The moment I stepped into the house, I felt it—the heat, the silence, the electricity in the air that told me I wasn’t alone.
My mom’s voice echoed down the hall, calling out that she and my stepdad were heading to the city for the weekend. “Cameron’s already here,” she said, almost too casually, like his name didn’t trigger every nerve in my body.
Cameron.
My stepbrother.
The boy who used to tease me like it was a hobby.
The man who stopped calling after our parents got married, who vanished after one too many glances held too long, after too many things unsaid.
Now, two years later, I was back in this house—and he was somewhere inside it.
I kicked off my sneakers and tried to breathe, ignoring the slow pulse between my thighs. I told myself it was nothing, just nerves. But I knew
