The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 12: Chapter 12: Rooftop Confessions

Lucian: Wear something warm. I’m taking you somewhere tonight.

I stared at the text for a long moment before typing back.

Eliora: Taking me where?

Lucian: If I tell you, it stops being a surprise.

Eliora: Lucian, we agreed to be careful.

Lucian: We are being careful. Nobody’s going to see us. Trust me.

I should have said no. Every rational part of me was still arguing against this, listing every reason it was reckless, our parents, the risk, the guilt that still lingered after three days.

Eliora: Fine. What time?

I almost texted Priya afterward, my thumb hovering over her name. I hadn’t told her about the garden, the kitchen, or any of it. I set the phone down. I didn’t have the words yet.

⸻

He picked me up two blocks from my apartment in a car I didn’t recognize, sunglasses on despite the late hour.

"You could have just picked me up outside my building," I said.

"I could have. I also could have run into your neighbor, who apparently knows my father’s assistant."

"You checked that?"

"I check a lot of things," he said, pulling into traffic. "Careful, remember?"

We drove in comfortable silence until he parked beneath one of his father’s commercial buildings.

"We’re not breaking in anywhere, are we?"

"I have keys," he said with a smile. "It’s not breaking in if you have keys."

He led me to a private elevator. When the doors opened, we stepped onto a rooftop terrace lit with strings of lights, the city skyline glittering beneath us. The wind carried the faint scent of coming rain.

"Lucian." I turned slowly. "What is this?"

"My father’s building. Nobody uses this floor after hours." He shrugged. "I wanted somewhere we could just... be."

A small table waited near the railing, a bottle of wine chilling beside it.

"You planned this."

"I did."

"When?"

"Since the morning I left you in that kitchen." He pulled out my chair. "If I was going to ask you to keep taking this risk with me, the least I could do was make one night worth it."

I looked over the skyline, something in my chest easing.

"It’s beautiful."

"So are you."

When I looked back, he was already looking at me.

⸻

We ate slowly, talking about everything except syndicates and secrets, his terrible taste in music, my worst hospital rotation. For a little while, we were simply two people sharing dinner.

Then I set my glass down.

"Can I ask you something real?"

His expression shifted immediately.

"Always."

"That first night in the lab... you said you needed somewhere safe to hide. You never told me from what. I’m done pretending I don’t want to know."

His hand stilled around his glass.

"Eliora..."

"No. You don’t get to say my name and expect that to be enough. I’ve watched armed men storm a hospital looking for you. I’ve watched you flinch whenever strangers get too close. Your father accused you of stealing from his company. Something is happening to you."

His face became unreadable.

"It’s complicated," he said quietly.

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one I can give tonight." He turned the glass slowly. "It’s not that I don’t trust you. Some of it isn’t only mine to tell. And some of it would put you in more danger than you’re already in."

"I’m already in danger?"

"You’re my stepsister, sneaking around with me." A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. "I’d say the danger has already begun."

I studied him, the careful way he answered without revealing anything.

"One day," I said softly, "you’re going to have to let me in completely. Not tonight. But one day, or this doesn’t survive."

"One day," he said. "I promise."

⸻

Later, we stood at the railing, the city sparkling beneath us. His arms circled my waist, his chin resting lightly on my head.

"Thank you for tonight," I said. "I needed to feel like this wasn’t only guilt and secrets."

"It’s not," he murmured into my hair. "Not to me."

I turned to face him. The wind swept loose strands of hair across my face. He brushed them back gently.

"What are we doing, Lucian?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. "But I don’t want to stop finding out."

He kissed me then, slow and unhurried, nothing like the desperate kiss in the garden. This one was patient, as though he intended to remember every second.

When we finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.

"There’s a party next weekend," he said quietly. "A Hendricks family event. My father expects me to attend."

"And unofficially?"

"I was hoping you’d come with me. Not as my stepsister... just as someone I want beside me."

I hesitated.

"That’s a lot of people who could see us together."

"It is," he agreed. "Which is why I need you to think before you say yes."

I looked into his eyes, every careful argument I’d built over the past few days quietly slipping away.

"I’ll think about it."

But deep down, I already knew my answer. Judging by the small smile on his face, he knew it too.

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