-Sienna-
It didn’t start with love. Or even lust.
It started with hate.
I hated him.
The day Dad brought him home, the hallway felt too small. Like even the walls were holding their breath.
Dad was grinning like he’d just closed some big business deal. His arm was wrapped around Lena, his shiny new wife. She was wearing this soft cream sweater, pearl earrings, hair pulled into one of those neat buns that looked like it had its own security system. Perfect. And fake.
And then there was him.
Jaxon Carter. Nineteen. Taller than I expected. Lean muscle under a black T-shirt. Not smiling. Not frowning. Just looking at me in this slow, measuring way. Like he was figuring out if I was a threat… or prey.
“Sienna, this is Jaxon,” Dad said, all cheerful, like he was introducing me to some distant cousin I should be thrilled about.
I gave the smallest nod possible. “Hey.”
He nodded back. Not one word. His eyes flicked down at my ripped jeans, the band tee I’d slept in, then up to my face. His gaze felt like it had weight.
Lena smiled too sweetly. “We’re all going to get along just fine.”
Sure. And hell was about to freeze over.
The new “family rules” showed up that night. No slamming doors. Chores would be split. Dinner together every night at seven.
I stared at the list on the fridge and said, “Looks like prison.”
Dad’s smile faltered. “It’s about respect, Sienna.”
Jaxon was leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of your way.”
His tone said the opposite.
It started small. His towel left on the bathroom floor after he showered. My trash mysteriously “forgotten” on the curb. Remote control missing until he pulled it from under his thigh with a smug look.
Every night felt like a standoff.
Then there was that Tuesday. The one that changed the air between us.
The shower steam was still clinging to my skin when I stepped into the hallway, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping down my back. I was halfway to my room when his door opened.
He stepped out. Shirtless.
I froze.
He didn’t. He walked toward me like the hallway wasn’t narrow, like my bare shoulders and wet hair didn’t register as something to avoid.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, voice low.
I shook my head. “No.”
His gaze moved over me, slow enough to make my pulse stumble. “You sure?”
“Yes.” My voice cracked.
He stopped just close enough that I could smell his soap. It was clean and sharp, but there was something darker under it, something I couldn’t name.
His eyes locked on mine. “Good.”
For a second, I thought he was going to touch me. His hand twitched like he might. But then he stepped back, walked past me, and disappeared into the bathroom.
I didn’t move until I heard the door click shut.
After that, everything felt different.
We weren’t just avoiding each other. We were circling. Testing.
The next few days were little jabs, a brush of his fingers when he handed me the salt, a smirk when he caught me staring too long.
I told myself it was still hate. That was safer.
Then came Kendra’s party.
The music was too loud, the beer was warm, and I was already regretting saying yes when someone dragged me into a circle on the living room floor.
“Truth or dare,” Kendra announced. Her eyes were glassy.
“Dare,” I said, because I’d rather eat glass than spill actual truths in front of these people.
She grinned like a wolf. “I dare you to kiss your stepbrother.”
The room went quiet.
I didn’t turn my head. I already knew where he was. He was leaning against the wall, one beer in hand, eyes fixed on me like he’d been waiting for this.
“No,” I said.
Kendra pouted. “Chicken?”
My pride flared. “Fine.”
I stood, crossing the room slowly. Every step felt like a choice I couldn’t undo.
When I stopped in front of him, his mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “It’s just a game, Blake.”
I leaned in, planning a quick, meaningless kiss. But the moment my lips touched his, his hand came up, fingers curling around the back of my neck.
It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t meaningless.
His mouth moved against mine with this careful hunger, like he was tasting something he’d been thinking about for a long time. My hands curled into his shirt before I even realized it.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His breath was warm on my lips. “You crossed the line,” he whispered.
I didn’t trust my voice enough to answer.
Dad’s truck headlights flashed through the front window. Someone shouted, “Party’s over!”
Jaxon’s hand slid away, slow. He stepped back. “We’ll talk later,” he said.
I didn’t get the chance to ask what that meant.
Later came faster than I thought.
That night, the house was too quiet. I was brushing my teeth when I heard his door open.
“Come here,” he said.
I almost laughed. “No.”
He leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. “Scared?”
“Of you? Please.”
“Then prove it.”
My heart was a drum in my throat. Still, I walked toward him.
He stepped back into his room, and I followed without thinking.
The air inside felt warmer, heavier. He closed the door with a soft click.
“You’ve been looking at me,” he said.
“You’ve been imagining things.”
He smiled slowly and dangerously. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll open the door.”
I should have said it. I didn’t.
His fingers found my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to pull me closer. “That’s what I thought.”
When his mouth found mine again, there was nothing careful about it. It was heat and teeth and the sound of my own breathing too loud in my ears.
I let him push me back until my knees hit the bed.
“Still hate me?” he asked against my mouth.
“Yes,” I lied.
His laugh was low. “Good. Keep telling yourself that.”
By the time I slipped back to my own room, my hands were still shaking.
I knew this wasn’t going to end quietly.
I just didn’t know how loud it was going to get.
The next morning, nothing was said. Not at breakfast. Not in the hallway. But the air between us was thicker than ever.
It was war now. The kind you didn’t announce. The kind you fought with glances, touches, and words sharpened just enough to draw blood without leaving a mark.
And deep down, I think we both knew one of us was going to lose.