My Stepbrother Secret

"The Stranger in My Kitchen"

There are few things more sacred to me than my early mornings- silence, solitude, and coffee. So when I padded into the kitchen barefoot and groggy, fully expecting to have the house to myself, the last thing I was prepared for was the shirtless stranger standing at our granite island like he belonged there.

He was tall, lean but muscular, his back a canvas of intricate ink that crawled over his shoulder and down his arm. His dark hair was tousled in a perfectly messy way, and he wore nothing but black sweatpants that sat low on his hips. He looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine-a brooding model with a cigarette behind his ear and a dangerous glint in his eye.

My hand froze on the cabinet door.

He turned around slowly, sensing my presence, and met my stunned gaze with amused, ice-blue eyes.

"Morning, princess," he said smoothly, lifting the mug to his lips. His voice was low and slightly hoarse, like he'd been up all night drinking or screaming into the void. Probably both.

I blinked. Twice.

Then I snapped back into reality. "Who the hell are you?"

He quirked a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a lazy grin. "Wow. We're skipping introductions now?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm serious."

He put the mug down with a quiet clink and crossed his arms, muscles flexing in a way that felt completely unnecessary. "Jace Sullivan. Your new stepbrother."

No.

No, no, no.

This was not happening.

I stepped back like he might disappear if I stared hard enough. "You weren't supposed to be here."

"That's what I hear," he said, shrugging one tattooed shoulder. "Change of plans."

My stomach turned, cold and tight. I remembered my mom's call last week, her excited voice gushing about how she and Mark had eloped in Vegas. Classic Beth Matthews behavior-falling in love after three months and marrying a guy with a grown son she barely mentioned. I hadn't thought much of it. I'd assumed I'd never meet him, not when he lived across the country and was "busy figuring himself out."

Apparently, he figured himself right into my kitchen.

"How long are you staying?" I asked carefully.

He looked far too comfortable, like he'd already claimed the space. "Indefinitely."

Indefinitely. The word echoed in my head like a curse.

"You can't just move in."

Jace smirked and leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee again like he had all the time in the world. "Tell that to your mom. Or my dad. They seem pretty convinced this is a fresh start."

I felt heat rise to my face-not from attraction, though if I were being honest, he was insanely attractive-but from pure, unfiltered rage. My entire summer had been planned around having the house to myself. A final breath of freedom before college. Time to read, write, think-be.

Now, I was stuck sharing space with him.

"I don't care what your reason is," I said, grabbing the cereal box from the top shelf a little more aggressively than necessary. "Just stay out of my way."

"No promises." He grinned. "You don't seem like the kind of girl who's easy to ignore."

I turned my back to him, pouring cereal into a bowl. My hands shook slightly, and I hated that he could see it. I hated more that I was aware of him-his gaze, his voice, the way he was watching me with that lazy curiosity that made my skin crawl and tingle all at once.

"Seriously, Lena," he said after a moment. "You're not even a little glad to see me?"

I froze, spoon halfway to my mouth. "How do you know my name?"

He didn't miss a beat. "You talk in your sleep."

My head whipped around. "Excuse me?"

That infuriating smirk widened. "Relax. I heard your mom say it yesterday. You were already asleep when I got in."

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to calm down. It was too early to have a meltdown. I had finals next week, an internship to prepare for, and now a stepbrother who looked like a delinquent version of every bad boy fantasy rolled into one tall glass of trouble.

I took my cereal to the far end of the kitchen, sat down, and tried to focus on chewing. But I could still feel him. He hadn't moved. He was still leaning, still watching, still radiating that quiet storm energy that made it impossible to breathe normally.

"You're staring," I muttered without looking up.

"You're interesting."

"I'm eating cereal."

He shrugged. "You can tell a lot about someone by how they eat breakfast."

I looked up at him slowly. "And what have you learned? That I like Frosted Flakes and hate company?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and rumbling. "Something like that."

We sat in silence after that. Well, I sat. He loomed. And I hated that a part of me-not a big part, but enough to make me uncomfortable-was curious. About the ink on his body. About why he left California. About what kind of trouble he meant when he said "got into some."

He didn't look like someone who shared his secrets easily.

"Did you get kicked out or something?" I asked before I could stop myself.

He raised a brow. "Is that what your mom told you?"

"No. She just said you were staying here for a while."

"Then maybe you should ask her."

I frowned. "I'm asking you."

He paused. Something flickered behind his eyes-an edge, a shadow- but it vanished before I could name it.

"I made some poor choices," he said vaguely. "Now I'm here."

I opened my mouth to press further, but he cut me off.

"You don't have to like me, Lena. I'm not here to mess up your perfect little world."

I bristled. "You don't know anything about my world."

He nodded once. "You're right. But I've lived enough lives to know the type."

"The type?"

"You walk around with a chip on your shoulder, books in your arms, and expectations a mile high. You don't like mess. And you definitely don't like people like me."

My jaw tightened. "You've known me for ten minutes."

"And I'm a fast learner."

I stood, grabbing my bowl and moving to the sink. "You think you're so clever. Like you've got everyone figured out."

He didn't answer. Just watched me with that unreadable expression.

I rinsed my bowl, set it in the dishwasher, and turned to face him fully. "Whatever you're dealing with, it's not my problem. I've got my own life, and I don't need your chaos dragging me down."

His face darkened just a little. The smirk faded. "Got it."

He pushed off the counter and walked past me, grabbing his mug on the way out. Just before he left the kitchen, he paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder.

"You can relax, princess. I'm not here to ruin you."

Then he disappeared into the hallway, leaving me breathless, frustrated, and furious with myself for how fast my pulse was still racing.

I stood alone in the kitchen, gripping the edge of the sink like it might stop the spinning in my head. My heart still pounded, not because I was afraid, but because he'd gotten under my skin. In less than ten minutes, Jace Sullivan had taken everything I'd carefully built around myself and cracked it open- just enough for the cold air of uncertainty to rush in.

And worst of all? He knew it.

I hated that he was observant. That he saw too much. That he said things that stuck like splinters.

"I'm not here to ruin you."

God. What did that even mean?

I rubbed my temples and forced myself to breathe. I had more important things to worry about than some mysterious stepbrother with an attitude problem and a face straight out of a fever dream. I had a scholarship to protect, an internship with a local law firm that started in three weeks, and a whole lot of emotional stability to maintain.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Mom: You met Jace, right? Isn't he handsome? Be nice. He's had a rough year.

I stared at the message.

Be nice.

As if this was some teen movie and Jace was the new guy in school trying to find a table at lunch. He wasn't. He was a grown man with scars in his eyes and secrets he clearly had no intention of sharing.

Still, I typed back.

Me: Yeah. I met him.

Mom: Good! He's staying through the summer. Hope that's okay. xo

No. It wasn't okay. But what choice did I have?

I sighed and pocketed my phone, then grabbed my tote bag and headed upstairs. If Jace was going to be living here indefinitely, I needed to figure out how to avoid him without losing my mind. That probably meant keeping my door locked, my headphones in, and my temper very much in check.

When I reached the landing, I heard his voice behind a closed door- his new room, formerly the guest room at the end of the hall. He was on the phone, his tone quiet but sharp.

"No, I'm not going back... No, I don't care what he said. I told you- I'm done with that."

A pause. A muffled response from whoever was on the other end.

"Look, I'm trying, okay? Don't call again unless it's important."

The click of the call ending followed, and then silence.

I tiptoed past his door, heart racing for no reason I could understand, and slipped into my room.

The second I shut the door behind me, I exhaled.

This house suddenly felt too small. Like the walls were pressing in and every hallway was haunted by the presence of a stranger with a dark past and a grin that dared me to ask questions.

And damn it, I wanted to ask. That was the worst part. I wanted to know what he was running from. What had forced him to move across the country and land in my perfectly controlled life like a bomb. I wanted to know why his eyes looked like they'd seen too much. Why he seemed so calm and reckless all at once.

But wanting didn't mean I'd get answers.

And getting too close? That was a mistake I wasn't willing to make.

Later that night

Dinner was... awkward.

My mom and Mark sat across from me, laughing softly about some real estate drama, while Jace sat next to me, silent, fork idly pushing peas around his plate. He hadn't said a word since "Pass the salt."

I didn't either.

Every so often, I'd feel his eyes on me. Like he was watching my reactions more than the conversation. I tried not to let it show, but my jaw was tight, my grip on my fork white-knuckled.

"So, Jace," my mom said eventually, breaking the silence that had been thick between us. "Have you thought about what you want to do this summer?"

He shrugged without looking up. "Figure it out as I go."

Mark cleared his throat. "We talked about maybe taking some online courses, or getting a part-time job. Something low-pressure."

Jace nodded but didn't respond. His tone wasn't disrespectful-it was distant. Like he was here, but not really here.

"What about you, Lena?" my mom asked brightly. "Ready for your internship?"

"Almost," I said, grateful for the shift in focus. "I start in a few weeks. Just prepping now."

"She's working with one of the top firms in the city," Mark said proudly. "Our little overachiever."

I forced a smile. "It's just an internship."

Jace finally looked up, his voice low and even. "Sounds like a lot of pressure."

I met his gaze. "Only if you care about your future."

A flicker of something crossed his face-amusement, maybe. Or something darker. "Touché."

The tension returned like a tide, and I quickly excused myself once my plate was clean.

Back in my room, I closed the door and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. It wasn't fair. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for him.

But somehow, the universe had thrown Jace Sullivan into my world like a test I hadn't studied for. And something told me, this was just the beginning.