Part 7: A House Divided
Mia waited until morning. She brewed coffee without a word. The kitchen was quiet, sunlight crawling across the floor like a slow invasion.
Aaron came in, fresh from his run, shirt clinging to him with sweat.
He opened the fridge.
"I know," she said.
He froze.
Then shut the fridge without looking at her. "Know what?"
She stared at him. "Don't play dumb. I saw the way you touched him. I've seen the way you look."
Aaron turned. His face was unreadable — cold, hard, like steel beneath frost.
"He's your boyfriend," he said flatly.
"I was his girlfriend," Mia snapped. "I'm not sure I am anymore."
The silence between them cracked like thunder.
Aaron's jaw twitched.
"I didn't do anything," he said.
"You wanted to," she said, softer now. "And he knows it."
Aaron looked at the floor. "It wasn't supposed to happen."
"You're my brother," she whispered.
"And he's not what he looks like," Aaron said, finally meeting her gaze. "He's not fragile. He's not innocent. He wanted this."
"And you let him take it," she whispered.
Aaron didn't deny it.
He couldn't.
She packed a bag. Not all of her things — just enough. She needed air. Space. Dignity.
Eli watched her from the stairs, quiet and still.
"I'm leaving for a while," she said, not quite able to meet his eyes. "You should come with me."
Eli said nothing for a long moment. Then:
"I can't."
Mia's throat tightened. "Why not?"
Eli stepped down slowly, barefoot on the wood. "Because if I leave now, he wins."
Mia's breath caught.
He wasn't talking about seduction anymore.
He was talking about possession.
And Mia realized — Eli had been watching both of them the whole time.
Not just caught between them.
But in control.
"I don't know who you are anymore," she whispered.
Eli's voice was soft. "Then I guess you never really did."
She left before noon.
The house was silent again.
But something inside it had changed.
The quiet was no longer peace. It was waiting.
That night, Aaron found Eli curled on the couch in the dark, wearing the same soft tee and nothing else. The room was lit only by the glow of the streetlamp outside, casting long shadows along his thighs.
"I thought you'd go with her," Aaron said.
"I thought about it," Eli said softly.
Aaron walked in, slow and cautious, like approaching a sleeping animal that might bite.
"She doesn't deserve this," he muttered.
"No," Eli said. "But she let herself pretend not to see it for too long."
Aaron stood before the couch.
Eli looked up at him.
"You're not innocent," Aaron said.
"I never said I was."
"You knew what you were doing."
"So did you."
Aaron's hands trembled.
"I tried to stop."
"I tried to make you," Eli whispered. "You didn't."
A beat passed.
Then Aaron sat — beside him, knees touching, the heat between their bodies almost unbearable.
"I didn't want this," Aaron said hoarsely. "I didn't mean for this."
Eli tilted his head, lashes casting soft shadows.
"Yes, you did."
Silence.
Then Aaron reached out — slow, heavy, deliberate — and touched Eli's jaw with the back of his knuckles.
Not like a brother.
Not like a man filled with shame.
Like someone who had finally decided to stop lying.
Eli didn't flinch.
He leaned in.
And the kiss wasn't gentle.
It was hungry.
Aaron's hand slid to Eli's neck, gripping just firm enough to pull him closer. Eli melted into him, thighs parting, breath catching, fingers curling into Aaron's chest.
The kiss deepened — slow, desperate, bruising.
Eli pulled back first, lips swollen, eyes dark.
"You wanted to own me," he whispered.
Aaron's voice was low, ragged. "I still do."
Eli leaned in again, brushing his lips across Aaron's ear. "Then take me like you mean it."
And Aaron did.
That night, no part of the house stayed silent.
Not the walls.
Not the couch.
Not the man who lost control.
Not the boy who took it from him.
[To Be Continued — In Part 8: The aftermath. Heat and obsession mingle. The house becomes a quiet battlefield. Eli grows bolder. Aaron begins slipping into something darker — need disguised as control.]