Chapter 4: A Secret Addiction

The house became their secret world.

For six days after their rules crumbled to dust, Elijah and Sam existed in a bubble of stolen moments and whispered conversations. The careful choreography of avoidance was replaced by an entirely different kind of dance—one of lingering touches in the hallway, of eyes that found each other across shared spaces, of excuses to be in the same room that fooled no one but themselves.

Elijah had never been an impulsive person. His entire life was built on structure, on thinking through consequences before acting. But Sam had obliterated that careful control, turning him into someone who abandoned his library shift early just to come home to her smile, who found reasons to brush against her when she was cooking, who lay awake at night listening for any sound from her room.

"You're different," she said one afternoon, painting while he read on her bed. The domestic intimacy of it should have terrified him, but instead it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"Different how?" He looked up from his textbook, watching the way afternoon light caught the gold in her hair.

"Looser. Less wound up." Sam dabbed her brush in blue paint, considering her canvas. "You don't carry all that tension in your shoulders anymore."

She was right. The knot of stress that had lived between his shoulder blades for three years had gradually unwound itself, replaced by something that felt dangerously close to contentment.

"Maybe I was just waiting for the right distraction," he said, and the smile she gave him was worth whatever complications lay ahead.

Their parents called every few days, checking in with updates about wine tastings and scenic drives through Napa Valley. Elijah found himself relaxing into these conversations, his guilt buried under layers of rationalization. They were adults. They weren't hurting anyone. What happened between him and Sam was separate from the family dynamic their parents had built.

It was a beautiful lie, and he clung to it like a lifeline.

"David says you two are getting along better," his stepmother mentioned during one call, her voice warm with approval. "I'm so glad. I know the adjustment has been hard on everyone."

"Yeah," Elijah said, watching Sam emerge from the kitchen with two cups of coffee, wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a pair of shorts that made his mouth go dry. "We're... figuring things out."

Sam rolled her eyes at his diplomatic phrasing, but her smile was soft as she handed him his coffee. Her fingers lingered on his for just a moment—long enough to send electricity shooting up his arm, short enough that it looked accidental to anyone who might be watching.

"That's wonderful to hear," his stepmother continued. "I was worried about leaving you two alone for so long, but it sounds like you're managing just fine."

If only she knew, Elijah thought, accepting the kiss Sam pressed to his temple before settling beside him on the couch.

"We're doing great," he said, and it wasn't entirely a lie.

They were doing great, in their own twisted way. Better than great. For the first time since their parents had married, the house felt like home instead of a battlefield. They cooked together, with Sam perched on the counter while he chopped vegetables, stealing bites and making him laugh with stories about her more eccentric art professors. They watched movies curled up on the couch, Sam's commentary turning even the most serious films into comedies. They talked about everything and nothing—books and dreams and the kind of future neither of them dared to examine too closely.

And when talking wasn't enough, when the space between them became unbearable, they found other ways to communicate. In the press of skin against skin, in whispered names and bitten-off moans, in the way Sam looked at him afterward like he'd given her something precious.

"This is insane," Sam said one evening, her head pillowed on his chest as they lay tangled in her sheets. "A month ago we could barely have a conversation without it turning into World War Three."

"Maybe we were fighting about the wrong things," Elijah said, his fingers combing through her hair.

"Or maybe we were fighting because it was safer than this." She traced lazy patterns on his skin, her touch sending shivers through him. "Less scary than admitting we wanted each other."

The admission hung between them, honest and terrifying. Because that's what this was, Elijah realized—not just physical attraction or forbidden fruit syndrome, but genuine want. The kind that went deeper than desire, that made him crave her laugh as much as her touch.

"Are you scared now?" he asked quietly.

Sam was quiet for so long he thought she might have fallen asleep. Then: "Terrified. But also... I've never felt anything like this before. Like I could just disappear into you and not mind at all."

Her words sent something warm and dangerous spreading through his chest. He knew exactly what she meant, because he felt it too—the way she'd become essential to his daily rhythm, how her absence from a room made everything feel slightly off-kilter.

"Sam—"

"Don't." She pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't overthink it. Not tonight. Can we just... exist in this for a while without analyzing it to death?"

He kissed her finger, then her palm, then her wrist where her pulse fluttered fast and light. "Okay."

But even as he lost himself in the taste of her skin, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered warnings about borrowed time and consequences that couldn't be avoided forever.

The voice got louder three days later when his phone rang at seven in the morning.

Elijah fumbled for it, barely awake, Sam's warm weight pressed against his side making him reluctant to move. The caller ID made his blood freeze.

"Dad?"

"Hey, son. Sorry to call so early." His father's voice was cheerful, energetic in the way that meant he'd been up for hours. "I wanted to catch you before you left for work."

"It's fine. What's up?" Elijah tried to keep his voice casual while gently extracting himself from Sam's embrace. She stirred but didn't wake, simply curling into the warm spot he'd vacated.

"Well, we have some good news and some bad news. The good news is we're having an amazing time. The bad news is we've decided to cut the trip short."

The words hit Elijah like a physical blow. "What? Why?"

"Janet's been getting some concerning calls from her office. Nothing that can't wait, but you know how she worries. We figured it was better to come home a few days early and deal with it than have it hanging over our heads."

Elijah's mouth went dry. "A few days early. How early?"

"We'll be driving back tomorrow. Should be home by dinner time."

Tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to figure out how to stuff the genie back in the bottle, to return to being the responsible stepbrother who definitely hadn't been sleeping in Sam's bed for the past week.

"That's... great," Elijah managed. "I'm sure Sam will be excited to see her mom."

"Speaking of Sam, how has she been? I know she was having some trouble with that boy from her art program."

Tyler. Right. The catalyst that had started this whole spiral into beautiful insanity. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it had been less than two weeks since Sam had cried over another man while Elijah held her and promised to make it better.

"She's been fine," he said. "Really good, actually. I think she's over the whole Tyler situation."

"Good to hear. You know, Janet was worried about leaving you two alone for so long, but I told her you'd keep an eye on things. You always were the responsible one."

The words twisted in Elijah's gut like a knife. Responsible. Right. Because responsible older brothers definitely spent their nights buried in their stepsisters, learning the sounds she made when she came apart beneath them.

"Yeah," he said roughly. "I've been... keeping an eye on things."

They talked for a few more minutes about logistics and travel times, but Elijah barely heard the details. His mind was spinning, trying to process the reality of their parents' return, the abrupt end to their stolen paradise.

When he finally hung up, Sam was awake, watching him with sleepy blue eyes that sharpened as she took in his expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked, pushing herself up on her elbows.

"That was my dad. They're coming home tomorrow."

The words hit her like they'd hit him—sudden and devastating. He watched her face cycle through emotions: shock, disappointment, and finally something that looked like determination.

"Tomorrow," she repeated. "As in less than twenty-four hours."

"Yeah."

Sam was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then she sat up fully, the sheet falling away from her bare shoulders, and Elijah had to force himself to focus on her face instead of the expanse of skin he'd mapped with his tongue just hours before.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

It was the question he'd been dreading, because the answer was obvious and awful. They went back to being strangers who shared a house. They pretended the past two weeks had never happened, buried the memory under layers of family dinners and polite conversation.

They ended this before it could destroy everything their parents had built.

"We go back to normal," he said quietly. "We pretend this never happened."

He expected an argument, expected Sam's fire to flare at the suggestion. Instead, she studied his face with an intensity that made him want to squirm.

"Is that what you want?" she asked finally.

The question was simple, but the answer was anything but. What he wanted was to wake up next to her every morning for the rest of his life. What he wanted was to stop pretending she was just his stepsister, to stop caring about what anyone else thought about them. What he wanted was impossible.

"It's what has to happen," he said instead.

"That's not what I asked." Sam's voice was steady, but there was steel underneath. "Do you want this to end, Elijah? Do you want to go back to barely tolerating each other, to walking on eggshells and pretending we don't affect each other?"

No. The word screamed in his head, desperate and honest. I want to keep you. I want to figure out how to make this work. I want to stop being afraid of what this means.

But wanting something and being able to have it were different things entirely.

"What I want doesn't matter," he said. "Our parents—"

"Fuck our parents." The words exploded out of her, raw and fierce. "I'm so tired of living my life based on what other people think is appropriate. I'm tired of pretending I don't want you just because someone else decided we're supposed to be siblings."

She was off the bed now, pacing, naked and magnificent and absolutely fearless in a way that made his chest tight with admiration and terror.

"Sam, be realistic. If they find out—"

"Then we don't let them find out." She whirled to face him, blue eyes blazing. "We're careful. We're discreet. But we don't end this, Elijah. Not when it's the best thing that's ever happened to either of us."

"You don't know that," he said weakly.

"Don't I?" She moved closer, and despite everything, his body responded to her proximity. "Tell me you haven't been happier these past two weeks than you've been in years. Tell me you don't sleep better with me in your arms. Tell me this feels wrong to you, and I'll walk away right now."

She was close enough to touch now, close enough that he could see the vulnerability beneath her defiance. Close enough that he could lean forward and kiss away the uncertainty in her eyes.

"I can't," he admitted roughly.

"Then don't let fear ruin this." Sam's voice was soft now, pleading. "Don't let other people's expectations destroy the one thing that makes us both feel alive."

She was asking him to be brave. To choose want over should, love over logic. To risk everything for something that might not survive the weight of secrecy and social taboo.

She was asking him to stop being a coward.

"One more night," he heard himself say. "Before they get back. One more night, and then we figure out how to... how to keep this without destroying everything else."

Sam's smile was brilliant, transformative. "One more night."

But as she kissed him, as they fell back onto rumpled sheets for what might be the last time, Elijah couldn't shake the feeling that they were standing on the edge of a cliff, and tomorrow would bring nothing but the long fall down.

The phone call had shattered their bubble of stolen time, but it had also crystallized something essential: he wasn't ready to let her go. Wasn't ready to return to the careful distance that had defined their relationship before Tyler Morrison's betrayal had cracked them both open.

Tomorrow would bring consequences and complications and the crushing weight of reality. But tonight, Sam was his, and he was hers, and maybe that would have to be enough.

Even if it felt like trying to hold water in his hands.