The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 17: Chapter 17: Company Heir

I found the address in my phone’s search history, Smith & Hendricks, 8th floor. Lucian had mentioned it once at dinner, casual and quick, and I’d filed it away without meaning to. Now I stood in the lobby, watching the elevator numbers climb, my mother’s text still glowing behind my lock screen.

Your stepfather came home furious. He’s been on the phone for an hour. Something about the office, about Lucian. He’s leaving soon. I don’t know what’s happening.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. I stepped inside and hit eight.

The hallway smelled like burnt coffee and industrial cleaner. I followed the directory plaques until I found it, Suite 814. The door was cracked open.

I knocked. No answer.

I pushed inside.

The office was too large for one person. A desk sat in front of a window overlooking the street, but the surface was almost bare, a laptop, a pen holder, a single silver frame. I picked up the frame. James and a beautiful dark haired woman were laughing on a dock. Lucian’s mother, I realized. He wasn’t in the picture.

The laptop was open, humming softly. The screen glowed with a spreadsheet.

I shouldn’t have looked. I did.

Numbers. Rows of them. Withdrawals. Fifty thousand. Seventy five. One hundred. A pending line in red: Transfer Authorization: L. Smith.

My stomach dropped.

"Eliora?"

I spun around.

Lucian stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, his jacket over his arm. He looked like he’d slept in his clothes. Behind him, a man in a gray suit hovered, mid conversation.

"Gentlemen," Lucian said, not looking away from me. "Tomorrow."

The man nodded and left.

Lucian closed the door. The click was soft.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"What am I doing here?" I stepped toward him, my voice sharper than I intended. "You left me at the cabin, Lucian. You kissed me goodbye like you were going to war and then you vanished. No call. No text. Nothing. I woke up alone in a bed that still smelled like you. I had to drive back to the city by myself."

He ran a hand over his face. "I know. I’m sorry."

"Sorry?" I laughed, but it came out broken. "You don’t get to just say sorry and make that disappear. We were supposed to have the weekend. You promised me two days."

"I had to handle something."

"Handle what?" I gestured toward the laptop. "Stealing from your father?"

Lucian’s jaw tightened. He moved past me to the desk and closed the laptop. "You don’t understand."

"Then make me understand." I grabbed his arm, forcing him to face me. "My mother called me in a panic. Your father came home angry. She said he’s been asking about money missing from the company. I came here to warn you, and instead I find... what? Your name on withdrawals I don’t understand?"

He pulled away from me, walking to the window. His shoulders were rigid under his shirt.

"It’s not what you think," he said quietly.

"Then tell me what it is."

"I can’t."

"Why not?"

He turned around, and his eyes were different, dark, desperate, terrified. "Because if I tell you, you look at me exactly like you’re looking at me right now. Like I’m someone you need to run from."

I didn’t move.

"Try me."

Lucian stared at me for a long moment. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. Then he crossed the space between us in two strides, his palms framing my face, his thumbs rough against my cheekbones.

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice low and ragged. "For leaving. For the silence. For all of it."

He kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, hungry, like he was trying to burn an apology into my skin. I gasped against his mouth, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. For a few seconds, the office and the numbers and his father vanished. There was only the heat of him, the taste of coffee and regret, the way his fingers dug into my hips like he was afraid I’d disappear.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His breath was shaky.

"I can’t tell you yet," he whispered. "But I will. I promise."

"Don’t promise me things you can’t keep."

"I’m keeping you," he said. "That’s the only thing I know right now."

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it.

"Talk to your father," I said. "Before he finds whatever he’s looking for."

Lucian nodded, but his eyes were distant. He walked me to the door, his hand on my back.

"I’ll call you tonight."

"Don’t lie to me again."

He stopped. His hand dropped from my back. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something real. Something true. His mouth opened, his eyes softened.

Then the moment passed.

"I’m sorry," he said again.

I stepped into the hallway. The elevator was down to the left. I walked toward it, my heart hammering, my lips still tingling from his mouth, my mind racing with the numbers I’d seen.

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened.

James stepped out.

He was wearing a charcoal overcoat, his phone pressed to his ear, his face a thundercloud. He didn’t see me at first. He was talking too loudly, something about accounts and lawyers.

Then he looked up.

Our eyes met.

He lowered the phone slowly.

"Eliora?"

I opened my mouth. No sound came out.

Behind me, Lucian’s office door was still open. I could see him through the gap, standing by his desk, frozen.

James’s gaze moved from me to the open door. Understanding dawned across his face, ugly, violent, and complete.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me.

But he was already walking past me, toward his son, his hand closing into a fist at his side.

I stood in the hallway, trapped between them, and knew that whatever fire was coming, I had just walked into the center of it.

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