7. Zoey
ZOEY
I shift in my seat for the third time in ten minutes, trying to find a position that doesn't remind me of what Zachary did to me this morning.
The soreness between my legs refuses to let me forget, a constant ache that has nothing to do with the lecture Professor Marin delivers about spatial relationships and flow in interior design.
"The negative space is just as important as the furnishings themselves," she says, gesturing to the projection screen. "Never underestimate the power of emptiness."
I should be taking notes. This will be on the midterm.
Instead, I'm hyperaware of the bruises hidden beneath my jeans—fingerprint-shaped marks on my hips where Zachary gripped me while he thrust inside me on his bed.
My body feels different since he took my virginity. Changed. Claimed. No longer innocent.
The girl next to me scribbles furiously in her notebook. I glance down at my own page—three sentences in forty minutes. Pathetic.
I force myself to focus, pen moving across paper.
But my mind keeps drifting back to Zachary's hands on my skin, his cock stretching me, the way he looks at me like I'm his possession.
It's wrong. He's my stepbrother, nearly twice my age, supposed to be family.
But my body doesn't care about wrong anymore.
My body only cares that he's not touching me right now.
When class finally ends, I gather my books and head into the hallway. Students stream past, talking about weekend plans and upcoming assignments. Normal college life that feels increasingly distant from my reality.
"Zoey! Hey, wait up."
I turn to see Brandon jogging toward me, design textbooks tucked under one arm. His friendly smile is exactly the same as always—open, harmless, just a classmate.
"You want to work on the restaurant project?" He adjusts his messenger bag. "I was thinking the library. I've got some new ideas for the lighting scheme."
"Sure." The word comes out automatically, but my stomach tightens. I remember Zachary's rage last night when I mentioned working with Brandon. The possessive fury in his eyes.
We settle into a quiet corner of the campus library, spreading fabric samples and floor plans across the table. Brandon launches into his concept for ambient versus task lighting, sketching quick diagrams. He's focused, professional, discussing lumens and color temperature with enthusiasm.
No flirtation. No inappropriate behavior. Exactly as I told Zachary—just a project partner.
But I see Brandon differently now through Zachary's jealous eyes. Is he sitting too close? Was that smile too friendly? I never thought of Brandon as anything but a classmate before, but Zachary's possessiveness made me so conscious. Guilty for something I haven't even done.
My phone buzzes against the table. I glance down at the screen.
Zachary: Where are you?
My stomach flips. I know that tone even through text—demanding, possessive, expecting immediate answers.
Brandon is still talking about fixture placement. I pick up my phone, debating whether honesty is wise. But lying will only make things worse when he inevitably finds out.
Me: Library with Brandon, working on project
I hit send and immediately regret it.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. My pulse quickens with each flash.
Zachary: Which library? Campus?
Oh god. He better not show up here.
Me: Yes, campus library. Just working, nothing else
The three dots vanish without a response. That worries me more than any reply would have. I set my phone face-down on the table, trying to focus on Brandon's lighting concept. He's explaining his inspiration from a restaurant in Portland, showing me reference photos on his laptop.
I nod. Make appropriate sounds. But my gaze keeps flicking to my phone, then to the library entrance across the open space.
Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Maybe he won't actually?—
I look up and freeze.
Zachary stands in the entrance, scanning the library with predatory focus. He's in an expensive charcoal suit, clearly straight from his office. Completely out of place among students in hoodies and worn jeans. His gaze finds me instantly, locking on like a target acquired.
Heat floods my face. He actually came. Drove to my campus, walked into the library, just to—what? Check on me? Mark his territory?
"You okay?" Brandon's voice pulls my attention back. He follows my gaze, spotting Zachary's approach. "Friend of yours?"
Words stick in my throat as Zachary crosses the library. Every eye tracks his movement—that commanding presence impossible to ignore. Female students whisper behind hands, admiring his tailored suit and confident stride. I want to sink into the floor and run to him simultaneously.
He reaches our table and doesn't acknowledge Brandon's existence. Just cups my face in both hands and kisses me.
Right there. In the library. In front of everyone.
I'm too shocked to resist, lips parting instinctively as he deepens the kiss. Possessive. Claiming. Leaving zero doubt about his intentions. When he pulls back, I'm breathless and furious.
"What are you doing here?" I hiss under my breath.
People stare. Whisper. Brandon looks confused and uncomfortable, shifting in his seat.
Zachary just smiles, satisfied and territorial. "Came to see my girl. Problem?"
My girl. Said loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. I want to kill him.
He finally acknowledges Brandon, extending his hand. "Zachary Steele."
Brandon stands awkwardly, shaking. "Brandon Smith. I'm, uh, working on a project with Zoey."
"So I heard." Zachary's tone drips with polite menace. His hand settles possessively on my waist. "We live together, so she mentioned you."
Brandon's eyes widen slightly at that information. Living together. The implication hangs heavy—serious relationship, cohabitation, very much taken.
"Oh. Cool." Brandon starts gathering his materials. "I just remembered I've got another class. We can finish this later, Zoey."
He practically flees, mumbling excuses. I watch him go, mortification burning through me.
The moment Brandon disappears, I turn on Zachary. "You can't just show up at my school!"
"I can show up wherever I want." No apology in his voice or his dark gaze.
"You're being controlling, jealous, completely unreasonable." I keep my voice low despite the anger. "I have classes, projects, responsibilities. I can't have you showing up and marking territory like some?—"
"Like some what?" He leans closer. "Like some man who took your virginity and owns every inch of your body?"
My face burns. "What if someone recognizes us? What if word gets back to our parents?"
"No one here knows we're stepsiblings." He's completely calm, rational even. "We're far from Raymond and Carol's social circles. I'm just a boyfriend visiting his girlfriend on campus. Making sure everyone knows you're not available."
I hate that he has a point. Hate that my anger is already melting into arousal as he touches my waist. Hate that I'm wet from his public display of possession.
"You're risking everything," I manage.
"No. I'm protecting what's mine." He kisses me again, deep and claiming. "I'll see you at home tonight, stepsister."
The word stepsister in his low voice makes my thighs clench. He walks away with the same confidence he arrived with, leaving me standing there flushed and flustered while everyone watches.
Girls surround me before I can escape, their voices overlapping in excited curiosity. "Oh my God, who was that?" one asks, her eyes wide with interest. Another girl I barely know from my food science lab leans in closer. "Where did you meet him? He's insanely hot."
"How long have you been together?" someone else chimes in, clearly impressed by the display they just witnessed.
"Is it serious? Because he looked pretty serious about you."
The questions come faster than I can process them, each one making my face burn hotter. I don't know what to say, how to explain Zachary without revealing the truth that would destroy everything. My mind races through possible answers that won't sound suspicious or invite more questions.
"We've been seeing each other for a while," I manage, keeping it vague while I bend down to gather my scattered notes and textbook from the bench. My hands shake slightly as I shove everything into my bag, not bothering to organize it properly. "It's complicated."
"He seems really into you," the first girl says, a hint of envy in her tone. "The way he kissed you in front of everyone like that."
I need to get out of here before someone asks something I can't answer without lying more obviously. "I have to go. I'll be late for my next class."
I don't wait for their responses, just hoist my bag onto my shoulder and walk away as quickly as I can without actually running.
But I can't focus for the rest of the day. People keep looking at me differently. Word spread fast about the hot older guy who showed up and kissed me like he owned me. Because he does own me, in every way that matters.
By the time I drive back to the estate that evening, I'm caught between fury and arousal. I need to confront him about boundaries, about respecting my college life, about not sabotaging my education with his jealousy.
But I know how confrontations with Zachary end. With me pinned beneath him, taking his cock, admitting I'm his.
I park and walk toward the house, planning exactly what I'll say. The front door opens to reveal my mom and Raymond in the living room, wine glasses in hand, discussing their day. Normal family scene. I greet them with practiced ease, playing my role.
"How was school, honey?" Mom asks.
"Good. Productive." The lie comes easily now.
Zachary isn't visible, but I feel his presence like a physical touch. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Zachary: My car. Now.
My pulse skyrockets. Our parents are right there, twenty feet away. This is insane, too risky, completely reckless.
But my body is already responding, already wet.