My stepbrothers seduction

The first act

The First Act

The dining room was warm with the scent of roasted garlic and herbs, the kind of cozy atmosphere that usually made Adria sink into her chair and let the world soften around her.

Tonight, though, her back was stiff, her shoulders drawn tight as if braced for impact.

The polished mahogany table gleamed under the overhead light, catching reflections of the bowls and platters Claire had fussed over all afternoon. Everything looked perfect, homey — except for the tight coil of tension in Adria’s chest.

Nathan sat directly across from her, tall, broad-shouldered, and irritatingly at ease.

He looked like he owned the space, lounging back with one arm draped over his chair, posture loose in a way that felt calculated.

His blue eyes were cool, unreadable to anyone else, but to Adria they cut like glass, sharp and deliberate each time they flicked her way.

He knew what this dinner meant. He knew this was the beginning of their so-called truce.

Their first act.

Claire breezed in with the breadbasket, humming, her smile bright enough to chase away shadows. “All right, everyone. Sit, eat, enjoy. I want no complaints tonight, only clean plates.” Lily giggled

Claire’s cheerfulness filled the room like sunlight, brushing over every sharp edge.

Adria curved her lips into a polite smile, though it felt more like armor than ease. She reached for the serving spoon.

Nathan’s hand moved at the same time. Their fingers collided, brief, almost nothing but the spark that shot through her arm was undeniable. Her green eyes snapped up to meet his.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t murmur an apology.

Instead, one brow lifted, daring her to react. He knew she wouldn’t.

“Ladies first,” he said smoothly, voice pitched with that infuriating calm, as though the touch hadn’t been charged with anything at all.

Her grip tightened around the spoon. “How unusually thoughtful of you,” she murmured, her sweetness laced with a razor’s edge.

His lips twitched, a smirk tugging but never fully forming, and he leaned back, giving her space.

She loaded salad onto her plate, careful to move slowly, deliberately, before setting the spoon down with more force than necessary.

“See?” Claire clapped her hands together, delighted. “Look at that. Teamwork.”

Only if she knew.

Lily giggled beside her, swinging her legs under the table. “They’re acting all fancy,” she whispered, her grin wide, eyes bright with amusement.

Adria’s glare shot across the table, sharp enough to silence most people.

But Lily only giggled harder, covering her mouth with her napkin.

Nathan chuckled low in his throat, the sound almost swallowed by the clatter of serving dishes but not enough to miss. The deep, quiet laugh slid under Adria’s skin, igniting the very reaction she was determined not to give him. What was funny?

She hated that he looked like he was having fun.

Realizing that there was nothing she liked and would ever like about Nathan, she rolled her eyes.

Plates filled, silverware clinked.

Conversation buzzed, carried mostly by Claire’s stories about a new café she wanted to try,

Lily’s chatter about her school project, and the occasional grunt of approval from their father as he carved the roast.

For the first time in weeks, his shoulders seemed looser, his jaw less tight as he watched his children pass dishes without sniping at each other.

To him, this was proof of progress. To Adria, it was torture. Because it was torture.

Every time she tried to focus on her food, she felt Nathan’s gaze brush her like a touch.

Not constant, but timed, as though he wanted her to notice. Each glance burned hotter than the last.

She had to talk to him again. Pretending to get along doesn’t include piercing eye contact.

She isn’t food.

“Potatoes?” Nathan asked suddenly, voice smooth as silk.

He held the bowl out toward her, exaggerated politeness dripping from every word.

Her head snapped up. His eyes gleamed with amusement, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Thank you,” she replied just as sweetly, taking the bowl. Their fingers brushed again, fleeting, deliberate.

Nathan leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “You’re welcome… Adria.”

The way he said her name. Steady, deliberate, made her stomach twist. She dropped her gaze quickly, scooping potatoes onto her plate with more force than necessary.

Across the table, Lily snorted into her water glass.

Claire didn’t notice, too busy chatting. “So, Nathan, how’s training going? You’ve been out a lot lately.”

“Good,” Nathan answered easily, his tone smooth, his eyes sliding briefly to Adria as he spoke. “Keeps me busy.” He sounded so detached.

Adria pressed her lips together, cutting her chicken with unnecessary precision. She hated that she was listening to his every word, even when he wasn’t talking to her.

The meal wore on, the performance sharpening as it went. Their politeness grew teeth. They were Doug great.

“Would you like the bread?” Nathan asked, offering the basket across the table, voice velvet-soft.

Adria met his gaze with matching civility, lips curving. “Oh, I couldn’t take the last piece. You should have it.”

Nathan tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “I insist.”

Her smile widened, her green eyes narrowing just enough to betray her irritation. “So stubborn. Fine.” She plucked the roll from the basket, her fingers grazing his knuckles as she did.

He didn’t pull his hand back. His thumb brushed hers. It was subtle, unnoticeable to anyone else, but scorching to her.

Adria’s breath caught. She set the roll firmly on her plate, fighting the tremor in her chest. She hated the way she seemed to be painfully aware of everything that concerns Nathan.

Claire’s voice broke in, oblivious. “Oh! I ran into an old friend at the store today. We ended up talking forever, she wouldn’t stop telling me about—”

Adria barely heard her. She was too aware of Nathan. Of the way he sipped his water slowly, throat working in a steady rhythm.

Of the relaxed sprawl of his shoulders, the casual way he leaned back like he was king of the table. And always, always, the way his gaze lingered when it shouldn’t.

When her fork slipped, nearly clattering to the floor, Nathan’s voice brushed over her. “Careful.”

Her jaw clenched. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Wasn’t talking,” he murmured, lips curving in a ghost of a smile.

Her pulse jumped, her throat too dry for the food she forced herself to chew. She hated how he took up so much space inside her mind, how his presence cornered her even across a crowded table.

She told herself she hated him to the point of being obsessed

And then his foot brushed hers beneath the table.

She froze, eyes snapping up. Nathan spread butter over his roll, utterly casual. Her heart slammed in her chest. She jerked her leg back, forcing her face to remain neutral.

A minute later, his foot found hers again.

The scrape of her fork against the plate was too loud. Their father glanced up briefly, but Adria ducked her head, heat crawling up her neck.

“Everything okay?” Claire asked, still sunny.

“Fine,” Adria said too quickly.

Nathan smirked behind his glass, taking a slow sip of water.

The meal blurred after that, stretched taut with tension. Every nerve in Adria’s body seemed wired to him, attuned to the smallest shift in his posture, the slightest quirk of his mouth. She spoke little, her silence hiding the chaos inside her.

By the time the plates were scraped clean and conversation dwindled, she was wound so tightly she thought she might snap in half.

Claire hummed as she stacked dishes, Lily hopping up to help. Their father leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile softening his face as he checked something on his phone.

And in that pocket of distraction, Nathan moved.

His hand slid beneath the table, warm fingers brushing against hers. Not by accident this time. Deliberate. Slow.

Adria froze. Her breath caught sharp in her chest, her heart hammering.

Nathan’s thumb grazed her knuckles, steady, confident. He leaned in just slightly, voice pitched for her alone. “See?” he murmured, lips barely moving. “Told you we make a good team.”

Her fork clattered faintly against her plate, but no one seemed to notice.

For a split second — dangerous, traitorous — she didn’t pull away.

Then he withdrew, leaning back as though nothing had happened, his face a mask of polite ease.

Adria sat motionless, heat burning through her veins, the ghost of his touch lingering like fire beneath her skin. She stared at the tablecloth, trying to will her breath to even out, but nothing about her felt steady.

Nothing at all.