The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully. My stepbrother and I both had summer internships at his mother’s company. He was the legacy Mr. Future CEO in training. Me? It just looked good on my résumé. I had no desire to climb the corporate ladder.

Today was a blur of learning names, filing paperwork, and collecting a fine collection of papercuts. But the busywork was a blessing; it kept my mind off that lying, cheating asshole

My phone vibrated against the desk..

Don’t forget 8 p.m. tonight. I’ll know if you forget. x

My breath caught.

The party. The heat. The chaos of my body betraying me as I pressed against Ethan in the dark car after watching my boyfriend devour another girl.

It hadn’t been my boyfriend. I know that now. But the only other possibility was one I refused to believe.

It couldn’t be Ethan.

Sure, he was hot with all messy confidence and that infuriating frat-boy grin, and yeah, he brought home a new girl nearly every other night. But beyond the teasing and the occasional family dinner, our worlds barely brushed.

Still… something in me remembered the way his hand had felt around my arm that night steady, commanding and how his eyes hadn’t looked smug, for once, but hungry. Too aware.

(Knock, knock.)

I blinked, snapping out of my spiral. When I turned toward the door, he was there. Standing in my doorway like he owned the place, swinging his car keys lazily around one finger.

“I was told to give you a lift home.”

My mouth went dry. I’d taken the train in, fully planning to take it back. I hadn’t been alone with him since that night since the car, the silence, the way his voice had wrapped around my name.

“Ah, it’s okay,” I said quickly. “I’ll just catch the train later.”

He frowned, one brow lifting in quiet amusement. “You’re not catching the damn train at this hour. Now get your stuff and let’s go unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out.”

My cheeks flamed. He said it so casually, but the words hit deep, conjuring flashes I didn’t want to remember.

“Fine,” I muttered, shoving my laptop into my bag and brushing past him toward the elevator.

I hated elevators. Always had. Every time those metal doors closed, I imagined getting stuck trapped for hours in that humming box.

The doors slid shut behind us. Just me. And him. The sound of his slow breathing filled the narrow space, thick and steady.

The air felt charged heavily with something I didn’t want to name.

The drive home was silent. Ethan didn’t speak, didn’t even look at me, just kept his eyes fixed on the road like the world outside was more interesting than the girl beside him. But every time the car slowed, I caught his reflection in the window, his jaw tight, his fingers drumming on the wheel like he was holding something back.

The streetlights flickered across his face as we turned onto our road, carving his profile in gold and shadow. My pulse was ridiculous. Too fast. Too loud.

When he finally pulled into the driveway, I reached for the handle immediately, desperate to escape the weight in the air.

“Wait.” His voice stopped me. Low. Rough. Commanding.

I froze.

He leaned back in his seat, studying me with that unreadable look again. “You got my message.”

My heart thudded once, hard. “What message?”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth curving in that slow, dangerous way that always meant trouble. “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly which one.”

The toy. The schedule. The note.

I swallowed hard. “It was you.”

He didn’t answer, just opened his door and stepped out. By the time I fumbled with my bag, he was already at my side, opening mine for me like some dark, infuriating gentleman.

“Inside,” he said simply.

The word wasn’t a suggestion.

I wanted to argue to tell him he had no right, that what he’d done was manipulative, insane but my legs moved anyway. The house was quiet, lights dim. Our parents were away for the week, and the silence wrapped around us like static.

He followed me in, closing the door with a soft click that somehow sounded final.

I turned to face him. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t I?” His tone was soft, almost teasing, but his eyes were sharp. “You could’ve stopped it anytime. You didn’t.”

“I didn’t know it was you!”

“And if you had?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Because I didn’t know.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, the touch deliberate, electric. His breath was warm against my cheek.

“I told you,” he murmured, “I’d know if you forgot.”

She stood frozen after he left the room, the echo of his voice still humming through her chest.

The air felt too thick to breathe.

Upstairs, the house was dim and still. She pushed open her bedroom door and leaned against it, trying to steady herself. On the nightstand sat the velvet pouch exactly where she’d left it. Waiting.

Her pulse quickened. She shouldn’t even touch it. But she did.

The fabric was soft between her fingers, deceptively innocent. She loosened the drawstring, staring at what lay inside, remembering every tremor, every moment she’d lost control.

Her throat tightened. Don’t forget 8 p.m., the message had said. And now it was 6:58.

She had one hour.

She turned toward the bathroom, flicking on the light. Steam soon filled the air as water poured into the tub, hot enough to blur the mirror. She slipped out of her clothes slowly, methodically like she could shed the confusion along with them.

When she stepped into the bath, the heat swallowed her whole.

She let herself sink under, hair fanning out around her, the water muffling everything her heartbeat, her thoughts, the ache that had followed her home.

When she surfaced again, the velvet pouch still sat on the edge of the tub, catching droplets of light through the steam.

Her fingers hovered near it. She didn’t know if she wanted to obey or to defy him, just to see what would happen if she didn’t. Either way, the thought of him knowing what she chose made her shiver.

Steam curled along the bathroom walls. The conjoined space between their rooms had always been neutral ground, a respected boundary. But not anymore

She listened. The faint sound of Ethan’s footsteps echoed from his side, the creak of floorboards, the low hum of music behind his door.

Her pulse wouldn’t slow.

By the time she rose from the bath, skin flushed and damp, the decision was already made. She dried off slowly, drew on her camisole and sleep shorts, and glanced at the pouch one last time.

Whatever this game was, she was still playing.

In the mirror, her reflection stared back wide-eyed, uncertain, but no longer pretending she wasn’t curious.

She brushed her teeth, moving through the small motions of routine as though they might make her feel normal again. From the other side of the shared door came a sound: a drawer sliding shut, a single step, then quiet.

He was there. So close she could almost feel it.

When she finally slipped into bed, the air still smelled faintly of lavender and heat. The clock read 8:01.

She turned onto her side, facing the wall that divided their rooms.

A vibration stirred beneath the quiet, intense and unmistakable. A new function has been added tonight. The toy started thrusting into her G-spot, her breath caught. She clutched the sheet tighter, trying to stay still, heart pounding at the thought that he might know. She lay there gasping as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. 

Coming down from the quickest and most intense orgasm she had ever had, she noticed that her bathroom door was now wide open. Steam was filling the room, but not enough that she couldn’t see Ethan in the shower. One hand on the wall, the other wrapped around his hard manhood. She watched as his hand moved faster and faster until he came all over the glass.