Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Rose’s POV

After Sierra left, I stayed in my room for a while.

Not because I was upset. Not anymore, at least. I just didn’t really know what to do with myself now that the room was quiet again.

For the past few days, being alone had been exactly what I wanted. I’d stayed in here because I didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or deal with the questions that came whenever someone noticed something was wrong. Even when I knew people were worried, I hadn’t wanted to explain myself. It had been easier to stay behind my door and pretend the rest of the house didn’t exist.

Now the silence felt different.

Maybe because I knew I wasn’t actually hiding anymore.

I looked around my room. The curtains were still closed, my bed was slightly messy, and the clothes I’d thrown around before disappearing into my three-day depression were still scattered everywhere. The room looked exactly like the place I’d spent the last few days hiding in.

I sighed and picked up a shirt from the floor, tossing it onto the chair.

Then another.

I looked at the remaining clothes.

There were too many.

I gave up.

I wasn’t about to suddenly become a cleaner just because I’d decided to leave my room.

I sat on the edge of my bed and checked my phone. There were a few notifications and some messages from earlier, but nothing that needed my attention. Sierra hadn’t messaged yet, which probably meant she’d already gone back downstairs or gotten distracted by something.

I smiled faintly.

She’d probably already told her mother that I was alive and eating again.

The thought made me laugh quietly.

Then I looked toward the door.

I’d been upstairs for too long.

Three days of practically disappearing from the house had made everything downstairs feel strangely unfamiliar. It was still my house, still the same people and the same hallways, but I’d barely seen any of it.

I didn’t want to spend another hour staring at the same four walls.

Maybe I should go downstairs.

Not because I had somewhere to be. I just wanted to walk around. I wanted to see what I’d missed while I’d been hiding upstairs.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and stood.

For a second, I looked at the bed.

It was tempting to sit back down.

I knew how easy it would be. Close the curtains, get under the blanket, and let the rest of the day pass without having to deal with anybody.

But I’d already done that.

For three days.

I didn’t want to do it again.

I walked to the door and opened it.

The hallway was quiet.

I closed the door behind me and stood there for a moment, almost expecting someone to stop me and ask where I was going.

Nobody did.

I walked toward the stairs.

As I made my way down, I could hear the faint sounds of people moving around. Voices drifted through the house, along with footsteps and the occasional sound of something being moved.

The house was alive again.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed that.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I noticed several boxes stacked along one side of the hallway. There were decorations sitting on a nearby table, probably waiting to be used for the wedding.

Seven days.

I looked at them for a moment.

The wedding really was that close.

The thought brought back the strange feeling I’d been trying to ignore since talking to Sierra. That little knot in my stomach, the feeling that something wasn’t quite right even though I couldn’t point to anything specific.

I pushed it aside.

I wasn’t going to start overthinking everything again.

I’d spent enough time doing that already.

I continued walking.

There wasn’t really a destination in mind. I just wanted to move around the house and get used to being downstairs again.

I passed the sitting room and slowed when I heard a familiar voice.

Reagan.

I couldn’t see him yet. His voice was coming from somewhere ahead, and from the sound of it, he was on the phone.

"Okay."

I stopped without thinking.

There was a pause.

Then his voice came again.

"You’ll see me soon."

I frowned.

Another pause.

"You miss me?"

My eyebrows lifted.

I stared toward the hallway.

Excuse me?

I wasn’t trying to listen.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

I just happened to be standing there, and unfortunately, my ears were working.

There was another pause before he spoke again.

"Yeah. I’ll be there shortly."

I frowned harder.

Who was he talking to?

Reagan wasn’t exactly the type to sound like that on the phone. He was usually brief and direct. If he didn’t need to say something, he didn’t. Even with people he was comfortable around, he rarely sounded particularly affectionate.

But whoever was on the other end of that call had apparently managed to get him to joke around.

And that was strange.

I didn’t know why it bothered me.

Maybe it didn’t.

Maybe I was simply curious.

That was all.

I heard footsteps approaching and immediately stepped back.

Reagan appeared around the corner, his phone still in his hand.

He took two steps before looking up.

Then he saw me.

For the smallest moment, his expression changed.

His eyes moved over me, lingering for just a second.

It wasn’t long.

Barely enough to notice.

But I noticed.

Then he seemed to realize he’d been staring and immediately composed himself, his expression settling back into that familiar calmness.

He slipped his phone into his pocket.

"Were you listening?"

I blinked.

"No."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

I folded my arms.

"I wasn’t listening."

He gave me a look that made it obvious he didn’t completely believe me.

I ignored it.

"But who was that?"

"Who?"

"The person you were talking to."

"Nobody."

I stared at him.

"Nobody?"

"Nobody important."

"Reagan."

He walked closer, and I stayed where I was.

"You were literally asking them if they missed you."

His smirk grew.

"Did you hear that?"

I immediately realized what I’d just admitted.

I closed my mouth.

His eyebrow lifted.

I glared at him.

"I heard you."

"Then you were listening."

"I wasn’t intentionally listening."

"That’s still listening."

I rolled my eyes.

"Whatever."

I started to walk past him, but my curiosity got the better of me.

I stopped.

"So who was it?"

He just stared at me.

There was something irritatingly calm about his expression, like he knew exactly how curious I was and was enjoying it.

"Don’t worry your pretty head."

I frowned.

"That’s not an answer."

"It wasn’t meant to be."

I stared at him.

"You really like being annoying, don’t you?"

"Sometimes."

"You’re doing it right now."

"I know."

I shook my head.

"Whoever it was, you’re being suspicious."

"Suspicious?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"You were being weird."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I’m always weird."

"Not like that."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I’m not."

"You are."

He shrugged.

I crossed my arms.

"You’re definitely hiding something."

"Maybe."

My eyes widened.

"Maybe?"

He stepped past me.

I turned to follow him with my eyes.

"That’s it?"

He glanced back.

"What do you want me to say?"

"The truth?"

He chuckled.

"You’ll survive without it."

I stared at him.

He started walking away.

"Reagan."

He didn’t stop.

"Seriously. Who was it?"

He glanced back over his shoulder.

"Don’t worry about it."

"You’re impossible."

"I’ve been told."

He kept walking.

I stood there, watching him disappear down the hallway.

That was not an answer.

Not even remotely.

I looked around the empty hallway, then back in the direction he’d gone.

Who had he been talking to, and why had he sounded so different?

I replayed the conversation in my head.

*You’ll see me soon.*

*You miss me?*

*I’ll be there shortly.*

That wasn’t how Reagan normally talked.

At least, not to anyone I knew.

Maybe it was someone from work. Someone involved with Devon.

But then why would he sound so casual?

And why would he ask if they missed him?

Maybe it was a friend.

Although I wasn’t sure Reagan had many of those.

Maybe someone from outside the family.

Someone I’d never met.

That seemed more likely.

Still, there was something about the call that bothered me.

Not because I thought he’d done anything wrong. I wasn’t accusing him of anything.

I was just curious.

Very curious.

And Reagan knew it.

That was probably why he’d refused to tell me.

He loved doing that.

Giving just enough information to make you curious, then walking away before you could ask anything useful.

I sighed.

I should’ve expected it.

I looked down the hallway one more time.

He was already gone.

I could’ve followed him.

I could’ve asked again.

But I knew what would happen.

He’d probably give me another vague answer, raise that irritating eyebrow, or tell me not to worry my "pretty head" again.

And somehow, that would only make me more curious.

So I let it go.

At least for now.

I turned and continued walking through the house, reminding myself that I hadn’t come downstairs to investigate Reagan’s mysterious phone calls.

I just wanted to walk around.

It felt good being downstairs again. I’d forgotten how much I liked wandering around without actually having somewhere to go.

The house felt different when I wasn’t hiding from it.

There were people moving around, things being prepared for the wedding, and little reminders everywhere that life had continued while I’d been upstairs.

It made me feel slightly guilty.

Not because anyone had done anything wrong.

Just because I’d missed it.

I’d missed normal conversations.

I’d missed seeing people moving around the house.

I’d even missed the little things I’d usually complain about.

For three days, I’d convinced myself that staying away from everyone was easier.

Maybe it had been easier.

But easier didn’t mean better.

As I passed the decorations again, I glanced at them.

Seven days.

The thought brought back Sierra’s words.

*You’re overthinking it.*

Maybe she was right.

Maybe I was.

I’d spent three days alone with my thoughts. I’d had plenty of time to replay every conversation, every look, every strange little thing that had happened lately.

Of course everything felt connected when I kept putting it together in my head.

Maybe there was nothing to connect.

The wedding was happening.

Reagan had gotten a phone call.

Those things didn’t have to be related.

I wasn’t going to turn every strange little thing into some huge mystery.

I continued walking.

Still, my thoughts inevitably returned to him.

*Don’t worry your pretty head.*

I rolled my eyes.

I hated when he said things like that.

Mostly because they made me want to worry my pretty head even more.

I could still hear the amusement in his voice when he’d said it.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Like he knew I wouldn’t let it go.

I shook my head.

"Annoying."

I said it quietly to myself before continuing down the hallway.

I stopped near the stairs and looked up toward my room.

I didn’t want to go back there yet.

Not immediately.

I’d only just escaped it.

So instead, I stayed downstairs, walking slowly through the house and letting myself get used to being around everything again.

I was allowed to be here.

I didn’t have to hide.

I didn’t have to disappear.

And I definitely didn’t have to let one irritating phone call ruin my mood.

At least, I didn’t think I did.

But one question refused to leave me.

Whoever had been on that phone...

Reagan clearly didn’t want me knowing about them.

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