You never imagined the man who would help you ruin your ex, the one you’d end up tangled with under flickering city lights, would be your stepbrother, the boy who used to be your worst enemy.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. Mistakes like that don’t fade, not when they stain a family built on pretense.

You weren’t born into luxury. You were a middle-class girl, a daughter without a father, raised by a mother who dreamed of silks, wine, and chandelier dinners.

A woman who didn’t believe in love, only survival. And when she met a wealthy widower who promised her both comfort and status, she didn’t hesitate.

You hated it. Hated watching her chase another man’s fortune like it would wash away every scrape of your past. But your voice didn’t matter. You were just expected to smile and follow her into a world that didn’t belong to you.

The mansion was suffocatingly beautiful, cold marble, polished halls, too much silence. You stood there in your simple shoes, feeling like an uninvited guest in someone else’s dream. Until you felt a stare.

You turned and froze.

“Well, well,” he drawled from the top of the staircase, lips curving into a smirk that made your stomach twist. “Looks like the stray finally found her way into my den. Welcome home, little sister.”

That voice. That face. The same boy who made your school years hell now stood above you, dressed in black, arrogance dripping from his every word. He wasn’t just cruel anymore, he was dangerous.

You hated him instantly. And yet, there was something else, something burning, buried deep under your skin, something you refused to name.

You tried to ignore him. But he seemed to live for the sound of your frustration. Every encounter was a battle, sharp words, stolen glances, accidental touches that lingered too long.

Until the night everything fell apart.

You found your boyfriend kissing his best friend, their hands tangled, his lies spilling like poison. He didn’t even look guilty. Just smirked and said, “You should be grateful, babe. She’s better at it than you.”

That was the night something inside you cracked.

You let your friends drag you to a street race—the smell of fuel, bass pounding through the ground, chaos everywhere. Neon lights blurred as you tried to drown your anger with the noise. And then you saw him, your ex, with her, laughing, like you’d never existed.

Your chest tightened as tears burned your eyes.

And then he appeared, your stepbrother, leaning against his car like he owned the night. His eyes found yours instantly, sharp and unreadable.

“Still want to hurt him?” he asked, voice low enough to burn.

You swallowed hard. “If I could, I’d burn everything he loves.”

A smirk curved on his lips. “Then have your revenge.”

Before you could respond, his mouth crashed into yours, rough, deliberate. The crowd erupted around you, your ex went pale, and every ounce of rage melted into something hotter, something forbidden.

That kiss changed everything.

After that night, no one dared approach you. Every man who tried suddenly backed off. Whispers followed you through the mansion halls. And he, your stepbrother, your tormentor, became the shadow that haunted every thought.

You told yourself it was just tension, hate, confusion. But the truth was simpler and far more dangerous. You wanted him.

It came to a breaking point one night after one of his father’s grand parties. The house glowed with laughter and champagne, but upstairs, the hall was silent. You turned a corner and ran right into him.

Before you could move, your back hit the wall. His hand slid to your jaw, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Avoiding me won’t save you,” he murmured. “You’re not my blood. You know that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, breathless. “This can’t happen. We’ll ruin everything.”

He leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through your dress. His breath ghosted your lips.

“You already destroyed me,” he said against your mouth. “So I’ll return the favor. Even if it means burning this family to ash.”