Zephyr

In spite of my best intentions to avoid adhering to my mother, here I was in her fucking car on our way to meeting my “new family.”

“You could at least try not to look like a fucking criminal for one day.”

My mother’s voice sliced through the car like broken glass.

I kept my eyes on the rain dragging itself across the tinted window beside me. Greene’s streets blurred into silver and black while cigarette smoke curled lazily from my lips.

“Did you hear me?” she snapped.

I took another drag.

“Unfortunately.”

Mirabelle Knox gripped the steering wheel tighter. Her diamond rings flashed under the streetlights. Everything about her screamed elegance.

Well, everything except the way she looked at me.

That part was always ugly.

“You embarrass me every time you open your mouth, Zephyr.”

“Then stop talking to me.”

Her laughter was cold. “You think this attitude makes you tough? You’re twenty-one years old and still acting like a self-destructive asshole.”

I smirked faintly. “Genetics, maybe.”

That hit the nerve I expected. Her head whipped toward me for half a second before she looked back at the road and quietly said, “Don’t you dare compare yourself to him.”

There it was.

The ghost sitting between us in the car.

My father.

The drunk, violent bastard. Rotten to the fucking core.

The man whose face I apparently inherited.

I leaned my head back against the seat. “You already do that enough for both of us.”

“You are just a replica of him.”

I stayed quiet.

“You fight like him.”

Another silence.

“You make it a point to ruin everything precious around you exactly like—”

“For fuck’s sake, Mother,” I muttered. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

The brakes jerked slightly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Mother.”

Her jaw tightened. “You think moving into this house is easy for me? You think it’s nice to be called the wife of a drunk?” she hissed. “You think I wanted to drag you into my new marriage looking like this? Looking like him?”

I laughed under my breath, bitter and tired.

“There it is.”

“You should be grateful Caspian even agreed to let you stay with us.”

“Yeah?” I looked at her finally. “Tell your new husband thanks for adopting the family disappointment.”

“Stop acting like a victim.”

“Start acting like a mother.”

The silence became loud. The kind that made storms feel quiet.

Mirabelle’s nails dug into the steering wheel as the mansion gates slowly opened ahead of us.

Massive iron gates. Tall stone walls. Warm golden lights glowing through enormous windows. All a replica of our last home. My mother’s type of taste when it came to mansions.

New York City royalty type of rich.

Caspian Vale definitely had money hidden somewhere beneath that police badge or else—

I snapped my head toward my mother.

She must’ve bought it for him.

My reason for drawing to this conclusion was because I’d researched every fucking thing about my “stepfather.” The summary of my research was none other than the fact that the man was one of the poorest police officers here in the city.

“Listen to me carefully,” my mother said coldly as the car rolled into the driveway. “You will not ruin this for me. You will not bring your filthy habits into that house. And you will stay the hell away from Elowen.”

My expression darkened slightly.

“Elowen?”

“My stepdaughter.”

I frowned.

Something about the name felt familiar. I didn’t try to think deeper. I had lots of girls falling at my feet every day, screaming their fucking names in my ears. Maybe that’s where I heard Elowen from.

The car stopped. Rain hammered against the roof.

Mirabelle stepped out first without another word.

Good.

I was done hearing her voice.

The second my boots hit the wet driveway, I slammed the car door hard enough to shake the entire vehicle.

Thunder cracked somewhere above us.

I reached into my jacket, pulled out the half-empty cigarette pack, and lit one immediately.

The smoke burned my lungs.

Perfect.

Just what I wanted.

For a few seconds, I just stood there in the rain outside the mansion while movers carried boxes through the front doors.

A fresh start.

That’s what Mirabelle called this.

Bullshit.

There was no such thing as a fresh start for people like me. Only different ways to rot.

I inhaled deeply before crushing the cigarette beneath my boot.

Then I headed inside.

The house smelled warm. The faint scent of vanilla filled the air.

Voices echoed somewhere deeper in the mansion. I walked toward them to see my supposed stepfather laughing.

“Zephyr’s here!” he called out warmly.

I nearly rolled my eyes.

I caught sight of a girl who appeared at the top of the staircase.

And my entire body went still.

She was dressed in a soft blue sweater, short skirts that did nothing to cover her great shape, long hair falling over one shoulder. She glanced below at each of us, one after another, before her eyes rested on me.

They went wide immediately.

No fucking way.

Her lips parted slightly as she stared at me from upstairs.

I knew that face. Knew those eyes.

Knew the sound she made when I pinned her to the bed nine months ago at that graduation party before I stopped everything.

Elowen.

The shy girl who saw me jerking off some steam.

The girl I never expected to see again.

Fate is a bastard.

I swept my eyes across her body again. Her face lost all colour. Mine probably did too.

Beside me, Caspian smiled proudly.

“Zephyr,” he said. “Meet my daughter.” He turned to the girl. “Elowen, meet your new stepbrother.”

The cigarette taste turned bitter in my mouth.

Elowen Vale looked at me like she had just seen a ghost, and judging from the horror in her eyes— she remembered me too.

I smirked.

This was going to be a fucking fun summer.