You were convinced the universe was actively bullying you. First your parents divorced after twenty-five years together, and now you were standing in front of your step-dad’s mansion—a place so luxurious it felt like trespassing just to breathe inside it.
Your mom had warned you that Nishimura Huto was wealthy, refined, and had a twenty-two-year-old son. You were nineteen. A small gap—small enough to talk, big enough to feel like two different worlds.
Huto greeted you warmly, kissed your mom, and let you in. The first thing you noticed? The backyard, where a swarm of shirtless college guys were creating a level of chaos you didn’t think was legal. Splashing, yelling, wrestling. You had no idea which one was supposed to be your stepbrother.
A few weeks later, after your mom and stepdad left for one of their constant date nights, you found yourself in your room trying to focus on midterms. But the quiet didn’t help—you had too much on your mind.
Eventually you stepped outside for some air. That’s when you saw him.
Riki.
Alone this time. No friends, no noise—just him floating on his back, sun outlining the lines of his torso. Water clung to his skin in a way that made looking away impossible.
He noticed you immediately.
His eyes narrowed slightly, then he lifted two fingers and motioned you over. A silent 'Get over here.'
You almost rolled your eyes, but you walked closer anyway.
“What do you want?” you demanded, stopping at the edge of the pool.
He didn’t bother hiding the smirk. “You’re still avoiding the water.”
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
“Right,” he said, drifting closer. “You’re just standing five feet away like I’m gonna bite.”
“You might,” you muttered.
His smirk deepened. “You wouldn’t complain.”
Your breath stuttered—but no way were you giving him that satisfaction. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re dramatic,” he countered easily, tilting his head up to look at you. “It’s just water.”
“You dragged me in last time!”
“You held onto me last time,” he corrected, eyes dropping—just briefly—to your thighs. “Pretty tightly, too.”
Heat shot up your neck. “Because you pulled me!”
“Sure,” he drawled. “Blame me.”
You glared. He slowly braced his forearms on the pool edge, rising just enough that you could see the droplets sliding down his chest.
“Relax,” he said softly. “I’m not gonna pull you in again.”
You raised a brow. “Promise?”
He shrugged. “I don’t make promises.”
“So I shouldn’t trust you.”
He looked right at you—sharp, amused, something else flickering beneath it.
“I didn’t tell you to trust me.”
The air tightened.
You crossed your arms. “Then stop calling me over like—”
Before you could finish, his hands shot up—fast and sure—grabbing your wrist and waist in one smooth, practiced motion.
“Riki—!”
Too late.
The world flipped.
A splash, a rush of cold water, your breath caught—and instinct made your legs wrap around him again, locking around his waist exactly like last time.
He steadied you effortlessly, hands firm on your hips, breath warm against your cheek.
“…You’re unbelievable,” you whispered, clinging to him.
“Maybe,” he murmured, his forehead brushing yours for a fraction of a second, “but you came when I called.”
You swallowed hard, tightening your legs around him without meaning to.
His fingers pressed deeper into your hips. His voice dropped—low, unfinished, dangerous.
“Don’t look at me like that… or I’m gonna—”
He didn’t finish. Couldn’t.
The tension stretched—thick, electric, impossible to ignore—your bodies tangled in the water, his hands holding you close, your legs locked around his waist, both of you too breathless to pretend nothing was happening anymore.