10. Maxwell
MAXWELL
I wake before dawn, the penthouse silent except for the soft rhythm of Millie's breathing beside me. Her blonde hair spreads across the pillow, one hand curled beneath her cheek. She looks peaceful, unguarded in sleep.
Two months ago, I met her at a charity gala. Now she's mine completely. And today, I'm going to make it permanent.
The ring sits in my office safe, waiting. Five carats, flawless diamond, platinum setting with smaller diamonds forming a halo. Half a million dollars, but worth every penny. I had it designed three weeks ago, the moment I knew I couldn't wait any longer to make her my wife.
My wife. My stepsister turned fiancée turned wife.
The taboo nature should bother me more than it does. Instead, it fuels my obsession. She's forbidden fruit I claimed anyway, and I'll never let her go.
I reach out, trace my fingers down her bare shoulder. She stirs, makes a sleepy sound.
"Get up, stepsister. We're going on a trip."
Millie groans, buries her face deeper into the pillow. "What time is it?"
"Six AM. The jet is waiting."
Her blue eyes crack open. "Jet? Where are we going?"
"You'll see. Pack light—we won't need much."
She sits up, confused but compliant. "You're being mysterious."
"I'm being romantic. Now move—we have a flight to catch."
Two hours later, we're boarding my Gulfstream G650 at Teterboro Airport. The flight crew greets us professionally.
"Good morning, Mr. Graves, Ms. Carter."
Millie has been on the jet before, but she still pauses in the cabin doorway, taking in the luxury. Cream leather seating, polished wood accents, full bedroom in the back, gourmet galley stocked with whatever we might want.
I guide her to the main seating area. "Four hour flight. You can sleep if you want."
"You still won't tell me where we're going?"
"It's a surprise. Though I will say—bring your bikini."
Her face lights up with realization. "Bikini suggests tropical."
"Good deduction."
She settles into the seat beside me as the jet taxis to the runway. I pull her close, enjoying the weight of her against my side. The engines roar, and Manhattan disappears beneath us as we climb into the morning sky.
Millie curls against me, tracing patterns on my chest. "How long have you been planning this?"
"Weeks."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"That would ruin the surprise."
She accepts this, closes her eyes. Within minutes, her breathing evens out—she's asleep again. I hold her as we fly south, watching clouds pass through the windows.
Everything is arranged. The staff on the island have their instructions. The chef prepared the menu I selected. The proposal setup will be perfect.
All I need is for her to say yes.
She will. I know she will. Millie is mine—has been since the night we met. This is just making it official.
Four hours later, the pilot announces our descent. Millie wakes, presses her face to the window.
"Oh my god?—"
The view is spectacular. Turquoise water so clear you can see the reef beneath the surface. White sand beaches. Lush tropical vegetation. Not another soul in sight.
We land on a private airstrip I had built three years ago. The heat hits us the moment we step off the plane—humid, thick, tropical warmth.
"Where are we?" Millie asks, shielding her eyes from the brilliant sun.
"My private island. One of them, anyway."
Her head whips toward me. "One of them? How many islands do you own?"
"Three. This one's my favorite—Caribbean, perfect weather, complete privacy."
A golf cart waits beside the airstrip, driven by Marcus—the island's groundskeeper. He nods respectfully but doesn't speak. I've instructed all staff to maintain minimal presence this trip.
The villa sits on the highest point of the island, overlooking the ocean. Modern architecture with floor-to-ceiling glass walls, infinity pool merging with the horizon line, outdoor showers, multiple terraces. I purchased it fully furnished from a Saudi prince who needed liquid assets quickly.
Millie walks through the space with wide eyes, touching expensive surfaces. "This is incredible."
"It's ours for the next three days. Completely private."
She turns, walks into my arms. "Thank you for bringing me here."
I kiss the top of her head. "We're celebrating."
"Celebrating what?"
"You'll see."
We spend the afternoon at the beach—a private stretch of white sand accessible only from the villa. Millie wears a bikini I bought her last month, black with gold hardware, designer label. Eight hundred dollars for scraps of fabric, but seeing her in it makes it worth every penny.
The water is bath-warm, crystal clear. We swim, float, lay in the sun. Millie's skin takes on a golden glow, freckles appearing across her nose.
"I could stay here forever," she says, stretched on a lounger beside me.
"We can come back whenever you want. It's yours now too."
She turns her head, blue eyes studying me. "Mine?"
"Everything I have is yours, Millie. You know that."
As the sun begins its descent, I check my watch. Perfect timing.
"Get dressed for dinner. Something nice."
Millie sits up. "We're on a private island. Who's going to see us?"
"Humor me."
She goes to the villa, and I follow twenty minutes later. The staff has laid out the white dress I selected—flowing, elegant, perfect for what I'm planning. When Millie emerges in it, hair loose around her shoulders, I have to remind myself to breathe.
"You look beautiful."
She smiles, does a small turn. "You're not so bad yourself."
I'm wearing linen pants and a white button-down, casual but polished. I take her hand, lead her back toward the beach.
The setup is exactly as I ordered. A table for two positioned perfectly on the sand, white linens billowing slightly in the ocean breeze. Candles in hurricane glasses provide warm light as the sun sinks lower. Tropical flowers—orchids and hibiscus—arranged in low centerpieces.
Millie stops, stares. "Maxwell?—"
"Sit."
The private chef I flew in yesterday begins serving the meal. Multiple courses—lobster, filet mignon, dishes I know Millie loves. We eat as the sky transforms, oranges and pinks and purples bleeding across the horizon.
Conversation flows easily. We talk about her upcoming semester, my latest acquisition, the book she's reading. Normal things, comfortable things. The ease of two people who know each other completely.
But my heart pounds harder with each passing minute. The ring box burns in my pocket.
As the main course is cleared, I stand. Walk around the table.
Millie looks up, curious. Then her eyes widen as I kneel in the sand in front of her.
"Maxwell—"
I pull the small velvet box from my pocket, open it. The diamond catches the sunset light, throwing rainbows across her face.
"Millie Carter, four months ago you walked into my life at a charity gala. You were supposed to be my stepsister—nothing more. But from the moment I saw you, I knew you were different. Special."
Tears fill her eyes immediately. She presses one hand to her mouth.
"You looked at me like I was just a man.
Not a billionaire, not a business mogul, not someone to be impressed by or afraid of.
Just Maxwell." I hold her gaze, let her see everything I feel.
"You've given up your family for me. You've chosen me despite every reason not to.
You've let me into your heart when you had every reason to guard it. "
"I love you. Completely, obsessively, irrevocably. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving I'm worthy of the gift you've given me."
My voice steadies. "Millie, will you marry me?"
"Yes." The word comes out choked, tears streaming down her face. "Yes, of course yes."
I slide the ring onto her finger—it fits perfectly. I had her sized without her knowledge, bribing the jeweler she visited with Karen last month. The platinum band settles into place like it was made for her. Because it was.
The diamond is enormous, at least five carats, surrounded by smaller stones that make it look even larger. Probably excessive, definitely ostentatious. I don't care.
I stand, pull her up with me, capture her mouth in a kiss. She tastes like salt from tears and champagne from dinner.
"You've made me the happiest man alive," I murmur against her lips.
"I love you," she whispers back. "I love you so much."
I can't wait. Can't make it back to the villa. Need her now, need to claim my fiancée on this beach under the dying light.
I pull her toward a section of beach where palm trees provide slight shelter from any potential view—not that anyone's around to see.
"Here? On the beach?"
"It's my island. There's no one around but us."
The sunset provides perfect lighting—golden hour making her skin glow. I find the zipper of her white dress, slide it down slowly. The fabric pools at her feet.
Underneath, she's wearing white lace. Bra, panties, both virginal and ironic given our history.
"Fucking perfect."
I strip off my own clothes quickly, impatient. My cock is already hard—has been since I knelt in the sand. The proposal, her acceptance, her beauty in the fading light—everything combines to drive my arousal to painful levels.
I lay her down on the warm sand, cover her body with mine. The beach is soft beneath us, ocean breeze cooling our heated skin. I kiss down her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts.
Her bra comes off easily. I take one pink nipple into my mouth, sucking hard.
"Mmm—" Millie moans, arching into me.
My hand slides down her flat stomach, pushes her panties aside. Two fingers slide through her pussy lips—she's wet already, soaked.
"So ready for me." I push my fingers inside her tight heat. "My fiancée's pussy is soaked."
"Maxwell—please—" She gasps, hips moving against my hand.
I remove her panties completely, toss them aside. Spread her thighs wide, position myself between them. My cock is painfully hard. I grip it, slide the head through her wet folds, coating myself in her arousal.
"Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours—your fiancée—yours forever?—"