AVERY'S POV
I pressed my back against my bedroom door, heart hammering so hard I thought my ribs might crack.
Did I really just tell Julian I felt the same way?
Did I really put my hand on his chest and feel his heart racing under my palm?
Did he really say he'd wanted me for six years?
"Oh God," I whispered to my empty room. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."
My phone buzzed. Derek. Again.
Derek: This is messed up. Your stepdad is controlling and you let him
Derek: You know what? We're done. I deserve better than this weird family
I stared at the messages and felt... nothing. No sadness. No regret. Just relief that I didn't have to pretend anymore.
I typed back one word: Okay.
Then I blocked his number.
My hands shook as I changed into pajamas—the same ones I'd worn down to Julian's study. I could still feel the ghost of his fingers on my wrist when he'd removed my hand from his chest. So gentle. So controlled.
"Before I do something we'll both regret."
But I wouldn't regret it. That was the terrifying part.
I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, trying to make sense of the last hour.
Everything had changed. The careful distance Julian and I had maintained for six years had shattered completely. We'd said things out loud that couldn't be taken back.
He wanted me.
I wanted him.
And we were both completely screwed.
My phone buzzed again. I grabbed it, thinking it might be Derek being dramatic.
It was Elena, my best friend.
Elena: How was the gala? Did Derek finally pull his head out of his ass?
I almost laughed. If she only knew.
Me: Broke up with him.
The phone rang immediately.
"What happened?" Elena demanded. "Are you okay? Did he do something? I'll kill him."
"I'm fine. It just... wasn't working."
"Avery Chen, I've known you since freshman year. You don't break up with someone at midnight unless something big happened. Spill."
I wanted to tell her. God, I wanted to tell someone. But how could I explain this without sounding insane?
Hey Elena, so I'm in love with my stepfather and he just confessed he's been wanting me since I was seventeen. Totally normal, right?
"It's complicated," I said finally.
"Is there someone else?"
Yes. "No. I just... I realized I've been settling. Derek didn't really see me, you know? He just liked having a girlfriend who looked good at his frat parties."
"True. He was kind of an asshole." Elena paused. "So what now? Hot girl summer? Focusing on yourself?"
"Something like that."
We talked for a few more minutes before I claimed exhaustion and hung up.
I lay in the dark, staring at my ceiling, listening to the old house settle around me.
Somewhere below, Julian was probably still in his study. Maybe drinking. Maybe hating himself.
I hated that he hated himself. None of this was his fault. He'd never done anything inappropriate. Never crossed a line. He'd been the perfect stepfather—kind, supportive, respectful.
But I'd seen the truth in his eyes tonight.
He'd been holding back a storm for six years.
And so had I.
I must have fallen asleep eventually because suddenly I was dreaming.
Julian stood in my bedroom doorway, still dressed in his work clothes. But his careful control was gone. His steel-blue eyes burned with hunger as he walked toward my bed.
"You said you wanted me," his voice was rough, dangerous. "Did you mean it?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
"Say it." He sat on the edge of my bed, his hand reaching out to cup my face. "Say you want me, Avery."
"I want you," I whispered. "I've always wanted you."
His thumb traced my lower lip, and the touch sent fire racing through my veins.
"Do you know how hard it's been?" Julian leaned closer, his breath warm on my face. "Watching you grow up. Watching boys who didn't deserve you touch you. Kiss you. Knowing I couldn't."
"You can now," I breathed.
"Can I?" His hand slid from my face down to my throat—not squeezing, just resting there, his thumb against my racing pulse. "You're still my stepdaughter. This is still wrong."
"I don't care."
"You should." But his hand moved lower, fingers tracing my collarbone through my thin t-shirt. "God help me, you should run away from me."
"I won't."
His eyes met mine, dark with desire and something deeper. Something that looked like love.
"Mine," he said, his voice almost a growl. "Say you're mine."
"I'm yours—"
His mouth crashed against mine, stealing my breath. The kiss was nothing like the gentle pecks I'd gotten from boys my age. This was claiming. Possessing. Six years of restraint breaking apart.
I melted into him, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. His tongue swept into my mouth and I moaned—
And woke up gasping.
My bedroom was empty. Dark. Silent except for my ragged breathing.
It was just a dream.
Just a dream.
But my heart raced like he'd actually been here. My lips tingled like he'd actually kissed me. My body ached with want so strong it hurt.
"Oh no," I whispered into the darkness. "No, no, no."
Because that dream had felt more real than any actual kiss I'd ever experienced.
That dream had felt right in a way nothing else in my life ever had.
I rolled over and pressed my face into my pillow, trying to calm down. But I could still feel phantom touches on my skin. Could still hear Julian's voice saying "mine."
This was bad. This was so, so bad.
I'd known I had a crush on Julian. I'd admitted it to myself, to him. But this? This went way deeper than a crush.
A crush was innocent. Giggly. Surface-level.
What I felt was dark and consuming and absolutely terrifying.
I couldn't fall back asleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Julian's face. Felt his hands. Heard his voice.
Around three AM, I gave up and grabbed my phone. Opened Instagram and scrolled mindlessly, trying to distract myself.
A notification popped up. Email.
From Julian.
My heart stopped.
The subject line was empty. I clicked it with shaking hands.
Avery,
I'm sorry about tonight. I said things I shouldn't have said. Crossed lines that should have stayed firm.
I'll be away on a business trip for the next week. Toronto. It will give us both space to think clearly.
When I get back, we need to talk about boundaries. This can't happen again.
I hope you can forgive me.
Julian
It was professional. Distant. Exactly the kind of email a concerned stepfather might send.
Except for one thing.
He'd sent it at 2:47 AM.
Which meant he couldn't sleep either.
Which meant he was probably lying in his bed right now, just one floor below mine, thinking about me the same way I was thinking about him.
I read the email three more times, analyzing every word.
"This can't happen again."
But he didn't say he didn't want it to happen. Just that it couldn't.
There was a difference.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I should respond professionally. Maturely. Thank him for the space and agree we needed boundaries.
Instead, I typed:
Running away won't change how we feel.
I hit send before I could chicken out.
Then I waited.
One minute. Two. Five.
My phone lit up.
I know. But maybe distance will help me figure out how to stop.
My chest tightened. He wanted to stop feeling this way. Of course he did. It made sense. This was wrong on every level.
But I didn't want him to stop.
I wanted him to give in.
What if I don't want you to stop?
The three little dots appeared, showing he was typing. Then they disappeared. Then appeared again.
Finally:
Go to sleep, Avery. Please.
We'll only hurt each other if we keep talking.
He was right. I knew he was right.
But I typed back anyway:
What if I'm already hurt? What if I've been hurting for six years, watching you keep me at arm's length, wondering if you'd ever see me as more than just your stepdaughter?
The response came fast:
I've ALWAYS seen you as more. That's the problem.
That's why I have to leave.
Goodnight, Avery.
I stared at those words until they blurred.
He'd always seen me as more.
Six years. Six entire years of both of us hiding and lying and pretending.
And now that the truth was out, he was running away.
I set my phone down and curled into a ball under my covers, hugging my knees to my chest.
The dream replayed in my head. Julian's hands. His mouth. His voice saying "mine."
And I finally admitted the truth that terrified me more than anything:
I didn't just want Julian Hawke.
I was in love with him.
I'd been in love with my stepfather since I was seventeen years old.
And now that he knew—now that he'd confessed he felt the same way—he was leaving for a week to figure out how to stop loving me back.
My phone buzzed one more time. I grabbed it desperately, hoping—
It was an automatic calendar reminder.
Mom returns from Milan in 3 weeks.
I stared at those words and felt ice flood my veins.
My mother. Julian's wife. The woman who'd brought us together and had no idea what had grown between us.
In three weeks, she'd be home.
And Julian and I would have to pretend none of this had ever happened.
We'd have to go back to being strangers living in the same house.
Unless...
My heart hammered as a wild, dangerous thought took root.
Julian was leaving for Toronto tomorrow. He'd be gone a week. My mom wouldn't be home for three more weeks after that.
That gave us four weeks.
Four weeks where it was just me and Julian in this house. Four weeks before reality came crashing back. Four weeks to figure out if this thing between us was real or just forbidden fantasy.
Four weeks to either stop this before it destroyed everything...
Or to let it consume us completely.
I picked up my phone one more time and typed:
Don't run too far, Julian. I'm not done fighting for this.
For us.
I hit send and turned off my phone before I could see his response.
Then I lay in the dark, listening to my racing heart, and waited for morning.
Everything was about to change.
And this time, I wasn't going to let him push me away.