Caspian's POV
I knocked on Isla's door at midnight, my phone burning in my hand like evidence of a crime.
The fake Instagram account. The threatening messages. The photos someone had sent me—pictures of Isla from six months ago, at that engagement party, with cruel captions about gold-diggers and social climbers.
Natasha was waging war, and Isla was the target.
The door opened. Isla stood there in pajamas, her hair messy, eyes wide and frightened.
"What's wrong?" she asked immediately.
I held up my phone, showing her the account. "Did you know about this?"
Her face went pale. "I just saw it. I blocked it, but—"
"There are more. At least five accounts, all saying the same thing. All targeting you." I ran my hand through my hair, trying to stay calm even though rage was boiling in my veins. "Your sister is trying to destroy your reputation before you even have a chance to rebuild it."
Isla's hands started shaking. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking small and vulnerable and so damn brave it made my chest ache.
"Of course she is," Isla whispered. "That's what Natasha does. She can't stand that I might actually be happy for once."
"I'm handling it. My lawyers will have the accounts taken down by morning, and I'm filing harassment charges—"
"No." Isla looked up at me, her green eyes fierce despite the fear. "Don't. It'll just make things worse. Natasha wants attention. If you fight her legally, she'll go to the press. She'll make this into a huge scandal and drag your family through the mud."
"I don't care about the scandal."
"Well, I do! Your father just married my mother. They're happy. I'm not going to destroy that because my sister is a psycho."
We stared at each other in the hallway, and I realized we were standing too close. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her eyes. Close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo—something floral and clean that made me want to bury my face in her hair.
This was wrong. So wrong.
But I couldn't make myself step back.
"Let me help you," I said quietly. "Please. You don't have to fight this alone."
"Why do you care?" Her voice broke slightly. "Two weeks ago you hated me. Called me a gold-digger to my face. Now you're punching my ex-boyfriend and threatening my sister and—I don't understand you, Caspian. I don't understand any of this."
Neither did I.
"Go to sleep," I said, forcing myself to move back. "We'll figure this out in the morning."
I left before I could do something stupid. Like tell her the truth—that I'd been thinking about her every second since the wedding. That I listened for her footsteps in the morning like a creep. That seeing her hurt made me want to burn down the world.
Back in my room, I couldn't sleep. Just lay there staring at the ceiling, hating myself for being a coward.
---
The next morning, I woke up early and went for a run, trying to clear my head.
It didn't work.
By the time I got back to the penthouse at six-thirty, I was sweaty, frustrated, and no closer to figuring out what to do about Isla.
I headed straight for the kitchen, planning to grab water and escape to my room before anyone else woke up.
But someone was already there.
Isla stood at the counter making coffee, wearing old jeans and a simple t-shirt that should have looked ordinary but somehow made her look even more beautiful. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun. No makeup. Just her, natural and perfect and completely devastating.
She turned when I walked in, and our eyes met.
"Morning," she said carefully.
"Morning." I grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator, trying not to stare at her.
Failing miserably.
"Want coffee?" she offered.
"I'm fine."
Awkward silence. I should leave. Should get out of this kitchen before I did something stupid.
But my feet wouldn't move.
"About last night," Isla started. "Thank you. For telling me about the accounts. And for offering to help."
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing." She set down her coffee cup and turned to face me fully. "You've been... different. Since Derek showed up. Nicer. And I guess I just want to know why. What changed?"
Everything. Nothing. I didn't know anymore.
"I realized I was wrong about you," I admitted. "You're not what I thought."
"What did you think I was?"
"Someone like the women I usually meet. Users. Social climbers. People who only care about money and status."
"And now?"
"Now I think you're someone who's been hurt by people who should have protected you. Someone who's trying to rebuild with dignity and strength." I paused. "Someone who deserves better than the way I treated you."
Isla's eyes widened. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she smiled—small, tentative, but real. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me in months."
"That's depressing."
She laughed, and the sound did something dangerous to my chest.
This was bad. This whole situation was spiraling out of control.
I needed to leave. Needed to put distance between us before—
"Caspian?" Isla took a step closer. "Can I ask you something?"
"Why were you so mean at the wedding? The real reason?"
Because I wanted you. Because you scared me. Because I knew from the first second that you could destroy me.
"I don't know," I lied.
"I think you do know. You're just too stubborn to admit it."
She was right. And she was standing too close now. Close enough that I could see the freckles on her nose. Close enough that if I just reached out—
My phone buzzed, shattering the moment.
I grabbed it like a lifeline. A text from my assistant: *Emergency board meeting in one hour. Your presence required.*
"I have to go," I said abruptly. "Work emergency."
I practically ran from the kitchen.
---
The board meeting was torture. Three hours of discussions about acquisitions and market shares, and I couldn't focus on any of it.
All I could think about was Isla. Standing in my kitchen. Looking at me like maybe, just maybe, she didn't hate me anymore.
This was a disaster.
I needed to get control of myself. Needed to remember all the reasons this was impossible.
After the meeting, Liam cornered me in the hallway.
"You look terrible," he observed. "Worse than yesterday, which I didn't think was possible."
"Thanks."
"It's the stepsister, isn't it? You're falling for her."
"I'm not—"
"Please. You spent the entire meeting staring into space. Mr. Peterson asked you a direct question and you didn't even hear him." Liam crossed his arms. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing. She lives in my house. She's my father's stepdaughter. Getting involved would be—"
"The best thing that's happened to you in years," Liam finished. "Look, I get that the timing is complicated. But you can't spend the rest of your life alone because you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're terrified. You've been terrified since your mom died. Terrified of losing someone else you care about. So you push everyone away and pretend work is enough." He paused. "But it's not enough, Caspian. And you know it."
I did know it.
The question was: what was I willing to risk?
---
I got home at eight that night. The penthouse was quiet. Dad and Victoria were out at some charity event.
Which meant Isla and I were alone.
I found her in the library, curled up on the couch with a book. She looked up when I walked in, and something in her expression made my heart race.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi."
"How was work?"
"Long." I loosened my tie, suddenly nervous. "How was your day?"
"Weird. I kept thinking about this morning. About what you said."
Oh God. "Isla—"
"No, let me finish." She set down her book and stood up. "You said I deserve better. But so do you. You deserve better than being alone in this huge penthouse, working all the time, never letting anyone in."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" She moved closer, and I should have backed up but couldn't. "I see how you look at me, Caspian. I see how you watch me when you think I'm not paying attention. And I need to know—is it just me? Am I imagining this thing between us?"
No. She wasn't imagining it.
"We can't," I said hoarsely. "You know we can't."
"Because of our parents? They're not related. We're not related. So what's really stopping us?"
Me. My fear. My absolute certainty that if I let myself have her, I'd never survive losing her.
But she was standing so close now. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.
And I was so tired of fighting this.
"Isla," I warned. "If you don't walk away right now—"
"What? What will you do?"
Everything. Nothing would ever be the same.
I reached out and cupped her face with one hand. Her skin was soft, warm. She leaned into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed.
"This is a mistake," I whispered.
"Then let's make it together."
I kissed her.
It was gentle at first—testing, careful. But the second our lips met, something exploded between us. She made a soft sound and wrapped her arms around my neck, and I pulled her closer, kissing her like I was drowning and she was air.
This was madness. This was wrong.
This was the most right thing I'd felt in six years.
I pulled back, breathing hard. Isla looked up at me with kiss-swollen lips and dazed eyes.
"Caspian—"
The front door slammed open.
"Isla!" A man's voice, drunk and angry. "I know you're here! We need to talk!"
Derek. Her ex-fiancé.
And from the sound of it, he'd brought friends.
Isla went pale. "How did he get past security?"
I didn't know, but I was about to find out.
I strode toward the entryway, fury replacing every other emotion. Isla followed, grabbing my arm.
"Don't," she pleaded. "Just call the police. Don't—"
"Stay here," I ordered.
I rounded the corner and found Derek in my foyer with two other men. All three were drunk, swaying, clearly looking for trouble.
Derek's eyes lit up when he saw me. "There he is! The big bad Steele, stealing other men's women—"
"Get. Out."
"Or what? You'll hit me again?" Derek laughed bitterly. "I'm not afraid of you anymore. And Isla needs to hear the truth. Needs to know that her precious new family is built on lies."
"What are you talking about?" Isla appeared beside me, her voice shaking.
Derek's smile turned cruel. "Ask your mother why she really married Richard Steele. Ask her about the debts. The blackmail. The deal she made to save your father's company."
My blood ran cold.
"That's a lie," Isla whispered.
"Is it? Then why did your father's bankruptcy disappear the day after the wedding?" Derek pulled out his phone, showing us a photo. Financial documents. Bank transfers. All dated the week of the wedding.
"Richard Steele paid off James Monroe's debts," Derek announced triumphantly. "Millions of dollars. In exchange for what, I wonder? Maybe... a beautiful new wife?"
Isla swayed. I caught her, pulling her against me.
"You're lying," I said. But doubt crept in. Could it be true?
"Am I? Ask them yourself." Derek's eyes gleamed with malice. "Your father was played, Steele. And Isla's in on it. The whole family is."
The front door opened again.
Victoria and Richard stood there, still in their evening clothes, staring at the scene in horror.
"W
hat's going on?" Richard demanded.
Derek turned to him. "I was just telling your son about your generous wedding gift to James Monroe. Want to explain that?"
Richard's face went carefully blank. Not confused. Not angry.
Guilty.
"Oh my God," Isla whispered. "It's true."