Stupid sister, ILY
Description
Have you ever been trapped by a promise you never agreed to-one made for you by someone who's already gone? When Harper's father dies, his will drags her back into the last place she wants to be: the family estate she must share with her stepbrother. Jaxson is the boy she never allowed herself to love, the mistake she buried deep, the memory that still burns. Bound by their father's final demand, they're trapped under the same roof, surrounded by resentment and a desire that was wrong then-and even more dangerous now. Harper tells herself she's moved on. She has a boyfriend who fits perfectly into her life on paper, a man who looks right beside her and feels wrong behind closed doors. While she lies awake, unsatisfied and restless, Jaxson is just down the hall-dark, reckless, and painfully aware of everything she's denying. Every argument crackles with tension. Every shared space becomes a test of control. Hate slowly mutates into obsession, and proximity becomes impossible to survive untouched. This is a dark, forbidden romance where stepsiblings collide, enemies burn into lovers, and obsession thrives behind closed doors. Featuring forced cohabitation, a love triangle, sexual frustration, a dangerous bad boy, and a pull that defies morality, this story is for readers who crave tension, taboo, and the kind of love that feels like a mistake you'd make again anyway.
Chapter 1
Feb 5, 2026
POV Harper
Memory has teeth, and mine are sinking into me right now as I stare at the stairs.
I sit rigid in the leather armchair, my fingers tracing the worn armrest while my eyes lock onto that specific spot on the staircase.
The third step from the bottom. The place where I first felt something completely wrong and ugly crawl through my chest—desire for my stepbrother. The crack in the wall paint still exists where his fist once connected with the plaster.
Not with me, though I know he wanted to.
I remember the exact shade of rage that turned his eyes from their usual dark brown to something approaching midnight. He had just discovered Richard, my father, was shipping him off to boarding school in Italy.
And I had the misfortune of walking through the front door at the wrong moment.
"You knew about this." His voice had been deadly quiet, more terrifying than if he had screamed. "Daddy's perfect little princess knew he was getting rid of me."
I hadn't known. But explaining that to an eighteen-year-old Jaxson in full fury mode would have been like reasoning with a hurricane.
He had pressed me against that wall, his breath hot against my face, whispering the cruelest things. But my sixteen-year-old heart had done something treacherous that day. It had skipped a beat.
The skip came from proximity. From the devastating intensity of his presence. From the way his cologne mixed with anger and created something intoxicating.
Seven years later, my heart still performs that same betrayal whenever I think about Jaxson.
I push myself out of the chair and move to the window, needing distance from that memory. The suburban street stretches before me, quiet and deceptively peaceful.
Maybe seeing him drive up will help me prepare.
Maybe watching him approach will remind me that I'm not that sixteen-year-old girl anymore.
I have Preston now. Preston who fits into my father's vision of my life like a well-tailored suit. Preston who never makes my heart skip or race or do anything except beat steadily and predictably.
God, I hate this house.
Every corner holds a memory of Jaxson's particular brand of torment.
The dining room where he would sit across from me at family dinners, making cutting remarks disguised as sibling banter while our parents remained oblivious.
The pool house where he threw parties specifically on nights before my important exams, keeping me awake with music and laughter and the sounds of girls who got to touch him the way I never could.
The hallway where he would brush past me, just close enough for me to feel the heat of his body. Then look at me like I was something unfortunate stuck to his shoe.
I was pathetic enough to feel compassion for him.
His mother, Rachel, had married my father when Jaxson was fifteen and furious about it. He lost his father young, got dragged from his life in the city to this suburban prison, and gained a stepfather who tried to mold him into something respectable.
Of course he hated us.
Of course he acted out.
But understanding his pain didn't make mine hurt less. And falling in love with him? That was just masochistic stupidity disguised as a first crush.
The sound of footsteps pulls me from my spiral. James Kimmons appears in the doorway, his silver hair perfectly styled despite the early hour. The family lawyer looks tired, carrying a leather briefcase that seems heavy.
"Harper, good morning," James says, setting his briefcase on the coffee table. "Jaxson will be approximately ten minutes late. Traffic from the airport, apparently."
"Of course he will be," I mutter, turning from the window. "James, why does this need to happen here? And why does Jaxson need to be present for the will reading? He and Richard barely spoke these last few years."
James adjusts his glasses, a nervous habit I remember from when I was young. "The terms of your father's will are quite specific. Both you and Jaxson must be present for the reading, and it must occur in this house."
"But why?" I press, something cold settling in my stomach. "What could Father possibly have left that requires both of us?"
"Harper, please understand that I cannot discuss the specifics until both beneficiaries are present," James says, though his expression suggests he wishes he could say more. "Your father was very particular about the conditions."
"Conditions," I repeat, the word tasting bitter. "Even dead, he's still trying to control our lives."
James opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of a car door slamming cuts him off. My pulse quickens, that familiar skip-race pattern that only one person has ever caused. I hear footsteps on the porch, confident and unhurried.
Thud.
Was that my heart or a bag?
The front door opens without a knock, because of course Jaxson still has a key. The sound of something heavy being set down in the hallway answers my question. He brought luggage, which means he is staying at the house he had been banished from.
The absolute audacity of this man.
He fills the doorway like a thundercloud, all dark suit and darker expression. His hair is shorter than when I last saw him seven years ago, right before he left for Italy, and there are new lines around his eyes that somehow make him more attractive.
Which, by the way, is deeply unfair.
He didn't even come to Father's funeral, but here he is now, ready to collect. His gaze moves from James to me, and his mouth curves into that smile that isn't really a smile at all.
"Hello, sister."
He wields that word like he knows exactly what it does to me, how it builds walls where I once imagined doors. I force myself not to react.
"Jaxson," I acknowledge, proud of how steady my voice remains. "How nice of you to finally grace us with your presence."
"Some of us had lives to wrap up in Italy," he says, moving into the room with his annoying predatory grace. "Not all of us could just sit in daddy's office playing CEO."
"Well, I hope you didn't wrap things up too thoroughly," I say, matching his casual tone. "I'm sure Milan is missing you already. You'll want to get back to your aperitivos and whatever else kept you so busy for seven years."
"If you two are quite finished," James interrupts, clearly uncomfortable with the tension that sparked the moment Jaxson arrived. "We need to proceed with the reading."
Jaxson drops into the chair across from me, his long legs stretched out in a casual sprawl that takes up too much space.
Everything about him takes up too much space.
James clears his throat and opens his briefcase, pulling out a thick document.
"This is the last will and testament of Richard Sloan, dated six months before his passing." He looks at both of us over his glasses. "There are several standard provisions regarding various assets and charitable donations, but the primary bequest concerns this property and the bulk of the estate."
"Just tell us what he wanted," Jaxson says, impatience coloring his tone.
James takes a breath that tells me whatever comes next isn't going to be simple.
"The house and the majority of the liquid assets will be divided equally between Harper and Jaxson, but there is a condition that must be met first."
"Classics," Jaxson mutters.
"The condition," James continues, his words careful and measured, "is that both of you must reside in this house together for a period of three months. Only after successfully completing this cohabitation will you inherit your respective shares."
Stupid sister, ILY
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