Ever since my brother found out I wasn't his biological sister, he's been treating me like I’m made of ice. The heartbreak was unbearable. As I was packing my bags to get out of his life, I stumbled upon his journal. 【I’m so screwed. She’s not my real sister. I can’t control myself anymore.】 【God, I want to kiss my sister's... her.】 【She crawled into my bed tonight, her face flushed from the heat, whispering 'brother' in that soft, sleepy voice. It almost sent me over the edge.】 【She can’t even solve a simple calculus problem. It drives me insane. Makes me want to take a whip to her.】 【The shower is tiny, but she still has to squeeze in with me. Doesn't she know I could slam her against the wall until she can’t see straight?】 【If she calls me 'brother' one more time, I’m going to banish her to the Arctic.】 I closed the journal. Silently, I walked down to the basement. My trembling hands reached for the chains, the candles, the leather whip. Brother, you get to punish me during the day. But tonight… tonight it’s my turn. … When I got home from class, Liam was doing laundry. He stood there in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong, veined forearms. Broad shoulders, narrow waist—the picture of perfection. "Brother, you're home early," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind and resting my head against his back. His whole body went rigid. After a moment, he resumed his task, his voice cold as steel. "Sophie, let go." That's when I saw them. My lace bra and camisole, tossed to the side, separate from the rest of the laundry. A lump formed in my throat. Just a few days ago, before the DNA results came back, he wasn't like this. Was blood really that important to him? When my biological parents showed up, I refused to acknowledge them. They abandoned me eighteen years ago; what right did they have to reclaim me now that I was grown? My adoptive parents insisted on not even doing a test, saying I would always be their daughter. But Liam, my brother, had to know for sure. He had to shatter that last glimmer of hope, cementing the fact that we shared no blood. And in just a few days, we’d become such strangers that he couldn't even wash our clothes together. "Fine! Let go, then! I'll move out tomorrow!" I snapped, giving his leg a petulant kick. "You can have this whole mansion to yourself! I'm tired of feeling like a charity case!" I snatched my things and stormed off. Tears streamed down my face as I washed my clothes in the sink. But wait… where were my panties? They must have gotten lost in the shuffle. At dinner, neither of us mentioned the fight. Liam was silent, methodically placing food on my plate. I sulked, burying my face in my bowl. Then, a red folder landed on the table beside me. "I signed the house over to you a while ago," he said, his tone casual. "It's yours. Don't overthink it." Because my university was in the same city as his company, our parents had bought this house for us to live in together. He’d drive me to and from class, a far better arrangement than living in a dorm. We’d grown up like two peas in a pod. He cooked for me, did my laundry, and spoiled me more than our parents ever did. Everyone joked that he was a cold-hearted CEO to the world, but a hopeless, doting slave to his little sister at home. I’d worked my ass off to get into a top university here, all for him. All so I could keep living with him. So that when a scary movie gave me nightmares, I could still crawl into his bed. But that single, cold piece of paper had shattered everything. He’d become distant, cold. I thought he was afraid I, the outsider, would fight him for the inheritance. But here he was, giving me the house. Maybe I was the one with the small heart. Later that night, while Liam was in the shower, I slipped into his bed, just like old times. The sheets smelled of sandalwood and oud, a scent that was as intoxicating and ascetic as he was. As I buried my face in his pillows, reveling in it, a flash of white caught my eye from under his pillow. I tugged at it. It was my lace-trimmed panties. My face instantly went crimson. They were the ones from the laundry—the unwashed ones. What were they doing here? Click. The bathroom door opened. I dove under the covers. Through a tiny gap, I saw him. His upper body was bare, water droplets tracing a path from his sharp jawline, over his Adam's apple, and down to the V-cut lines of his hips. His silk pajama pants hung low, swaying as he towel-dried his hair. My eyes were involuntarily drawn to a certain… prominent area. Note to self: next time I buy him underwear, get a larger size. No wonder he never even opened the last pack I bought him. I felt a strange heat spreading through my body. It was probably just stuffy under the blankets. He finished with his hair and slid into bed. The cool, smooth feel of his skin against the sheets made a thrill run through me. Before he could react, I popped my head out from under the covers and gave him my sweetest smile. "Sophie! Get out!" His voice was louder than usual, sharp with authority. "Haven't I told you? You are not allowed in my bed anymore!" He was yelling at me again. The unfairness of it all hit me, and my eyes welled with tears. "Why are you yelling at me? Didn't you even think to ask why I'm here?" Seeing my tears, he faltered. "What is it? Don't cry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled. Just… tell me what's wrong." Crying had always been my secret weapon against him. He couldn’t stand to see me cry. "I'm sorry, brother," I sobbed. "I misunderstood you today. I shouldn't have said those things." He’d been so good to me, and I’d accused him of such petty motives. Strands of my hair fell across his cheek. He sighed, his hand lifting instinctively as if to tuck them behind my ear, but he froze mid-air. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hand balling into a fist as he fought for control, then pulled it back. We were inches apart, me propped up on my elbows over him. I saw his pupils dilate, his breathing growing ragged. "Brother," I whispered. "Hmm?" I shifted uncomfortably. "Your… belt buckle is digging into me." His arm shot out, clamping around my waist, pressing me down so I couldn't move. "Don't. Move." "Brother, let me go, it's uncomfortable." "Don't call me that." What? So we couldn't be real siblings, and now we couldn't even be fake ones? Businessmen were so ruthless. Well, I wasn't going to listen to him. "Brother, brother, brother…" I chanted, just to spite him. His Adam's apple bobbed. His long lashes trembled with restraint. "You say that one more time, and I'll make you regret it." The last words were ground out between his teeth. I stuck my tongue out at him. "Brother! Brother!" "You asked for this." Before I could react, he pulled me down hard against him. My eyes flew open. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his damp hair brushing against my collarbone. His hot breath sent shivers down my spine. A low, guttural groan escaped his throat. A jolt of electricity shot through me, from my scalp to my toes. His knee pushed my legs apart. "Liam!" My sharp cry broke the spell. In my panic, my nails dug into his back, leaving a long, red scratch. I heard him hiss in pain. With a final, desperate shove, Liam pushed me away and practically fled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind a complete blank. A thin sliver of light escaped from under the bathroom door. Liam’s tall, powerful silhouette was a shadow play behind the frosted glass. He really did have an incredible body. The memory of his strength, the way he’d flipped me over so easily, made my face flush. If I hadn't stopped him… His shadow disappeared from the door. I could faintly hear the shower turn on. And with it, other sounds. Low, ragged breaths. A desperate, choked-off groan, swallowed by the rush of water. Time ticked by. I decided I'd wait for him to come out, say goodnight, and go back to my own room. But he was in there for a long, long time. Was he okay? Was he going to pass out from the steam? "Are you ever coming out?" I called, a note of worry in my voice. Silence. Then, his voice, rough and strained. "Sophie." "Yeah?" "Walk over to the door." I did as he said. "Brother, are you sure you're okay?" My reflection stared back at me from the steamy glass. I couldn't see a thing inside. "Good. Stop right there. Don't move." His voice was getting hoarse, his breathing heavier, faster. It culminated in a single, controlled roar. And then, silence. That night, I had a dream. I dreamed I was in the shower with him. The water cascaded down as he looked down at me, coaxing me to open my mouth. I refused. The next thing I knew, his hand was cupping my jaw, forcing my mouth open, wider and wider. He covered my eyes. I couldn't see, but my other senses were on fire. I heard the rustle of fabric, and then a column of fire was thrust into my mouth. It wasn’t his usual cold arrogance; this was molten lava flowing beneath a sheet of ice. My mouth was full. I couldn't speak, only struggle against the burning sensation. When it was over, he finally pulled back, removing his hand from my eyes. The next morning, I woke up with a faint, sticky-white residue at the corner of my mouth. I must have been drooling in my sleep again. My mom showed up that morning, a welcome surprise. She came once a month with homemade strawberry jam and kimchi, and always ended up cleaning the whole house for us. This time, she’d also brought a dress. A butterfly-backless dress. "I saw this in the store and thought of you immediately," she said, her eyes shining. "I told your father, our Sophie will look absolutely stunning in this." I held it up against myself, hesitant. "It's beautiful, Mom, but isn't it a little… revealing? I've never even worn a skirt above the knee." It was so short, I'd flash everyone if I bent over. "Oh, it's a little sexy," she admitted, "but you're a college girl now! You can't live in t-shirts and jeans forever. You should try different styles!" "But…" Just then, Liam walked out of his room. My mom immediately grabbed him. "Liam, look! Isn't this dress perfect for your sister?" He glanced at the dress, then at me, his expression unreadable. "It's fine," he mumbled. My mom beamed. "You should wear this for your date with Sander this weekend! The Kensingtons just adore you. Mrs. Kensington was just telling me…" Sander was Liam's best friend and the heir to the Kensington Group. He'd provided the start-up capital for Liam's company. My parents had always hoped we’d get together; the alliance would be good for Liam’s business. "It's ugly," Liam cut in from the breakfast table. "The dress is ugly, and she'll look even uglier in it." "Hey! Don't talk about your sister that way." "She's not my sister," he said, his voice flat. "Liam!" My mother’s voice shot up an octave. The atmosphere in the room turned heavy. She stared him down, furious. I looked down, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. Seeing my eyes well up, my mom softened, stroking my cheek before turning back to Liam. "You say that again, and you're no son of mine. As long as your father and I are alive, Sophie will always be your sister." "Oh my god, Sander Kensington is going to lose his mind," my cousin Chloe said, giddy, after I filled her in. She was inspecting the dress in my closet. "Please," I scoffed. "A guy like that has seen it all." "Nuh-uh," she said, wagging a finger. "The way he looks at you? So tender. You're totally his type." Chloe had become something of a love expert since starting college. "He doesn't look at me like that. His look is… predatory. Like he wants to eat me alive. Actually," she mused, "it's the same way Liam looks at you!" I nearly choked on my water. "You can't just say things like that!" "Fine, don't believe me." She fiddled with a charm on my backpack. "The Dragon Boat Festival is coming up. Any plans?" "Liam's teaching me how to make sweet rice dumplings. He's got everything ready, I just need to prepare the mugwort." Her eyes lit up, and she leaned in conspiratorially. "Ooh, he wants you to prepare the mugwort, does he?" She put a suggestive emphasis on the word. "Huh?" "Liam works out all the time, he must be in great shape. Can your little body handle it?" It clicked. "Oh my god, you have a one-track mind! He's my brother!" "Not by blood!" she sing-songed, leaning closer. "Don't you think the pseudo-incest thing is way hotter?" "You're impossible."
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