My Stepbrother’s Forbidden Debt

“Mom, I have incredible news! My study abroad application was accepted. I’m going to Paris!”

Isabelle Ashcroft’s voice cut through the quiet of the living room, bright and hopeful, yet trembling with barely contained excitement.

On the sofa opposite, her mother, Claire Valdemar, nearly jumped to her feet. Her eyes lit up with pure joy. “Already? That was so fast! When do you leave?” she cried out, her heart pounding at the thought of her daughter flying so far away.

“In ten days,” Isabelle answered, her own heart a frantic mix of thrill and dread.

Claire’s delighted expression faltered for a second, a shadow of worry crossing her face. “Ten days? That’s practically tomorrow! I’ll begin packing for you immediately! This is your first time going overseas, sweetheart. I can’t help but be anxious. Listen, I contacted an old friend of mine. Her son is living in Paris right now. If you need anything at all, you must reach out to him. You two were practically betrothed as children! Maybe you’ll even like each other. If it leads somewhere, wonderful. If not, you’ll at least have a friend there.”

Isabelle gave a small, tight smile and nodded. “Alright, Mom. That sounds fine.”

Claire blinked, taken aback by her daughter’s easy agreement. “Belle, you’re really okay with that? Does this mean… you and that boyfriend of yours are finally over?”

The air in the room instantly turned heavy and still.

Isabelle felt her stomach plummet.

Her stepfather, Thomas Cortez, sensing the shift, slammed his hand down on the coffee table, his gaze fierce. “That boy never once had the decency to meet us! He was never serious about you! Good riddance, I say!”

“Boyfriend? What boyfriend?” A new voice, cool and sharp, sliced through the tension.

All three of them turned.

Asher Cortez was walking through the front door, his presence immediately dominating the space.

Dressed in a fitted black shirt and trousers that highlighted his tall, lean build, he moved with a careless, predatory grace.

Isabelle’s heart gave a painful thud. She stood up automatically. “Ash,” she whispered, a confusing rush of warmth and fear flooding her.

Asher acknowledged her with a dismissive grunt. He tossed his car keys onto the entryway table with a clatter and started up the stairs without a second glance, an aura of icy detachment surrounding him.

That night, Claire prepared a feast. The smell of roasted herbs and garlic filled the house. She opened a bottle of deep red wine.

Beaming, she raised her glass. “A toast! To celebrate Belle’s soon—”

Isabelle, panic flaring, cut in quickly. “Mom, this wine tastes off. Is it spoiled?”

Claire frowned, confused. She was sure it was perfectly fine. But before she could argue, Isabelle had already pulled her into the kitchen, pretending to search for a different bottle.

“Mom, please don’t say anything about Paris to Ash yet,” Isabelle hissed, her eyes wide and pleading.

At first, Claire didn’t understand.

Then she remembered how fiercely protective Asher had always been of Isabelle over the years. She assumed it was just a brother’s love, a simple dislike of goodbyes. She nodded in agreement.

After pushing food around her plate for a few minutes, Isabelle excused herself and fled to her room.

She washed up, changed, and climbed into bed. The day’s events churned in her mind until exhaustion finally pulled her under.

At exactly midnight, the mattress dipped beside her.

A familiar, solid warmth pressed against her back. She felt the heat of his breath on her neck, then the soft, deliberate brush of his lips against her skin. The cool, damp touch shocked her awake. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Her body went rigid. She shoved him away and sat up, her voice sharp. “Asher!”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his lips curling into a lazy, dangerous smile in the dark. “Now that they’re trying to marry you off to some stranger, I’m not allowed near you? After everything we’ve shared, you think you can just leave?”

Isabelle saw the misunderstanding but didn’t correct him.

The silence grew thick and suffocating.

Asher’s expression darkened. He reached out, his arm like an iron band, and pulled her back against his chest. “Isabelle, have I ever made myself clear? You don’t get to have a boyfriend. You belong to me.”

Feeling the relentless heat of his body seeping into hers, all her arguments died in her throat. Instead, she lied softly, “I’m on my period. I don’t feel well.”

The excuse seemed to temper him, though a scowl remained. “Didn’t it just end? It’s back already? Fine. I won’t touch you tonight. Just sleep.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.

She listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, but sleep wouldn’t come.

No one knew her boyfriend was her stepbrother, Asher.

When she was twelve, her mother married into the Cortez family, weaving her life irrevocably with Asher’s, the family’s sole heir.

By fourteen, their bond had deepened, a picture of perfect sibling devotion to the outside world.

At eighteen, he found her secret diary, every page scribbled with his name. He leaned against her desk, reading it with a wicked grin. When she tried to grab it back, he caught her wrist and pressed a teasing kiss to her burning cheek.

At twenty, they crossed the line for the first time. From that night on, their connection became a secret, addictive spiral.

By day, they were siblings. By night, they shared a bed, hidden from everyone.

Isabelle had always been the good girl. Being with Asher was the one wild, reckless choice of her life.

She loved him so desperately she convinced herself their secret was okay. They could run away to another country one day. They could marry in secret, far from judgment.

That fragile dream shattered two weeks ago.

It was pouring rain. She had rushed to bring him an umbrella. Just as her hand touched the door to the private room he was in, she heard his friend’s voice.

“Ash, what’s the deal with your stepsister? I thought you were just having fun before dumping her. Why is it still going on?”

Another voice chimed in. “Yeah, you only got with her to get back at her mom for replacing yours, right? Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for her.”

Isabelle’s world stopped.

He wasn’t with her out of love. It was revenge. A twisted, cruel game.

Her face went cold. Her mind emptied. Her body began to shake. But she stayed rooted to the spot, desperate to hear his answer.