7. Phantom Menace
Phantom Menace
Ari
The morning air is crisp, but the sun has that low heat that tells me it’s going to be hot later, once the marine layer burns off. Sunlight filters through the tall windows in the house in thick beams as I step into the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing the same outfit as yesterday. Hannah and Otto are already seated at the dining table, sipping coffee and reading the paper. Asher is nowhere to be found, but that’s not surprising. He mentioned having a meeting this morning, though I thought he’d at least have breakfast with me before disappearing into work mode.
I grab a cup of coffee and make my way toward the study, where I find him exactly as expected—seated at a large wooden desk, laptop open, phone pressed to his ear.
“Asher,” I say softly, stepping inside.
He doesn’t look up. Instead, he holds up a single finger, signaling me to wait. My stomach twists, the gesture making something small and bitter rise in my throat. It’s not the first time he’s done this when he’s on an important call, but somehow, here, where I don’t know anyone but him, it stings more.
I stand there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot as he continues speaking, completely immersed in whatever conversation he’s having. Minutes pass, and the longer I stand there, the more I feel like an interruption rather than his girlfriend. Finally, he types something into his computer, glances at me, and presses his hand over the receiver.
“What is it?” he asks, his tone clipped.
I swallow the small knot of disappointment in my throat. “I need to go shopping. My clothes—” I exhale, forcing a light chuckle. “Let’s just say they didn’t survive the trip.”
His brow furrows, but his attention is already slipping back to his laptop. “Can you take a rideshare?”
I blink. “I… I don’t really know my way around here.”
“I’ll send you the address of a good shopping center,” he says, already refocusing on his screen. “I’ll check in later, okay?”
I hesitate, waiting—just for a second—to see if he’ll change his mind. If he’ll look at me properly, see the way I’m standing here feeling wholly uncomfortable. But he doesn’t.
I nod, even though he’s barely looking at me. “Okay.”
I turn and leave, pressing my lips together as I make my way back to the kitchen. I shouldn’t be upset. I know Asher is busy at work. But still, I thought?—
“You need to go somewhere?”
The voice is deep, smooth, cutting through my thoughts like a blade.
Maddox.
I turn, finding him leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug in his hand, watching me with that unreadable expression. His presence is all-consuming, even when he’s doing nothing but standing there. He’s broad-shouldered, and though I know they’re twins, he seems taller than Asher. His build is all lean muscle and coiled restraint. The tattoos along his forearms and hands shift slightly as he moves, making my pulse stutter in a way I don’t want to acknowledge.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t offer anything other than quiet, weighty observation.
For a moment, I don’t know how to answer. Something about his attention makes me feel exposed.
“I—uh—yes. Shampoo explosion.”
“I hate when that happens,” Hannah supplies, glancing up from her paper.
Maddox lifts a brow, slow and deliberate, but he doesn’t say anything.
I cross my arms. “It’s not a big deal.”
“You should take her, Maddox,” Otto interjects, setting his coffee down. “She’d probably be bored with us.”
Something flickers in Maddox’s gaze. Amusement. Like he knows exactly what they’re doing.
I shake my head. “That’s okay. I can just?—”
“I’ll take you,” Maddox cuts in, his voice leaving no room for argument.
My lips part, but no sound comes out. He’s not asking. He’s telling .
I hesitate, glancing toward the hallway where Asher is still locked away in his meeting. I should say no. I should insist on finding my own way.
But the idea of wandering an unfamiliar city alone isn’t exactly appealing.
And Maddox…
I exhale sharply. “Fine. But I’m driving.”
A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “No, you’re not.”
Before I can argue, he’s already pushing off the counter, grabbing the keys off the hook by the door.
“You coming?”
I don’t know why I follow him.
But I do, grabbing my purse and sandals from where they sit by the front door.
Maddox drives a sleek black SUV, a rental I assume, since I doubt he owned a car after twenty years inside. He doesn’t speak much as we pull onto Pacific Coast Highway, and I’m painfully aware of how quiet the car is. There’s no radio, no idle chatter. Just the low hum of the engine and the steady, intentional way he handles the wheel.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s focused, relaxed in a way that feels unnerving, like he’s completely in control of every moment.
“How are you allowed to drive?” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I mean… legally?”
His lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile. “I got my license back a week after I got out.”
I nod, unsure what else to say. “Well… thanks for taking me.”
He finally glances at me, his gaze sharp. “You sound like you had a choice.”
I freeze for a second before forcing a small, awkward chuckle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t answer. Just smirks, turning his attention back to the road.
Minutes pass before we pull up to an outdoor shopping plaza. He parks without asking where I want to go, cutting the engine and stepping out before I can process that we’re already here.
I scramble to keep up, stepping onto the sidewalk as he heads toward one of the higher-end boutiques lining the plaza.
“I don’t usually shop in places like this,” I say, eyeing the designer labels on the windows. “I was thinking something more?—”
“This’ll do,” he interrupts, holding the door open for me.
Something about the way he’s looking at me makes my breath hitch. Like he already knows I’ll listen.
I hesitate but step inside, the cool air-conditioned space washing over me.
And Maddox? He follows right behind me.
The store is elegant, quiet, with racks of carefully curated pieces hanging several inches apart from each other. Oh, this place is fancy fancy. I scan the shelves, already knowing I’ll have to be careful not to spend too much.
Maddox walks past me, plucking a dress off the rack and holding it up. “Try this.”
I blink. “What?”
His eyes meet mine, and before I can ask if he’s joking, he continues. “It’ll complement your eyes.”
I let out a soft laugh, caught between amusement and pure disbelief. “Are you serious? You don’t even know my style.”
His eyes drag lazily down my body, and the way he’s looking at me should be illegal. I feel the trail of electricity his gaze leaves on my skin, and I squirm uncomfortably under his gaze.
“I know what’ll look good on you.”
The way he says it makes my stomach flip. I should argue. I should roll my eyes and brush him off. Asher would never pick clothes out for me—he hardly notices what I’m wearing on a good day.
Instead, I take the dress, stomping to the dressing room as he chuckles.
Asshole.
The boutique is quiet, save for the soft hum of instrumental music and the occasional rustle of hangers sliding along racks. When I pull the dress over my head, I study it with a frown. It’s a sleek, black slip dress, something far more fitted than what I usually wear. And yet…
And yet…
Fuck him. I love it. And it does bring out my brown eyes, dammit.
Letting out a low growl, I open the dressing room door just enough to pop my head out and tell him to his face, but he’s right there, holding an armful of hangers.
I snatch them out of his hand without saying a word.
One outfit turns into seven, and soon I’m standing at the register with more than I intended to buy. He knew my size… something I remind myself to ask him about later, because it’s weird. And except for a very revealing skirt, I’m buying everything he picked out for me. It’s all high quality—silks and cashmere, thin cotton that feels like butter, linen fabric that feels way too expensive, and a pair of jeans that somehow hugs my ass and hips in all the right places.
I reach into my bag for my wallet, but before I can pull it out, Maddox steps forward and hands the cashier his card.
“Wait—Maddox, no.”
He doesn’t even look at me. “Don’t waste your breath.”
I see the cashier throw some lacy underwear and matching bra sets into the bag as well, and I roll my eyes. The transaction is done before I can fight him on it, and the total makes my eyes bug out. That’s a very high, four-figure number—more than I’ve ever spent on… anything. The cashier hands over the bags, and Maddox takes them without a word. My fingers twitch at my sides.
“I could’ve paid for my own clothes,” I murmur as we step outside.
“You could’ve,” he agrees easily, carrying the bags toward the car. “But you didn’t.”
I scowl. “Because you didn’t give me a choice.”
He pauses at the passenger door, glancing at me, his gaze steady. “You could’ve fought harder.”
Heat prickles along my skin. I don’t know what to say to that, because the worst part is?—
He’s right.
I shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as I did, the way he took control, the way he decided things without hesitation. It should bother me. It does bother me.
I let him do it.
And I don’t know why.
“Also, the underwear is totally inappropriate.”
He smirks, unlocking the car. “Exactly why I picked it.”
Asshole.
With a scowl, I go to reach for the handle before remembering the midsummer gift. “Oh, wait. I need to get a present,” I say quickly.
He arches a brow, and damn, that shouldn’t be so hot. It’s unfair, really, how attractive he is. His face is so much like Asher’s, yet nothing like it at all. The same sharp jawline, the same striking blue eyes. But where Asher is polished like stone, Maddox is roughly worn down by granite or lava… which makes him seem more dangerous because of it.
My stomach flips when he lets his gaze wander down to my feet briefly, and it’s like my body recognizes him before my mind can catch up, like some twisted version of muscle memory. Like a trick played on me by my own instincts, lulling me into a false sense of familiarity—of safety because he’s my boyfriend’s twin and I recognize Asher in his features.
Because no other explanation makes sense.
Nothing else explains why my pulse jumps when he takes a slow, deliberate step closer, so close that my back presses against his car. I feel cornered, but I’m not entirely sure I want to run.
“Okay. I’ll wait here,” he murmurs, smirking as he gives me a knowing look.
I push past him and walk to the plant shop next to the boutique we just cleared out, and a minute later, I’m walking back to the car with a small snake plant wrapped in plain brown paper. I figure whoever I get for the present exchange will appreciate a plant that’s hard to kill and easy to maintain.
I glance at him as I approach the car. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something beneath it—confidence, or arrogance, maybe?
Maddox opens the passenger door for me, waiting. Not offering, not suggesting— waiting . Like he already knows I’ll listen. I hesitate, just for a second. The sharp scent of leather and faint traces of cologne linger in the air between us, something familiar tugging in the back of my mind. I shouldn’t like how expectant he looks, like he knows I’m going to obey.
I swallow and step inside.
He loads the trunk with my bags, and I shift in my seat, arms crossed loosely over my chest and the plant safely at my feet. He doesn’t turn on the radio once we pull out of the parking lot—again. Doesn’t fill the silence with idle conversation—again.
He doesn’t have to.
The drive back to the house is quiet, almost eerie. Maddox grips the wheel with an ease that’s almost lazy, but there’s control in his posture, in the way his fingers flex against the leather. The quiet stretches, thick and oppressive. My skin prickles.
Finally, once we’re a few blocks from the vacation house, he speaks. “You liked that.”
My head snaps toward him. “What?”
His lips twitch at the corner, not quite a smile. “Don’t play dumb with me, Ari.” My pulse spikes, and I suddenly feel hot all over. “You liked relinquishing control.”
I scoff, but I can’t deny the flush spreading down to my chest. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’m right.”
I exhale sharply, turning to stare out the window. I hate that I don’t have a retort. I hate that my face feels like I got too much sun, that there’s a kernel of truth in his words I don’t want to acknowledge.
Maddox shifts gears effortlessly, his fingers flexing around the wheel.
I swallow, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You don’t know me.”
He lets out a low hum of amusement. “No?”
I don’t answer.
When we pull into the driveway, Asher is already outside. He watches as we park, his jaw hardening when he sees Maddox open my door.
“You let him take you?” Asher asks, his voice edged with something sharp.
I bristle at his choice of words. “It was your parents’ idea,” I say, brushing past him and heading inside.
I don’t have the energy to fight about something that isn’t even worth arguing over.
But just as I reach the doorway, I glance back.
Maddox lingers behind, his presence stretching the moment just long enough to make Asher uncomfortable. He already has my bags in his hands, and he winks once at Asher, whose face turns a bright, purple-ish red with rage.
Well, this should be fun.
I don’t look back again, but I can feel it—the tension crackling between them, an invisible war waged in silence. I don’t want to be a witness to whatever the fuck kind of family drama they’re involved in.