Aleena
I waited until the sound of my mother’s bedroom door closing had fully settled into the quiet of the penthouse, only then did I step out of my room, still wrapped in the bathrobe, the black velvet box clutched loosely in one hand, and my pulse hadn’t completely slowed from the moment Ethan had walked in on me.
The memory of his face, looking stunned, hungry, then carefully blank kept replaying in my head and i just couldn’t help it.
I didn’t expect him to still be outside.
He was standing near the entrance to the living room, one hand braced against the wall as if he needed the support.
The second he saw me he straightened, the movement controlled but not quite fast enough to hide the tension in his shoulders.
“Aleena.”
My name in his voice was low, careful, almost cautious.
He took a step forward.
“I wanted to talk about what happened with your mother earlier.
She was upset, and I thought—”
“What were you doing in my room?”
The question cut across whatever careful speech he had prepared.
He stopped.
Something flickered across his face: surprise at first then something darker just before he locked it down behind that familiar, unreadable expression.
“I knocked,” he said.
“There was no answer.
I only came to leave something for you.”
I let out a short, humourless breath.
The box in my hand suddenly felt heavier.
“You saw me.”
He didn’t deny it.
The silence that followed was thick enough to press against my skin.
“I know you saw me,” I continued, the words coming sharper than I intended.
“And I know what it did to you.
Don’t stand there and pretend it was nothing.
Don’t look at me the way you did and then act like it didn’t land.”
His jaw tightened.
For a second I thought he might finally drop the act.
The air between us felt charged, dangerous, like the moment before something irreversible happens.
Instead his voice came out flat, controlled, almost cold.
“It was nothing.
I left the gift and I left.
You’re going to be my stepdaughter.
That’s all this is.”
The words landed harder than a slap.
Heat rushed up my neck with anger, humiliation, and the sharp, humiliating sting of wanting someone who kept choosing to look away.
I stared at him, the black box suddenly unbearable in my hand.
Every careful boundary he kept throwing up between us felt like a deliberate rejection, and the worst part was that I could still feel the way his eyes had moved over me in that bathroom.
“You don’t get to do that,” I said, voice shaking with the effort to keep it steady.
“You don’t get to look at me like that and then stand there and call me your stepdaughter like it erases everything.
Like I’m supposed to pretend I didn’t see it too.”
“Aleena—” he called out.
I threw the box at his chest.
It hit him solidly and fell to the floor with a soft, expensive sound just as the velvet lid half-opened.
“Keep it.
I don’t want your reconciliation gift.
And you should be grateful I never told my mother what happened between us years ago.
Because if I had, you wouldn’t be standing in this house playing the perfect future husband.”
His expression went completely still.
Something raw flashed behind his eyes before he shut it down again.
I didn’t wait for a reply.
I turned and walked back into my room, shutting the door harder than necessary.
My hands were trembling.
I pressed my back against the wood and closed my eyes, furious at him and at myself for still wanting the man who kept refusing to want me back out loud.
The silence on the other side of the door felt heavier than any argument.
The next afternoon Sophia met me outside a quiet boutique in the design district.
She looked happy in a way that made something small and mean twist in my chest for half a second before I pushed it down.
I had spent the morning replaying Ethan’s voice from last night; you’re going to be my stepdaughter, until the words felt branded into me.
Shopping felt like the only useful distraction left.
“Okay,” she said, linking her arm through mine as we walked inside.
“We need something perfect for the engagement party.
We moved through the racks slowly.
Sophia held up options, chattering about colours and cuts, occasionally holding fabric against me to check the tone.
Eventually the conversation drifted, the way it always did with her when the silence stretched too long.
“Liam’s been really sweet lately,” she said, examining a deep green dress under the soft boutique lights.
“He’s been planning these little surprises.
Nothing big, just… thoughtful.
I didn’t expect it to feel this easy, you know?
Like I don’t have to second-guess everything.”
I kept my eyes on the fabric in front of me, running my fingers along a silk seam.
“I’m glad.”
“You sure you’re okay with everything?”
“It’s fine,” I said.
The words came out smoother than they felt.
I pulled a dress from the rack and held it up.
Black.
Structured at the waist, soft and fluid everywhere else, with a neckline that dipped just low enough to be deliberate and a back that would show more skin than I usually allowed at family events.
It was elegant.
It was also intentional.
Sophia’s eyebrows rose.
“That’s… not subtle.”
“It’s perfect,” I said.
She watched me for a second longer than usual, a small, knowing smile tugging at her mouth.
“Alright.
If you’re sure.”
I took the dress to the fitting room.
The soft lighting inside made the fabric look even richer.
When I stepped out and turned toward the mirror, the reflection showed exactly what I wanted, someone who looked polished and expensive and just dangerous enough.
The kind of dress that would force a man to look even if he had spent weeks pretending he didn’t want to.
Sophia clapped softly, eyes bright.
“You’re going to cause problems in that.”
I met my own eyes in the glass and let the smallest smile touch my mouth.
The anger from the night before was still there, coiled and waiting, but underneath it something colder and more purposeful had settled.
“That’s the idea,” I said quietly.