Falling for my Husbands Step Brother by Hawtsaus

Lauren

I hated airports. The noise, the lines, the fact that they always smelled like over-brewed coffee and jet fuel. But most of all, I hated what this one represented- goodbye to everything I knew.

I tightened my grip on my suitcase handle as I stepped into the arrival terminal of JFK, blinking against the fluorescent lights. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished it out, already knowing who it would be.

Mom: Ronan is waiting outside. Be nice, okay?

I rolled my eyes and didn't bother replying.

Be nice.

As if I was the one who needed that reminder.

I stepped through the sliding glass doors and scanned the crowd. It didn't take long to spot him. Leaning against a sleek black Mercedes, arms crossed, designer sunglasses hiding half his face- Ronan Pitts looked exactly like the kind of guy who knew he was better than you.

Tall. Sharp jawline. Dressed in black from head to toe like he was headed to a fashion show or a funeral. Maybe both.

He didn't wave. Didn't move. Just gave me a once-over and turned to open the passenger door.

Charming.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I approached the car and forced a smile. "Hey. Thanks for picking me up."

"You're late," he said without looking at me.

Okay, so that's how it was going to be.

I slid into the leather seat and shut the door, biting back a snarky reply. This wasn't just a ride-it was the start of my new life, and I wasn't about to let Ronan Pitts ruin it before it even began.

But as the car pulled away from the curb, silence thick between us, I couldn't ignore the way his jaw clenched when our arms accidentally brushed. Or how my heart stuttered just a little too hard in my chest. This was going to be a problem. A big one.

I didn't sleep well that night. Maybe it was the too-soft pillows, or maybe it was the strange silence that filled the mansion after dark- like it was holding its breath. But most likely, it was Ronan's words echoing in my head.

"You're not my sister."

What did that even mean?

He didn't say it like he hated the idea of a sibling. He said it like... like it was something else. Something I couldn't name yet.

I finally drifted off sometime after three, only to be jolted awake at seven by sunlight blazing through the windows. I groaned and pulled the blankets over my head. Jet lag was evil.

Downstairs, the smell of coffee lured me to the kitchen. My mom and Gregory were already gone for the day, probably off to meetings and brunches and whatever billionaires did on a Tuesday. The housekeeper, Marta, smiled warmly and handed me a plate with toast and eggs. I thanked her and sat at the marble island.

Ronan was already there, dressed in a gray hoodie and black joggers, casually scrolling through his phone like he hadn't shattered my sense of normal the night before.

He didn't look up as he spoke. "Sleep okay, princess?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Did you just call me princess?"

"If the tiara fits."

"I should throw this toast at your head."

"Please. At least throw something gluten-free."

I blinked, then laughed-before I could stop myself. His smirk grew a fraction wider.

Was he being... nice?

"You always this annoying in the morning?" I asked.

"Only when I'm forced to share breakfast with someone who drinks coffee with too much sugar."

I looked down at my cup. "It's called personality."

"It's called a blood sugar spike."

I shook my head, grinning despite myself. "You know, you were a lot colder at the airport."

He set his phone down and finally looked at me. "You surprised me."

"By existing?"

"By not being a brat," he said simply.

"Well, the week is young," I muttered, sipping my sugary coffee.

Something passed between us then-a flicker of something I didn't want to name. Chemistry. Tension. A beat too long of eye contact. Whatever it was, it made my pulse trip over itself.

Ronan stood abruptly, grabbing his mug. "I've got training."

"Training?"

He nodded. "Boxing."

Of course. The brooding bad boy boxes. I should've guessed.

"Are you good?"

He shot me a look. "Come find out."

My eyes widened. "Was that a challenge or a threat?"

"Both." He was smiling, just slightly, as he disappeared through the side door.

And just like that, he was gone again-leaving behind a silence that felt anything but empty.

Later that afternoon, I wandered the house, trying not to feel like I was trespassing in someone else's world. Every hallway was immaculate, every piece of furniture probably cost more than my entire tuition bill.

I found a piano room, a gym, even a sunroom filled with plants that looked way too healthy to be real.

And then, as I turned a corner, I heard the dull rhythm of fists meeting pads.

Curiosity tugged me toward the gym. There he was. Ronan. Shirtless, gloved, focused. He moved like he was made of muscle and precision, sweat dripping down his back as he landed punch after punch on a padded target held by a grizzled trainer.

I should've left. I should've turned around. But I didn't... I watched... And when he finally noticed me, he didn't stop.

He just smirked. "Enjoying the show?"

I flushed. "Just... exploring."