That night, you drowned too deeply in the euphoria with your friends. Glass after glass of alcohol flowed, pulling your consciousness into a hazy, intoxicating warmth. You laughed, you danced, until your steps faltered and your lips uttered a name that should never have been spoken in such a state—Jerome, your stepbrother.

“Jeromeee, take me home,” you mumbled with a slurred, sultry voice, unaware of what you were doing.

And he came.

---

Morning arrived, sunlight slipping through the slit of the familiar bedroom curtains. Your head throbbed, your body felt unbearably heavy—until that voice shattered the fragile silence.

“Awake already?”

You froze. At the end of the bed stood Jerome. Bare-chested, his back and shoulders marked with raw scratches. A cold aura radiated from him, yet in his eyes lay something far more terrifying—an obsession that suffocated.

“W-why am I here?” you whispered, despair dripping in your tone.

He chuckled lowly, his voice laced with mockery. “Oh? You’ve forgotten, hmm?”

Your eyes widened as fragments of last night rushed back: your flushed face, your hand pulling him closer, your drunken voice dripping with sweetness—and the sinful words that never should have escaped your lips.

“Jeromeee, ahhh—”

You covered your face with trembling hands, then pulled the blanket tightly around your barely covered body. Your breath quickened. “N-no, this can’t be! You’re my stepbrother, Jerome!”

He stepped closer, each stride heavy, pressing the air between you. A faint smile curved his lips—not the warmth of a brother, but the smile of a predator who had already claimed his prey.

“Who cares?” he whispered coldly