I pushed Zayn off the moment the door opened. Our chests were still heaving, his eyes locked on me. He didn't even flinch at the knock.
My mother entered the room, her gaze sweeping over us like she'd caught something.
I swallowed hard. *Please, don't let her see the blush on my face.*
"Zayn," she said, staring at him with that loving look she always gave him.
He didn't spare her a glance.
Well, that wasn't strange. He'd been like that since we moved into the house.
Did he actually think we stole his place with his father? Yes, my mother acted like a leech sometimes.
But wasn't it time he moved on from the past? Unless he didn't really hate us. Just like I never really hated him.
*Oh god, where are my thoughts spiraling to again?*
"Your father is already downstairs waiting for you both." She announced this after Zayn had ignored her completely.
He moved to his bag on the bed and pulled out fresh clothes.
"Emery, come help set the table." My mother said as she left.
I dashed after her. If I stayed any longer, I might actually suffocate from the heat building between my thighs.
His eyes burned into my back. I knew he was watching.
Something felt different and urgent. Like we were both running out of time.
I let out a heavy breath as I followed my mother downstairs. Richard was already waiting at the dining table, and it didn't take long before Zayn joined us.
We locked eyes, and my breath caught.
Dressed in a half-buttoned shirt and black joggers, he looked unfairly good. He didn't look sick. Hell, he looked like a Greek god walking straight out of my fantasy books—the kind of man who'd pin a woman to a dining table and make her forget her own name.
My cheeks burned. *My brain was never helpful.*
"Son." Richard's voice pulled me from my filthy thoughts.
Zayn broke eye contact with me, and only then did I realize he'd been staring too.
"I'm sorry."
I looked at Richard, pity flooding my chest. His face was twisted like he was trying not to cry.
"I'm fine." Zayn said, but Richard was already tearing up. "Dad, really. I'm totally fine."
Zayn moved to the seat beside me. I should've felt relief, but all I could see was a dying man. Someone who had only six months left. Every second ticking brought him closer to his grave.
"You're not fine, Zayn. You're..." Richard choked on his tears. "God."
The weight of the room pressed down on me. My chest felt so tight I thought I might be having a heart attack.
For the past few years, I'd buried myself in work just to earn my place in the Blackwood company. I'd carried so much rage. But right now? I just felt sad.
"I always survive. This won't be any different." Zayn muttered, but I saw his jaw lock. The way his hand trembled slightly on the fork he was holding. None of it escaped me.
"Please, Richard. If you're breaking down in front of the kids, what about the rest of us?" My mother coaxed him back into his seat, her hand patting his shoulder gently.
"Tomorrow morning," Richard exhaled, composing himself. "You'll examine him, Emery. I want to see for myself how bad the tumor is. A room's been set up in his private suite." He was talking to me now.
*A room?*
"Not an—"
"It'll be safer here, Emery. The hospital is too crowded. I've sorted everything out. You don't have to worry about being sanctioned."
Okay, I wasn't afraid of getting in trouble. But being alone in a room with Zayn wasn't a good idea. Not when I'd just realized he wanted me too.
When did he start seeing me as a woman instead of his charity stepsister?
The same question I'd been asking myself since I left his room earlier.
I shook my head and stabbed the steak in front of me.
Then I felt it. The warmth of a hand on my leg. No—my thigh.
I jerked my head up in shock.
*Zayn. Oh shit.*
His hand was sliding up my thigh.
"Fuck." *No, that wasn't supposed to come out loud.*
Our parents' heads snapped toward us. I made an awkward coughing sound.
"The steak... pepper." His hand circled the bare skin of my thigh. He wasn't moving up to where I was already drenched. He just kept teasing that spot—twisting, drawing circles, rubbing slowly. The scrape of silverware against plates felt deafening.
"Pepper?" My mother looked at me, confused. "The steak wasn't made with any pepper."
Zayn chuckled quietly.
He dragged his chair closer with his free hand. My mother was sitting directly across from us.
*God, thank you for this massive table.*
*Wait—I was supposed to push him away!*
I gritted my teeth, biting down a moan that threatened to escape. The taste of blood touched my tongue.
He wasn't even looking at me. His eyes stayed on his plate. He wasn't eating, just sipping juice with that infuriating calmness.
"Zayn..." I whispered, gripping my fork so hard my knuckles turned white.
His jaw tightened. For half a second, his hand stilled on my thigh. Then his fingers resumed their torturous circles, slower this time, deliberate.
"Eat up, son. Would you like more vegetables?" Richard asked.
I let out a sound, not quite a moan, but close enough.
His hand had moved closer to my center. He wasn't touching it yet. His fingers only grazed the edges.
I caught the slight hitch in his breathing. His pupils were wide when he finally glanced my way, just for a second. Then that maddening control snapped back into place.
Goosebumps raced up my arms. My thighs clenched involuntarily under his touch.
"Laila!" My mother called for our cook. "Did you make Emery's steak separately and add pepper?" Laila appeared and shook her head.
"Your face is so red. Should I get you some water?" I could only nod. "Get her rice instead," she told Laila.
"She should have the steak." Zayn's voice was smooth and controlled. "The meat looks fresh. Tender. Savory." His hand slipped into my wetness, and he finally looked at me. "Soft."
The word rolled off his tongue like he was caressing it.
His chest rose and fell just a fraction faster than normal, it was the only crack in his perfect composure.
"I'm done eating. Dad, have a good rest, Dad." He said it so casually.
Before I could process what was happening, his hand slid away from my thighs and he stood up.
Without looking back, he headed upstairs.
Fear crept in immediately.
My pulse thundered in my ears as I looked at our parents, oblivious and chatting quietly.
Tomorrow I'd have to put my hands on him again. I'll examine him, tough him.
Only this time, I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop.
