Chapter Three: Lines we Cross

The house didn’t feel like a home, but that didn’t stop it from pulling Noah and Nick closer. Not in the open. Never in front of their parents. But in the in-between—those late hours, empty hallways, and quiet car rides—they kept finding each other.

Noah tried to ignore it. She told herself it was just loneliness, a side effect of being trapped in a new life. But the truth burned at the edges of every thought.

It was Nick.

The worst part? He looked at her like he knew it. Like he knew the exact moment her walls cracked.

One Friday night, everything changed.

William and Rafaela were away for a gala. The mansion was theirs. Nick, being Nick, threw a party. People flooded the house—expensive cologne, red Solo cups, music thumping so hard it made the marble floor vibrate.

Noah tried to stay in her room, but curiosity won out. She came down the stairs in a loose flannel, shorts, and combat boots, head held high.

Nick spotted her from across the room. He was surrounded by people, girls laughing too hard at jokes he barely told. But when he saw her, his smile faltered—just for a second.

Then he pushed through the crowd and walked up to her, holding out a drink.

“Didn’t think you’d come down,” he said.

“I live here, remember?”

He nodded. “Still… wasn’t sure if you’d join the rest of us mortals.”

She took the drink, suspicious. “What is it?”

“Something stupid. Don’t drink it.”

She smiled. “You’re not always an ass, are you?”

“Depends who you ask.”

They ended up on the rooftop balcony, away from the noise. The city lights stretched out below, the air crisp with early spring.

“You ever think about what you’d be doing if your mom hadn’t married my dad?” Nick asked.

Noah leaned back against the railing. “Yeah. I’d be broke but free. Probably working late shifts and skating through life.”

He chuckled. “Sounds better than this golden prison.”

They were quiet for a moment. Then he turned to her, face more serious than she’d ever seen.

“You know this isn’t just… nothing, right?” he asked.

She froze. Her heart hammered.

“You mean this—whatever this is—between us?” she said.

He nodded. “It’s not just tension. It’s not just… boredom.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“I hate that I get it,” she said quietly. “I hate that you’re the only person in this place that makes me feel like I’m not losing my mind.”

And then—without thinking, without planning—he leaned in.

And she didn’t pull away.

The kiss was soft, hesitant at first. Then hungrier, as if they were both trying to make sense of the fire they’d been ignoring.

When they finally pulled apart, the silence between them wasn’t awkward.

It was dangerous.

“This can’t happen,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said.

But it already had.

That night, Noah lay in bed wide awake. Her lips still buzzed with the memory of his. Her mind spun. It was wrong. They were step-siblings. They lived under the same roof. Their parents were married.

And yet… it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt inevitable.

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