Chapter Two
Cade
I ease my Porsche into the underground parking garage of Rowan’s building, the low growl of the engine echoing off concrete walls.
This isn’t the kind of place just anyone can live.
You need serious money and even more connections to secure an apartment here.
I get why Rowan chose a one-bedroom; he’s always been territorial about his space.
Even as teenagers, he hated when anyone stepped foot inside his room.
Door locked, signs up, the whole paranoid routine.
Me? I used to love winding him up without saying a word. Just slipping in when he wasn’t home, moving one of his carefully arranged things an inch to the left, or borrowing a hoodie, so he’d know I’d been there. The silent invasion, the quiet proof that his precious boundaries meant nothing to me.
I kill the engine, pocket my phone, and tuck my wallet into the back of my black jeans. Two clicks of the fob lock the car behind me with a satisfying chirp.
The elevator code is already in my phone, Dad gave it to me, along with instructions for the movers. I punch it in, step inside the mirrored car, and hit the button for the nineteenth floor.
…
When the doors slide open, I immediately notice there are only two apartments on this level.
God knows who lives in the other one; I don’t care.
My focus narrows the second I see Rowan’s door standing wide open, his voice drifting out, muttering to himself in that frustrated tone I’ve always found oddly satisfying.
My boxes are stacked neatly in the hallway like a barricade around his entrance.
I haven’t actually been inside his place yet.
Six months back in the city and we’ve barely crossed paths beyond the occasional family dinner.
Years apart will do that… years of him deliberately keeping his life separate from mine while I stayed in a different state, both of us pretending the distance was mutual.
I step over the threshold and pause, pursing my lips in quiet appreciation.
The apartment is open-plan and surprisingly spacious for a one-bedroom.
A large U-shaped sectional dominates the living area, positioned perfectly to take in the floor-to-ceiling windows and the glittering city skyline beyond.
A sleek media unit with a massive TV sits opposite it.
The kitchen is raised by a single step, creating a subtle separation between spaces without closing anything off.
Plenty of room. So, what the hell is Rowan’s problem? Am I really that unbearable? I barely even talk.
I grin to myself and deliberately flop down onto the sectional. It’s comfortable, plush and deep, the kind of couch you could sink into and never leave. I stretch out, one arm draped along the back, legs spread lazily.
That’s when Rowan finally notices me. The look on his face goes way beyond unimpressed.
It’s pure, concentrated irritation, edged with something sharper.
He opens his mouth, a half-formed word escaping as he jabs a finger sharply in my direction.
Then he snaps it shut, spins on his heel, and stalks down the hallway.
One of the doors slams behind him with a decisive thud.
My grin widens. I push up from the couch. Those boxes aren’t going to move themselves inside.
…
Twenty minutes later, my boxes are lined neatly against the empty wall near the entrance. I didn’t need to bring half this shit here, mostly valuables I didn’t want sitting in storage and enough clothes to last a few weeks, but it’s done now.
I close the front door with a soft click and let out a slow exhale. Well… this is home for however long it takes.
The apartment is quiet, too quiet. It’s just past eight; I wonder if Rowan stormed off to bed early just to avoid me.
I wander down the short hallway. The bathroom door stands open, so I pause, muttering a low “wow” under my breath.
It’s nicer than I expected… a fucking spa.
The shower is massive, easily big enough for multiple people, with rainfall and body jets lining the walls.
The so-called bathtub looks more like a small jacuzzi, deep and sleek.
Everything is spotless, the air carrying a faint, clean scent of something expensive, eucalyptus and cedar, maybe.
The door opposite has to be Rowan’s bedroom. I hesitate for half a second, then press my ear against the wood. Nothing… no movement, no light, no sound. Slowly, I turn the handle and ease the door open just enough to look inside.
The room is dark except for a thin sliver of moonlight slipping through a gap in the blinds.
It’s bigger than I thought it would be, high ceilings, clean lines, private luxury.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Rowan has always known how to carve out his own space.
Still, no guilt stirs in my chest. Only a quiet, curious hum.
I wonder how this little arrangement is going to play out.
We’ve always been opposites. In nearly everything, including how we look.
I smile faintly in the darkness at the memory of Rowan’s reluctant “tall, dark, and handsome” comment earlier tonight.
He’d said it like it annoyed him. Meanwhile, Rowan is objectively good-looking in his own way…
that dirty-blond hair with the stubborn curl that always falls into his face, the sharp cheekbones, the lean, defined build.
That waitress had zeroed in on him instantly.
It makes me wonder why he’s still single.
I fucked around plenty and tried the whole relationship thing once, hated it. She wanted more than I was willing to give… constant attention, future plans, and kids someday. That thought alone had made me end it fast.
A soft rustle breaks the silence. Rowan stirs in his sleep, rolling onto his stomach.
The covers slip down his back, pooling around his hips.
Moonlight traces the sharp lines of his shoulder blades, the smooth dip of his spine, the subtle shift of muscle beneath his skin.
His ass rounds out the sheets, lifted slightly as he settles deeper into the mattress.
My eyes widen. I quietly pull the door shut before I can stare any longer. Nope. I went in to check if he was asleep… not to ogle my stepbrother; that’s fucked up. I shake my head sharply and clear my throat, trying to dislodge the unexpected heat crawling up my neck.
I kill the overhead lights in the living room, strip down to my boxers, and tug the large fluffy blanket off the back of the sectional.
Then I flop down, stretching out. I grab the TV remote and flick on some low-volume background noise, the soft glow of the screen painting shifting colours across the ceiling.
I hate sleeping in complete silence in a new place. The quiet always feels too loud.
But right now, I’m warm, comfortable, and, for the moment, that’s all I care about.