Unwrap Me After Dark

Chapter 1

Liam

I SHOULD HAVE FAKED my death before agreeing to this.

Maybe there’s still time. I could crash my car into the lake instead of driving up this gravel driveway.

Dread pools in my stomach like cement, heavy and cold despite the warm June air streaming through my half-open window. The expanse of water stretches out before me, mocking me with its serenity. This beauty means nothing—it’s just the gilded frame around what’s going to be seven days of pure hell.

The tires crunch to a halt, and I kill the engine, sitting in silence for a moment. Birdsong filters in, along with the chorus of insects. Peaceful. Tranquil. Deceptive. I check my phone one last time, hoping for a message from my mother saying this whole thing is called off. Nothing.

“Fuck,” I mutter, shoving open the car door.

The air smells of pine and sun-warmed wood as I step out, stretching my cramped limbs after the three-hour drive.

The cabin looms before me—rustic with its dark timber walls and wraparound porch, windows glinting in the afternoon light.

It would be charming under any other circumstances. Right now, it just looks like a prison.

This whole trip was Mom’s idea. She found this place online and thought it was perfect for the purpose. The cabin is remote, the nearest town a twenty-minute drive away. It’s so that I can focus on why I’m here.

I grab my duffel from the trunk and trudge up to the porch. A small metal key box hangs beside the front door. I pull up Mom’s text and punch in the code. The box clicks, revealing the key nestled inside.

The door swings open with a creak, releasing the scent of wood and dust. I enter the cabin, letting my bag drop to the floor with a thud.

My eyes adjust to the dimmer light as I take in my surroundings—an open-concept living area with worn but comfortable-looking furniture clustered around a massive stone fireplace.

The kitchen is visible beyond, with its wooden countertops and exposed shelving.

But it’s the hallway that catches my attention—the one that must lead to the bedrooms. Without hesitation, I grab my bag and march down it, examining my options.

The first room I pass is small with twin beds.

Definitely not. The next door opens to reveal a large bedroom with a queen-sized bed, ensuite bathroom, and windows overlooking the lake.

“Mine,” I declare to the empty room, tossing my bag onto the bed.

I move to the window, staring out at the glittering lake.

A dock extends from the property, weathered gray wood leading to a small platform where I can make out an upturned canoe.

Under different circumstances, this place might be relaxing.

But relaxation is impossible when you’re about to be locked in with the person you hate most in the world.

Tyler Murphy. My stepbrother. The bane of my existence for the past six years.

I pace the room, fingers drumming against my thigh. I’ve avoided Tyler successfully since I started college two years ago, limiting our interaction to stilted holiday dinners and the occasional family event. But now our parents have forced this reconciliation on us.

“Fix your relationship,” my mother had said. “Your stepfather and I are renewing our vows in August, and I refuse to have you two glaring at each other across the aisle.”

I wonder if she realizes she’s throwing gasoline and matches into the same room.

I continue my circuit of the cabin, noting the bookshelf filled with aging paperbacks, the board games stacked in a corner cupboard, the collection of fishing gear near the back door. All these wholesome activities we’re supposed to bond over. As if that’d ever happen.

The rumble of an engine interrupts my thoughts. My stomach clenches as if I’ve swallowed a stone. I move to the front window, peering out through the glass. A sleek black car—too flashy and impractical for these gravel roads—rolls up the driveway, dust billowing behind it.

I hold my breath as the car stops. The driver’s door swings open, and there he is.

Tyler steps out into the sunlight, stretching his arms over his head like a cat waking from a nap.

The motion pulls his white t-shirt up, revealing tanned skin and the hard ridges of his abs.

He looks like the college athlete he is—all sculpted muscle and calm confidence.

His light brown hair catches the sun, giving him a golden halo he doesn’t deserve.

I hate everything about him. The way he moves like he’s the center of the universe. How he never seems to doubt himself. And the way his dark brown eyes scan the property, missing nothing—including me, standing at the window like a deer caught in headlights.

His eyes lock with mine through the glass. That infuriating smirk I know too well spreads across his face. He raises one hand in a mocking wave.

I step back from the window, heat rising to my cheeks. Not embarrassment—anger. Always anger when it comes to Tyler. I move to the door, determined not to look like I’m hiding from him. Better to face this head-on and establish boundaries immediately.

By the time I reach the porch, Tyler’s already grabbed his duffel from the trunk. He saunters toward the cabin, his stride loose and confident.

“Miss me, baby bro?” he calls out, voice dripping with amusement.

The nickname sends a familiar flash of irritation through me. “Don’t call me that.”

It’s been years since we lived under the same roof, but my body still reacts on instinct—tensing, bracing, waiting for whatever game he wants to play this time.

He was relentless when we were teenagers.

When I was sixteen, he would shove me against lockers, tease me in front of his friends, twist my wrist behind my back.

It was never enough to leave bruises or really hurt me.

But sufficient to remind me I was smaller, weaker.

To make my stomach knot with humiliation.

And now, he’s here, in my space again, and nothing’s changed.

Tyler chuckles, climbing the steps to stand across from me. Up close, he smells like rhubarb, and sandalwood, and the lingering scent of his car’s leather interior. He’s taller than me by a couple of inches—a fact he never lets me forget.

“Someone’s in a mood,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “What, not happy about our forced family bonding?”

I turn away, pushing back into the house. “Thrilled. Couldn’t you tell?”

Tyler follows, too close behind me. I can feel the heat from his body, the displacement of air as he moves. He’s always done this—invaded my space, pushed boundaries, found the exact distance that makes me uncomfortable and then closed it further.

“Nice place.” He drops his bag by the door and scans the cabin. His eyes catch on the hallway. “Bedrooms down there?”

“I’ve already claimed the master,” I inform him, crossing my arms over my chest.

Something flashes in Tyler’s eyes—a spark of challenge that makes my muscles tense.

He walks past me, brushing against my shoulder, and heads down the hallway.

I follow, watching as he peeks into the smaller bedroom, then pushes open the door to the master.

My duffel sits on the bed, a clear marker of territory.

Tyler turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, you think you get the master bedroom?”

I plant my feet, squaring my shoulders. “I got here first. Deal with it.”

“First come, first served isn’t how this works, Liam.” He steps closer, and I resist the urge to back away. “You should’ve learned that by now.”

“I’m not scared of you,” I spit out.

“No?” Tyler drops his bag, the thud punctuating the challenge in his eyes. He takes another step toward me. “You really wanna fight me for it?”

His voice is low, almost a purr, but there’s steel underneath. A dare. My heart pounds against my ribs, but I stand my ground. This is how it always starts between us—this push and pull, this test of wills. If I back down now, it sets the tone for the entire week.

“I’m not backing down,” I state.

The corner of Tyler’s mouth twitches. Then he lunges.

I have half a second to react before his hand clamps around my throat, pushing me backward. My arms shoot out, shoving against his chest, but he’s built like a rock. My back slams into the wall beside the bedroom door, the impact knocking a grunt from my lungs.

“Get off me,” I snarl, twisting in his grip.

Tyler just tightens his hold on me, eyes alight with that familiar fire. “Make me.”

I drive my knee up, aiming for his groin, but he blocks with his own leg. The collision is painful. We’re locked together, struggling for dominance, his chest pressed against mine. His hammering heart matches the rapid tempo of my own.

“You never learn, do you?” Tyler taunts, his breath hot against my ear.

I gather all my strength and shove him backward, creating a sliver of space between us.

He’s taken by surprise, and his hand around me loosens.

But Tyler recovers quickly, hands grabbing my shoulders.

We grapple, each trying to gain advantage.

My foot catches on the edge of a rug, and Tyler seizes the moment, using my momentary imbalance to sweep my legs out from under me.

We crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

The impact knocks the wind from my lungs, but I barely have time to register the pain before Tyler’s weight settles on top of me.

He grabs both my wrists, pinning them above my head with one powerful hand.

His other forearm braces across my chest, holding me down.

“Give up?” he asks, not even breathing hard.

I buck beneath him, trying to throw him off. “Fuck you.”

The movement brings our bodies into closer contact, and something shifts in Tyler’s expression. His eyes darken, his smirk faltering for just a fraction of a second. We freeze, aware of every point where we connect.

His weight on my hips

My wrists captured in his grip.

The pressure of his arm across my chest.

Our faces inches apart.

Time stretches, elastic and strange. I can count Tyler’s eyelashes. Can see the flecks of gold in his brown irises. Can feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine.

“Careful, baby bro,” he murmurs, his voice husky and amused, but with something else beneath it. “I might think you provoke me on purpose.”

The words send a lightning bolt down my spine. I renew my struggle with sudden desperation, twisting beneath him. “Get the fuck off me.”

This time, he allows it—releasing my wrists and sitting back on his heels. I scramble away, shoving him hard as I attempt to my feet. Tyler stays where he is, kneeling on the floor, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“Get off me, asshole,” I snap, even though he already has.

He laughs, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips before he stands, brushing dust from his jeans. “Whatever you say, Liam.”

I hate the way he says my name. Like it’s a punchline to a joke only he understands.

I storm into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind me. The cabin shakes with the force of it. I lean back against the frame, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to my chest.

My pulse is still racing, my skin flushed and hot.

All those years apart, and those months in therapy.

All my academic achievements. My impeccable reputation.

Friends that love me. The attention from the women.

All of that is shredded to smithereens in just five minutes back in Tyler Murphy’s proximity.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars.

One week. Seven days trapped in this cabin with Tyler. My stepbrother. My bully. My enemy.

The bedroom feels like a flimsy refuge. The door at my back, too thin a barrier against the danger that lies on the other side. This week is going to be a nightmare.