Caspian's POV
The conference call was dragging on forever. I stared at the screen, watching the Tokyo investors argue about percentages while my head pounded. Numbers flashed across my monitor—millions of dollars moving with a click—but I couldn't focus.
My phone buzzed. Dad's name lit up the screen.
I ignored it. He could wait. This deal couldn't.
It buzzed again. And again.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," I said, muting myself. I grabbed my phone, ready to tell Dad I was busy, but his text stopped me cold:
Emergency. Come home NOW.
My chest tightened. Dad never texted like that. Never used all caps. In thirty-one years, I'd seen him panic exactly once—when Mom died.
I ended the call, grabbed my jacket, and ran.
---
The penthouse was quiet when I burst through the door. Too quiet. My footsteps echoed on the marble floors as I searched each room.
"Dad?"
"In here, son."
His voice came from his study. I pushed open the heavy door and found him standing by the window, looking out at the Manhattan skyline. His shoulders were straight, his hands clasped behind his back. This was his thinking pose. His serious pose.
"What's wrong?" I demanded. "Are you sick? Is it the company? Tell me."
He turned, and I stopped breathing. Because Dad was smiling. Not just smiling—beaming like a kid on Christmas morning.
"I'm getting married," he announced.
The room tilted. "You're what?"
"Married, Caspian. I've met someone extraordinary. Her name is Victoria Monroe, and she's—" He paused, his smile growing impossibly wider. "She's everything."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Dad hadn't dated anyone since Mom died six years ago. He'd buried himself in work, just like me. We'd both agreed—love made you weak. Love destroyed you when it left.
"When did you meet her?" I finally asked.
"Three months ago. At the charity auction in the Hamptons."
Three months. He'd known this woman for three months and now he wanted to marry her?
"That's insane," I said flatly. "You barely know her."
"I know enough." Dad crossed the room, gripping my shoulders. His eyes were bright, almost feverish. "Caspian, I haven't felt this alive since your mother. Victoria is kind, intelligent, genuine. She doesn't care about the money—she gave up her own fortune years ago for love."
My instincts screamed danger. A woman who "didn't care about money" marrying a billionaire? Right.
"How old is she?" I asked.
"Forty-eight."
"Children?"
Dad's smile faltered slightly. "Two daughters. Natasha is twenty-one, and Isla is twenty-three."
Daughters. Perfect. I could already see it—two gold-diggers learning from their mother, ready to sink their claws into our family fortune.
"Where are they now?" I kept my voice neutral, but rage was building in my chest.
"Isla had a rough year. Her fiancé left her very publicly, and her father disowned her. She's been living with friends, working several jobs. Victoria wants her to move in with us after the wedding."
Of course she did.
"Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "You're marrying a woman you've known for three months, and her broke daughter is moving into our home?"
"My home," Dad corrected, his smile finally fading. "And yes. Victoria's daughter needs support, and we have plenty of room. I expected you to be happy for me."
"Happy? You're being played!"
"Caspian—"
"Wake up!" I shouted. "Some beautiful woman shows up, tells you a sob story about her poor heartbroken daughter, and suddenly you're Prince Charming riding to the rescue? This is textbook manipulation!"
Dad's face hardened. "That's enough. I didn't raise you to be this cynical."
"You raised me to be smart. To protect our family. And I'm telling you, this is a mistake."
"The wedding is in two weeks," Dad said coldly. "You can attend with grace, or you can stay away. But either way, it's happening. Victoria makes me happy, and after six years of grief, I deserve that."
The guilt hit like a fist. He was right—he did deserve happiness. But this wasn't the way.
"Fine," I said. "I'll be there. But I'm watching them. Both of them. And if they hurt you—"
"They won't." Dad's voice softened. "You'll see. Victoria is wonderful. And Isla... she's had a difficult time, but she's strong. Smart. Beautiful."
Something in his tone made my skin prickle. The way he said her name—*Isla*—like it meant something.
"I can't wait for you to meet her," Dad continued. "I think you two might actually get along."
No chance in hell.
---
Two weeks later, I stood in the back of the church, watching my father marry a stranger.
Victoria was beautiful, I'd give her that. Elegant in a simple cream dress, laughing at something Dad whispered. She looked genuinely happy.
But I wasn't watching her.
My eyes kept drifting to the maid of honor. The daughter. *Isla*.
Auburn hair cascading down her back. Emerald eyes that sparkled when she smiled. A dress that fit her perfectly, showing curves that made my mouth go dry.
She was stunning.
And I hated her on sight.
Because when our eyes met across the church—just for a second—something slammed into my chest. Recognition. Want. Need.
No. Absolutely not.
I looked away, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. This was exactly what I'd feared. She was exactly the type of weapon a smart con artist would use—beautiful enough to distract, vulnerable enough to manipulate.
Well, it wouldn't work on me.
The ceremony ended. People cheered. Dad kissed his new wife, and I watched Isla clap politely, her smile never quite reaching her eyes.
At the reception, Dad found me at the bar.
"Caspian, come meet Victoria properly. And Isla."
He dragged me across the room. Victoria was warm, gracious, everything a politician's wife would be. I shook her hand and said the right words.
Then Isla turned, and up close, she was devastating.
"The daughter," I heard myself say. My voice came out cold, cruel. "How convenient that your mother found a billionaire right after your father cut you off."
Her eyes went wide. Hurt flashed across her face before anger replaced it.
Good. Let her hate me. It was safer that way.
"Excuse me?" she said.
"Let me be clear." I stepped closer, keeping my voice low so only she could hear. "I don't care what story you've told yourself, but I know exactly what you are. Stay out of my way, don't embarrass my father, and we'll coexist peacefully."
I walked away before she could respond. Before I could see if I'd made her cry. Before I could apologize.
Because here's what I couldn't tell her, couldn't tell anyone:
The moment I saw Isla Monroe, I wanted her. Completely. Desperately. In a way that terrified me.
And she was about to become my stepsister.
I had to make her hate me. It was the only way to keep us both safe from the fire I could already feel burning between us.
Even if it destroyed me in the process.