk pajama pants hung precariously. As he towel-dried his hair, the fabric swayed, and my gaze involuntarily dropped to the prominent bulge beneath. Note to self: next time I buy him underwear, go up a size. No wonder he never even opened the last pack I got him. A strange heat began to creep through my body. It was probably just stuffy under the blankets. He finished with his hair and slid into bed. The cool, smooth feel of his skin so close sent a shiver of excitement through me. Before he could react, I popped my head out from under the comforter, a sweet, innocent smile plastered on my face. "Lily! Get out!" His voice was louder than usual, sharp with authority. "Didn't I tell you? You're not allowed in my bed anymore!" He was yelling at me again. The force of his words stunned me. A wave of hurt washed over me, and my eyes welled with tears. "Why are you yelling at me? Don't you even want to know why I came in here?" Seeing my tears, he immediately softened, a flicker of panic in his eyes. "What's wrong? Okay, don't cry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled. Just… talk to me." Crying had always been my secret weapon against him. He couldn't stand to see me cry. "I'm sorry, brother," I choked out between sobs. "I misunderstood you earlier. I shouldn't have said those things." He was so good to me, and I’d accused him of such awful motives. A stray piece of my hair fell across his cheek. He sighed, and his hand lifted, an instinctual move to tuck it behind my ear. But he stopped, his fingers hovering in the air between us. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting some internal battle, before balling his hand into a fist and pulling it back. We were so close, my body sprawled over his. As our eyes met, I saw his pupils dilate, his breathing becoming ragged and shallow. "Brother," I whispered. "Hmm?" I shifted uncomfortably. "Something's… digging into me." His arm tightened around me like a steel band, pinning me in place. "Don't move," he growled, his voice thick. "Brother, let me go, it's uncomfortable." "Don't call me that." What? So we couldn't be real siblings, and now we couldn't even be regular siblings? This corporate shark was truly heartless. Fine. See if I'd listen. "Brother, brother, brother…" I taunted, chanting the word over and over. His Adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow, his long lashes trembling with the effort of his restraint. "If you say that one more time, I'll ruin you." The last two words were ground out between clenched teeth. I stuck my tongue out at him. "Brother, brother!" I wasn't going to let him win. If he didn’t want me to say it, I’d scream it. "Don't say I didn't warn you." And then he moved, pulling me down hard against him. My eyes flew open as he buried his face in the curve of my neck. His damp hair brushed against my collarbone, and his hot breath sent sparks across my skin. A low, desperate groan escaped his throat, a sound that sent a jolt of pure electricity from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. His knee nudged my legs apart. "Liam," I gasped, my sharp cry cutting through the charged silence. In my panic, my nails dug into his back, leaving a thin red line. I heard him hiss in a sharp breath. With a sudden, violent shove, Liam pushed me away. He scrambled out of bed and fled into the en-suite bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind a complete blank. A sliver of light escaped from under the bathroom door. I could see his tall, lean silhouette moving behind the frosted glass. God, his body was incredible—broad shoulders, narrow hips, every movement hinting at a tightly coiled strength. I remembered the feeling of that strength pinning me down, flipping me over… and my face began to burn again. If I hadn't stopped him… My thoughts were still drifting when his shadow disappeared from the door. The main bedroom's bathroom was set further back, but if I listened closely, I could still hear the shower turn on. The sound of rushing water filled the room, but beneath it, I could hear something else. Low, restrained gasps. Pained, desperate breaths. The sound of the water and his labored breathing washed over me, a strange, intoxicating symphony. Minutes ticked by. I told myself I'd wait for him to come out, wish him goodnight, and go back to my own room. But he was taking forever. Could he have passed out from the steam? "Are you okay in there?" I called out, a genuine thread of concern in my voice. "You've been in there for a while." Silence. Then, his voice came, rough and raw. "Lily." "Yeah?" "Walk over to the bathroom door." I did as he asked, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. "Liam, are you sure you're okay?" The frosted glass reflected my own fuzzy image. I couldn't see anything else. "Good. Stop right there. Don't move." His voice was even thicker now, his breathing more ragged, more urgent. It built and built until a final, choked-off groan tore from his throat. Then, silence. That night, I had a dream. I dreamt I was in his shower. Under the spray of hot water, he was looking down at me, coaxing me to open my mouth. I refused. The next second, his hand shot out, cupping my jaw, forcing my lips apart, wider and wider. He covered my eyes with his other hand. I was blind, but my other senses were on fire. I could hear the rustle of fabric, and then a torrent of fire was forced into my mouth. It wasn't his usual cold arrogance; this was lava flowing just beneath a sheet of ice. My mouth was full, I couldn't speak, only struggle against the burning sensation as it filled me, consumed me. Finally, when I couldn't take any more, he pulled back, removing the hand from my eyes. The next morning, I woke up to a faint, sticky residue crusted at the corner of my mouth. I must have been drooling again, I thought. I knew sleeping with my mouth open was a bad habit; I even used those little mouth tapes to try and correct it. But every morning, the tape was gone, probably ripped off in my sleep. I really needed better self-control. "Liam, Lily, are you two awake?" Mom's voice, a welcome and familiar sound, drifted in from the living room. Mom was here! Forgetting everything else, I bolted out of my room. She drove into town once a month to see us, always bringing her homemade strawberry jam and kimchi, and she’d usually tidy up the house for us. This time, along with the food, she’d brought me a gift: a butterfly-back dress. Her eyes were full of warmth as she held it up. "The moment I saw this in the store, I thought of you. I told your father, 'Our Lily will look like an absolute angel in this.'" I held the dress against myself, hesitating. "It's beautiful, Mom, but… isn't it a little revealing? I've never even worn a skirt that doesn't go past my knees." This thing was so short, I felt like I’d flash someone just by bending over. Mom examined it again. "Well, it is a little sexy, I suppose. But you're a college girl now, Lily! You can't live in white t-shirts and jeans forever. A change of style is good! And this dress is perfect for you." "But—" Before I could finish, Liam walked out of his room for breakfast. Mom immediately grabbed him, seeking his approval. "Liam, look! Isn't this dress perfect for your sister?" He glanced at the dress, then at me, his expression unreadable. He gave Mom a clipped, dismissive "Mm-hmm." That was all the encouragement she needed. "Then you'll wear this on your date with Ethan this weekend! The Sanders family adores you. Mrs. Sanders was just telling me the other day…" At the mention of Ethan, I blushed. Ethan Sanders was Liam’s best friend and the heir to the Sanders Corp fortune. He’d even provided the seed money for Liam's startup. Our parents had always hoped Ethan and I would get together; the alliance would be a huge boost for Liam’s company. Liam, who had been quietly eating his breakfast, cut Mom off. "It's ugly. The dress is hideous, and it'll look even worse on her." "Hey! Don't you talk about your sister that way." "She's not my sister," Liam said, his voice dropping ten degrees. "Liam!" Mom's voice shot up an octave. She was furious. The atmosphere in the living room turned thick and heavy. Mom glared at Liam, her lips a thin, hard line. I looked down, my hands twisting the hem of my shirt, my eyes starting to burn. Seeing my distress, Mom’s expression softened. She stroked my cheek gently before turning her glare back on her son. "Liam, if you ever say that again, you are no son of mine. As long as your father and I are alive, Lily is, and always will be, your sister." "Oh my god, Ethan is going to lose his damn mind." My cousin, Chloe, was practically vibrating with excitement after I’d filled her in and shown her the dress. I rolled my eyes. "Please. A guy like that has seen every kind of beautiful woman there is." She wagged a finger at me. "Nuh-uh. The way that man looks at you… it’s so gentle. You're exactly his type." I couldn't help but laugh. "Wow, listen to you, the relationship expert. So how does your god-tier guy look at you?" She paused to think. "Ethan's gentle. My guy… he's not. He looks at me like he wants to devour me whole." Chloe had transformed into a self-proclaimed love guru ever since she started college. "The way he looks at me is… oh, I know! It's the same way Liam looks at you!" "Ahem!" I nearly choked on my water. "You can talk crap about anything else, but not that." "Fine, don't believe me," she said, fiddling with a charm on my backpack. "So, any plans for the long weekend?" "Liam's teaching me how to bake. He already bought all the ingredients; I just need to be ready." Her eyes lit up with mischief. She leaned in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Ooh, he's got everything ready for you, huh?" She put a suggestive emphasis on the word 'everything.' "Huh?" It took me a second to catch her drift. "I mean, Liam hits the gym all the time, right? He must have crazy stamina. Can your little body even handle that?" Her meaning slammed into me. This girl's mind was permanently in the gutter. I flicked her forehead. "You're insane. Liam and I are siblings." "So? Not by blood," she shot back, leaning in even closer, her eyes gleaming. "Don't you think the whole forbidden step-sibling thing is way hotter?" "You're impossible." … We horsed around until, before we knew it, the sky had grown dark and Liam was calling us for dinner. Just before we left my room, Chloe insisted I try on the dress. I slipped it on, and her eyes went wide. She pushed me in front of the full-length mirror. "Damn, girl. If you wore this with black stockings, Liam would be good for ten rounds a night." I stared at my reflection. The iridescent lavender fabric clung to my curves, highlighting my collarbones, my narrow waist, my long legs. Chloe had swept my dark hair into a messy bun, letting a few wisps fall around the nape of my neck. The look was somehow both sweet and dangerously alluring. Seeing myself like this for the first time made me blush. I was just about to change when the door swung open. "This is the third time I've called you two for dinner. What are you doing in here?" Liam stood in the doorway, a spatula still in his hand. I had just started to unzip the dress. His gaze landed on my bare legs, then quickly darted away, but not before I saw the tips of his ears turn a deep shade of red. The air between the three of us crackled and froze. "Get dressed. And come eat," he muttered, turning on his heel and all but running from the room. At the dinner table, Chloe kept casually bringing up my upcoming date with Ethan. Liam, who had been silent all evening, finally spoke, his voice low and firm. "Don't go see him this weekend." I was taken aback. "Why not? You were always fine with it before. You said he was a gentle guy, that he'd be good to me." He placed a perfectly peeled shrimp in my bowl. "Things are different now." "What's different?" "You're not my sister anymore." There it was again. That phrase. I put down my chopsticks and looked him straight in the eye. "So, because I'm not your sister, I don't even have the right to date your best friend? Is that it?" He wouldn't meet my gaze, focusing on peeling another shrimp for me. "That's not what I meant." "Uh… Lily, cuz… my boyfriend just called. He's going into labor—I mean, his cat is! Gotta go!" Chloe sensed the impending explosion, grabbed her bag, and bolted. Liam sighed heavily. "If you insist on seeing him, fine. Just don't wear that dress." A stubborn fire ignited in me. I was going to get to the bottom of this tonight. I stormed back to my room, not only putting the butterfly dress back on but also pulling on a pair of black stockings I'd never worn before. The mirror reflected a stranger with long, slender legs. Full of newfound confidence, I flung open my door. "Liam. Open your eyes and take a good, hard look. Tell me exactly what's so ugly about this. If you can't find a single flaw, then this is what I'm wearing on my date." Liam's eyes locked onto me, his dark pupils swimming in ink. A storm of suppressed emotion churned within them, like the oppressive, heavy sky before a hurricane. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, his voice thick and hoarse when he finally spoke. "Lily, don't push me." The next thing I knew, I was being lifted onto his lap, the familiar scent of dark woods and spice overwhelming my senses. The dim light cast our entangled shadows against the pale curtains. His hand came to rest on my thigh. The calloused pads of his fingers were a stark, rough contrast against the smooth silk of the stockings, sending a tremor through my entire body. His Adam's apple bobbed. "Lily, the reason I don't want you to wear this dress… is because I'm afraid he'll hurt you." His voice was low, pleading. "You don't understand men." I gathered my courage. "And you? Do you want to hurt me?" I shifted, straddling him, my arms wrapping around his neck. The move closed the already nonexistent distance between us. I could see the thick fan of his lashes, the raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes. His breathing grew heavier, hotter. "You have no idea what you're asking for, Lily." Riiiiip. The sound of tearing fabric filled the silent room. My stockings. My dress. He was destroying it. Seeing the loss of control in his eyes, a real sense of panic began to set in. "Brother," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Don't call me that!" he snarled. "And don't look at me with those eyes!" At the same time, he surged upward. The sudden, intense pain made tears spring to my eyes, hot and fast. "Liam, calm down—" My words were smothered as his mouth crashed down on mine. He wasn't just kissing me; he was consuming me, trying to devour me whole. In the chaotic haze, the hem of my ruined dress was pushed up to my waist. The dam of my tears broke, flooding my cheeks.
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