Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
KAI
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.
That’s the first problem.
The second is that I can’t seem to stop.
I sit at the table with my phone in my hand, screen lit, thumb moving just enough to make it look real. I haven’t read a single word in the last five minutes.
All I can hear is upstairs.
Not actual sounds – nothing concrete. Just the awareness of her being there. Like something in the house has shifted its centre of gravity and everything else is quietly rearranging around it.
It’s irritating.
It shouldn’t matter this much.
She’s part of a game. That’s all this was ever meant to be.
A bet. A distraction. Something to keep the summer interesting, especially once it was clear she thought I was my brother.
Not…this.
Jaw tightening, I cover my mouth, holding whatever wants out in.
Because if I let myself follow that thought through, it lands somewhere I don’t want it to.
Somewhere dangerous.
Somewhere that sounds a lot like mine.
I huff out a quiet breath and push the idea away before it can take shape.
No.
Absolutely not.
She’s not mine.
And even if she was—
My grip tightens slightly around my phone.
Would she even choose me?
The thought hits sharper than I expect.
Because she doesn’t know me.
Not really.
Everything she thinks she knows – every message, every conversation, every moment she’s been drawn in – it hasn’t been me.
It’s been him.
Koa.
I’m the wrong twin.
A flicker of something ugly twists low in my chest. Guilt, probably. Or something close enough that I don’t want to examine it too closely.
I’ve been playing a part this whole time. Letting her look at me and see someone else. Letting her trust something that isn’t real.
And now—
Now this is turning into something that might actually matter.
“Okay,” Koa says from the doorway. “That’s not normal.”
I look up, irritation snapping back into place like armour. “What isn’t?”
“The house.”
I snort. “Bro, it creaks.”
He shoots me a look. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
I do. And I hate that I do.
I set my phone down and rub a hand over my face. “You’re picking up on it too, then.”
I knot we touched on this briefly before but there’s something heavier being unsaid right now.
“Yes,” he says flatly.
We sit with that for a moment.
I try to make a joke. It dies halfway out of my mouth.
“She’s asleep,” I say instead. “Sol said.”
“For now,” Koa replies.
That phrase again.
I shift in my chair, suddenly restless. “You reckon he’s overreacting?”
“No.” Koa’s gaze flicks toward the stairs. Toward Sol’s room.
I frown. “That was quick.”
“She’s not right,” he says. “You smelled it.”
I did. I just don’t want to think about what that means.
“She’s sick,” I say, stubbornly. “People get sick.”
She may be an omega. She may even be our brother’s scent match. But she isn’t—
“Yes,” Koa agrees. “They do. But they don’t change a whole house like this.”
That lands uncomfortably close to the truth.
I lean back, crossing my arms, shifting uncomfortably, not wanting to admit to anything. “You’re saying what, exactly?”
“I’m saying,” he replies carefully, “that whatever’s happening to her isn’t random.”
I force myself to scoff. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“You always say that,” he counters. “Right before admitting I was right.”
I open my mouth to argue—
—and stop.
Because underneath the irritation, underneath the defensiveness, there’s something else gnawing at me. Something I haven’t wanted to name since the first day I walked into the café and she pounced on me like she wasn’t afraid of anything.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale hard through my mouth.
This is bullshit. Finn’s checked out – he’s barely even pretending anymore. I’m the only one actually playing this game and taking the bet seriously. Finn’s distracted. Gone soft. And now she’s here, in our space, and it’s going to wreck everything.
This summer was meant to be fun. A game. A challenge. Something to keep things interesting. Not whatever this is turning into.
The silence stretches.
Then Koa says quietly, “Maybe we should call it off.”
I bark out a laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“The bet,” he clarifies – even though I know exactly what he means. “All of it. Before it gets messier.”
“And why would we do that?” I ask. “Because you’ve suddenly grown a conscience?”
“Because she’s not part of this,” he says. “And she shouldn’t be collateral damage.”
I still. Slowly turn back to him.
“You like her.”
It’s not a question.
Koa doesn’t immediately answer, which is answer enough.
“I haven’t had a chance to get to know her,” he says carefully. “But there’s…something there.”
I snort. “You’ve known her, what – two days?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does when you’re talking like this,” I fire back. “You’re projecting. You always do. You see something shiny and convince yourself it means more.”
His eyes flash. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“Oh please,” I say. “I know exactly what I am. I don’t pretend it’s destiny every time someone looks at me twice.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” I challenge.
He hesitates.
“I think she’s my omega,” he says finally.
The word lands heavier than I expect.
I scoff immediately. “You’re reaching.”
“Am I?” he asks. “You didn’t feel it at all?”
“No,” I say too fast. “I felt her attitude. Big difference.”
“She calmed when Sol was near her,” Koa continues. “She obviously does the same for Finn. And you know she reacted a little to both of us too. We talked about this before. That’s not nothing.”
My chest tightens, sharp and unwelcome.
“That doesn’t mean anything. She tolerated you,” I snap nastily. “That’s not the same thing.”
“That’s bullshit,” he snaps right back. “Is that what this is, then? Jealousy?”
I laugh, sharp and humourless. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
But the word sticks anyway, crawling under my skin.
“So what,” I say, pushing past him and pacing once. “You’re saying she’s yours?”
“If she’s a scent match—”
“She’s not,” I cut in.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough,” I say. “And even if she was, that doesn’t mean we blow everything up over a maybe.”
Koa sighs. “I stopped playing the game the moment I met her.”
Footsteps sound on the stairs.
Slow. Heavy.
I turn just as Sol appears in the doorway, his gaze sharp, already suspicious.
“What are you two bickering about now?” he asks.
The air drops ten degrees.
I glance at Koa. He gives me a look that says be careful.
I straighten. “Nothing.”
Sol’s eyes flick between us. “Then why do you both look like you’re planning a funeral?”
“Because you’re hovering,” I say lightly. “And you hate it when we point that out.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m handling it.”
“We know,” Koa says.
“Then stay out of it.”
He turns back toward the stairs, already done with us.
As he leaves, something cold settles in my gut.
This isn’t going to stay contained.
And when it blows, it won’t be the bet that ruins everything.
It’ll be the thing I’m absolutely not ready to admit is getting under my skin.