My Toxic Stepbrother

Cracks in the Armor.

** Kai Voss **

The silence in my room was supposed to be a relief, but it felt more like a cage. I sat on the edge of my bed, the springs creaking under my weight. My hands were still shaking, just a little, and it pissed me off. I didn’t like things I couldn’t control, and right now, the thing I controlled least was the way my heart was hammering against my ribs.

Riley Bennett.

I’d only known her for a few days, and already she was like a splinter under my skin. Every time she looked at me with those defiant, fire-filled eyes, I wanted to either break her or pull her so close she couldn't breathe. She was supposed to be the "little sister," a nuisance I could ignore while I ruled this house like I always did. Instead, she was the only thing I could think about.

I looked at my hands, the ink on my knuckles dark and permanent. I’d spent years building this version of myself—the arrogant bastard, the one who didn't care. It was a shield, one I’d started forging the day my mother walked out and never looked back. I learned early on that if you didn't let people in, they couldn't take anything when they left.

But Riley didn't ask for permission to enter. she just stormed in and started setting fires.

"Damn it," I muttered, standing up and pacing the length of the room.

I could still feel the phantom sensation of her wrist in my grip from earlier in the kitchen. She’d been so close I could smell the vanilla on her skin and the faint scent of the water she’d come down for. For a second, looking at her lips, I’d almost lost it. I’d almost shattered every rule my father had laid down about this "perfect blended family."

The memory of my childhood flashed in my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. I remembered the shouting, the broken glass, and the cold realization that the people who were supposed to love you were the ones who could hurt you the most. That was why I liked power. Power was safe. Obsession was a way to ensure no one could ever leave you again because you owned them.

But Riley wasn't owned. Not yet.

I needed air. The walls of my room were closing in, smelling too much of my own frustration. I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the nightstand and headed out. I didn't take the stairs down; I went up. The rooftop terrace was my sanctuary, the only place in this massive, expensive mansion where I felt like I could actually breathe.

I pushed the heavy glass door open, the cool night air hitting my face. I expected the terrace to be empty, a dark expanse of stone and expensive outdoor furniture.

I was wrong.

Riley was there. She was leaning against the railing, her back to me. She wore an oversized t-shirt that hung off one shoulder, her hair messy and wind-blown. She looked small against the backdrop of the city lights, vulnerable in a way she never let herself be when we were face-to-face.

I should have turned around. I should have gone back to my room and let her have her peace. But my feet moved before I could talk myself out of it. The sound of my boots on the stone made her jump. She spun around, her eyes wide and alert.

"Can't sleep?" I asked, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

She relaxed slightly when she saw it was me, but her defensive posture returned almost instantly. She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding herself from my gaze. "The house is too quiet," she said, her voice small. "I’m not used to it."

"It's a tomb with a mortgage," I said, stepping up to the railing a few feet away from her. I flicked my lighter, the orange flame dancing for a second before I lit my cigarette. I took a long drag, feeling the smoke settle my nerves.

"You shouldn't smoke," she said, though there was no real heat in it.

"And you shouldn't be out here in the middle of the night," I countered. "What's the matter, Riley? Thinking about how much you hate it here?"

She sighed, looking back out at the horizon. "I don't hate everything. It’s just... a lot. My mom is so happy, and I don't want to ruin that for her. But everything feels fake. Like we’re playing house in someone else's museum."

I looked at her profile, the way the moonlight caught the line of her jaw. For a moment, the edge in my chest softened. I knew that feeling. I’d lived in this "museum" my whole life, watching my father bring in one woman after another, trying to find a piece that fit.

"It is fake," I said quietly. "But you get used to the acting. You just have to decide what character you're going to play."

She turned to look at me, her expression searching. "Is that what you’re doing? Playing a character?"

I felt a flash of irritation. She was getting too close to the truth, poking at the cracks I’d spent years sealing. "I'm not playing anything, Riley. I’m exactly what I look like."

"I don't think so," she whispered. "I think you're just as lonely as I am."

The words hit like a physical blow. My instinct to protect myself kicked in, sharp and cruel. I couldn't let her see that she’d found a way in. I couldn't let her think she understood me.

"Don't flatter yourself," I snapped, taking another drag of my cigarette and exhaling the smoke in her direction. "You're nineteen and bored. You're looking for depth where there isn't any. You’re just another girl in my house, Riley. Don't start thinking you're special."

The hurt flashed across her face so quickly I almost missed it. Then, her eyes hardened, the fire returning with a vengeance.

"You're right," she said, her voice dripping with the sarcasm she used like a shield. "I forgot. You're the big, bad Kai Voss. You don't have feelings; you just have tattoos and a shitty attitude. My mistake."

She pushed past me, her shoulder clipping mine. I didn't move. I stayed right where I was, listening to the sound of her bare feet hitting the stone as she hurried back toward the door.

"Goodnight, Kai," she called out over her shoulder, the door clicking shut behind her.

I stood there in the dark, the cigarette burning down to the filter between my fingers. I should have felt like I’d won. I’d pushed her away, re-established the boundary, and kept my secrets safe.

But I didn't feel like a winner. I felt like a liar.

I looked at the door she’d just disappeared through, the dark hunger I’d been trying to suppress clawing at my throat. She thought she could just walk away. She thought she could see through me and then leave me standing here in the cold.

I dropped the cigarette and crushed it under my boot, my jaw tight. She didn't realize what she’d done. She’d challenged me, and in my world, when someone challenged you, you didn't just let it go. You took what was yours.

I leaned over the railing, staring down at the dark gardens below. The "little sister" act was over. The boundaries were already crumbling, and I wasn't going to be the only one who got ruined in the process.

I whispered to the empty night, the words a promise and a threat all at once.

"She’s going to be mine. Whether she likes it or not."