Chapter 1 ~ 1

Chapter 1

~ Hay ~

The half-naked girl on my boyfriend's bed smiled at me through the window like she'd been waiting for me to show up.

Felicia James. Wearing nothing but a bra, legs crossed like she owned the place. And Chris — my Chris, the boy I'd dated for two and a half years, the boy I was supposed to give myself to tomorrow night — stood three feet away in a tuxedo, laughing at whatever she'd just said.

I'd come here crying. Twenty minutes ago my mother had told me she was marrying the richest man in the city, and the only thing I'd wanted was for Chris to hold me and tell me we'd survive it.

Instead my knuckles hit the glass before my brain caught up.

They both whipped around. Two faces, frozen in the exact same expression of guilt.

For one suspended second nobody moved. The bass from Chris's speakers thumped through the wall. Felicia's smile didn't even flicker.

Then I ran.

My legs moved on their own, carrying me back across the lawn, but Chris was faster. He caught my arm before I reached the driveway.

"Hay, stop! I promise you, it's not what you think."

"Not what I think?" I wrenched free and spun to face him. "She's half-naked in your room, Chris! What is she doing in your room?"

"You're overreacting—"

"Don't tell me I'm overreacting!"

"You don't trust me." His voice cracked, hurt bleeding into every word, and just like that the ground tilted under me. "That's the real problem here. The AC's broken, it's a hundred degrees in there. She was checking the tuxedo for alterations. Her mom designed it, remember? I gave Felicia the measurements last week. She just dropped it off so I could try it on."

It made sense. That was the worst part. It made sense.

"Why don't you trust me?" His eyes went wide and wounded. "I would never hurt you. You know that."

And there it was — the apology already forming on my lips, the guilt flooding in to drown out everything my own eyes had just seen. "I'm sorry. When I saw her, I just…"

"I got what I needed."

Felicia stood in the doorway now, fully dressed, gum snapping between her teeth. She looked at me, only me, and let her smile sharpen into something victorious.

"I'll tell my mom it fits perfectly," she said, and walked away.

My stomach twisted. Felicia and I had history—she'd kicked me off the cheer squad freshman year, and we'd been clawing at each other in every math competition since. But the way she'd looked at me just now felt like something else entirely. Like she'd won a game I didn't know we were playing.

Chris squeezed my hand, pulling me back. "So what are you even doing here? I thought we were meeting later for pre-prom."

The memory crashed back over me, and my eyes stung all over again.

"My mom just told me the worst news of my life." My voice broke. "She's getting married."

"To who?"

"Jonathan Fletcher."

Chris went completely still. His hand slipped out of mine.

"Drake's father?" Something flat and cold had entered his voice. "You're sure?"

"Unfortunately."

"What the hell." He dragged both hands through his hair, his whole body coiling tight, like he was bracing for a fight I couldn't see. "That dude is a douchebag. The fucking Fletchers. Fucking Keback Pack..."

"Keback Pack?" I frowned. "What's that?"

His eyes went wide. He shut his mouth fast, like he'd let something slip he hadn't meant to. But here was the strange thing — he wasn't upset that Drake Fletcher was about to become my stepbrother. He was upset about something else, something I couldn't name, something that had nothing to do with me at all.

The roar of an engine cut through the tension.

I turned just as a car rolled past the house — sleek, black, obscenely expensive. The kind of car that didn't belong on this street. The window slid down.

And there he was.

Drake Fletcher.

Blue eyes. Sharp jaw. Dark hair styled in that careless way that had no business looking as good as it did. Our eyes met across the lawn, and it was like someone had emptied a bucket of ice water down my spine. My breath caught. My pulse stuttered. He was so infuriatingly beautiful I wanted to scream just to make it stop.

Then his eyes changed.

Blue to amber. Just for a second... maybe three — before they flickered back.

"What the..." I breathed. "Did you see that? His eyes just... Chris, did you see his eyes?"

"There's nothing wrong with his eyes." Chris's voice came out sharp as a blade. "Stop staring at him."

But I'd already turned to look at Chris.

And for one impossible heartbeat, his eyes flashed amber too.

I blinked. Rubbed them hard. When I looked again they were brown. Just brown. Ordinary.

I was losing my mind. That was the only explanation. My mother was marrying a stranger, my boyfriend had a half-dressed girl in his bedroom, and now I was seeing things.

Down the street, Drake lifted one hand in a lazy wave, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth like he knew something I didn't. My skin prickled with a feeling I had no name for and absolutely refused to examine.

He was Chris's enemy. Which made him mine.

And in days, he was going to be my brother.

There was no way — absolutely no way on this earth — that I was going to survive living under the same roof as Drake Fletcher.