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Culpa Mia

Chapter One: The Move

The rain hit the windows in rhythmic taps, like the sky itself was trying to soothe Noah’s nerves—offering a lullaby of water to ease the storm brewing inside her. But it wasn’t working. Nothing could. She sat curled up in the back seat of the black SUV, hoodie pulled up over her head like armor, earbuds in to block out the voices up front. Her fingers toyed with the cord of her earphones, but she wasn’t really listening to the music. She was watching the world outside shift into something unfamiliar.

They were entering a neighborhood that looked straight out of a glossy home magazine. The kind of place that smelled like power and polished marble. Massive gates parted like some ancient rite of passage, and as the SUV glided through, Noah felt like she was being swallowed whole.

Her mother, Rafaela, sat in the front seat, radiant in a way that made Noah ache with resentment. She was practically glowing, talking to William Leister with the kind of soft tone Noah hadn’t heard in years. William was all expensive suits, perfect posture, and a voice like smooth whiskey. He looked like he belonged on the cover of Forbes, not in Noah’s life.

What did her mother see in him? Was it love, or just desperation? Stability was a powerful drug for someone who’d lived paycheck to paycheck. But to Noah, it all felt like selling out. Like trading in their messy but real life for some artificial fantasy with a man who probably thought vinyl was just a kind of flooring.

She clenched her jaw as the SUV pulled into the driveway—a driveway, not a cracked sidewalk like she was used to. The mansion loomed ahead, all glass and sharp edges, like it had been carved from ice. Cold, perfect, and utterly unwelcoming.

Everything she’d loved—her gritty neighborhood, her music posters taped to chipped walls, the old couch where she’d nap after school—was gone. Torn away. Replaced with manicured lawns, hedges shaped like animals, and a place where even the silence felt rehearsed.

And then came him.

Nick.

He stood in the doorway as they pulled up, one shoulder leaning against the frame like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t move to greet them, didn’t smile. Just watched with that maddening confidence, a ghost of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. He looked like trouble. Tall, with that tousled dark hair that looked like it had been artfully messed up on purpose, and eyes that carried a dare.

Noah knew his type. Arrogant. Sharp-tongued. Probably drove too fast and thought rules were suggestions. She didn’t need to talk to him to know they’d hate each other. She just knew.

He didn’t offer to help with her bags. Didn’t say a word. Just let his eyes travel over her in a quick, unapologetic scan—judging, measuring—and then he turned and walked away.

“Nice to meet you too, stepbrother,” she muttered under her breath, heart hammering.

The house was a cathedral of wealth. Vaulted ceilings that seemed to echo every footstep, artwork she didn’t understand mounted like trophies, and floors so shiny they reflected her confusion back at her. Every surface was cold. Clean. Untouched. It was beautiful in a way that made her feel ugly.

Her new bedroom was bigger than their entire old apartment, but it felt like a hotel suite—designed, not lived in. She sat on the pristine bed and stared at the ceiling, arms crossed tightly around her ribs like they might hold her together.

She didn’t unpack.

She didn’t cry.

She just listened to the quiet and hated every second of it.

Later that night, bass thumped through the floor. Curious—and annoyed—she followed the sound like a thread down winding hallways until she found the source: the garage, now transformed into something between a frat house and a nightclub. Strobe lights, cigarette smoke, red cups littered like confetti. And there, in the middle of it all, was Nick.

Laughing, drinking, charming the room like he owned it.

“What is this? A frat house?” she scoffed, arms folded.

Nick turned, that infuriating smirk still in place. “Didn’t realize we had company from the convent.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “You’re a walking cliché.”

“And you’re a walking attitude,” he shot back, grin widening.

It was the first of many fights. The first clash of what would become a daily routine—barbs tossed like darts, both of them hitting their mark with deadly precision. But underneath all that sarcasm and snark, something stirred. It wasn’t attraction—at least not yet—but it was something. Something dangerous. Like the air right before lightning strikes.

She stomped back to her room and slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

She told herself she’d never get close to him.

She didn’t know yet how much of a lie that would become.

Chapter two: Sparks and Scars

If there was one thing Noah couldn’t stand more than being uprooted, it was pretending. Pretending to fit in, to play polite, to act like she wasn’t constantly watching her step. Every day in that mansion felt like walking on glass—shiny, brittle, waiting to break.

The only thing worse? Sharing space with Nick.

The first week was a battlefield of sarcastic comments and glances that lingered too long. He was a ghost in the mornings, a storm at night. His music blasted through the walls at 2 a.m. His engine revved like a challenge when he sped off in his obnoxiously loud sports car. Every time he passed her in the hallway, he acted like she was in the way. And every time he smirked, her heart betrayed her with a flutter she hated.

But she wasn’t about to give in to a guy who walked around like he owned the world.

One afternoon, she was skating outside the garage, headphones on, when Nick pulled in, nearly clipping her board. She jumped back, slamming her hand on the hood.

“Are you blind?” she snapped.

Nick stepped out of the car slowly, sunglasses on, looking far too relaxed. “This is my driveway.”

“It’s our driveway,” she shot back. “Don’t act like I don’t exist.”

He smirked. “Oh, trust me. You’re pretty hard to ignore.”

That threw her. He wasn’t just being an ass—he was flirting.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?”

Nick shrugged. “Tried once. Didn’t go well.”

Noah stared at him. Something shifted in his expression, just for a second. Behind that smug exterior, there was something else. Pain? Loneliness? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. But it stuck with her.

Later that week, Rafaela and William hosted a formal dinner for business guests. Noah was forced into a black dress that hugged too tight and sat across from Nick, who looked irritatingly perfect in a tailored suit.

He tapped his fork against his glass subtly. “You clean up well, Steps.”

She kicked his shin under the table. “Call me that again and I’ll stab you with my salad fork.”

He laughed. A real laugh. Not mocking—almost impressed.

The night ended with them outside, away from the buzz of the adults, both leaning against the balcony railing in silence.

“You hate it here, don’t you?” he asked.

She didn’t respond at first. “I don’t belong here.”

“Neither do I.”

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, they saw each other—not the masks, not the attitude. Just two broken kids, stuck in someone else’s idea of a perfect life.

It scared Noah, how easy it felt to talk to him. How familiar his pain looked.

The next day, he drove her to school—not because he had to, but because he offered. No smart remarks. Just music, windows down, wind in her hair.

Something had shifted between them. And it wasn’t going back.

But sparks are dangerous things. They can light candles. Or burn houses down.

And this fire? It was just beginning.

Chapter Three: Lines we Cross

The house didn’t feel like a home, but that didn’t stop it from pulling Noah and Nick closer. Not in the open. Never in front of their parents. But in the in-between—those late hours, empty hallways, and quiet car rides—they kept finding each other.

Noah tried to ignore it. She told herself it was just loneliness, a side effect of being trapped in a new life. But the truth burned at the edges of every thought.

It was Nick.

The worst part? He looked at her like he knew it. Like he knew the exact moment her walls cracked.

One Friday night, everything changed.

William and Rafaela were away for a gala. The mansion was theirs. Nick, being Nick, threw a party. People flooded the house—expensive cologne, red Solo cups, music thumping so hard it made the marble floor vibrate.

Noah tried to stay in her room, but curiosity won out. She came down the stairs in a loose flannel, shorts, and combat boots, head held high.

Nick spotted her from across the room. He was surrounded by people, girls laughing too hard at jokes he barely told. But when he saw her, his smile faltered—just for a second.

Then he pushed through the crowd and walked up to her, holding out a drink.

“Didn’t think you’d come down,” he said.

“I live here, remember?”

He nodded. “Still… wasn’t sure if you’d join the rest of us mortals.”

She took the drink, suspicious. “What is it?”

“Something stupid. Don’t drink it.”

She smiled. “You’re not always an ass, are you?”

“Depends who you ask.”

They ended up on the rooftop balcony, away from the noise. The city lights stretched out below, the air crisp with early spring.

“You ever think about what you’d be doing if your mom hadn’t married my dad?” Nick asked.

Noah leaned back against the railing. “Yeah. I’d be broke but free. Probably working late shifts and skating through life.”

He chuckled. “Sounds better than this golden prison.”

They were quiet for a moment. Then he turned to her, face more serious than she’d ever seen.

“You know this isn’t just… nothing, right?” he asked.

She froze. Her heart hammered.

“You mean this—whatever this is—between us?” she said.

He nodded. “It’s not just tension. It’s not just… boredom.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“I hate that I get it,” she said quietly. “I hate that you’re the only person in this place that makes me feel like I’m not losing my mind.”

And then—without thinking, without planning—he leaned in.

And she didn’t pull away.

The kiss was soft, hesitant at first. Then hungrier, as if they were both trying to make sense of the fire they’d been ignoring.

When they finally pulled apart, the silence between them wasn’t awkward.

It was dangerous.

“This can’t happen,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said.

But it already had.

That night, Noah lay in bed wide awake. Her lips still buzzed with the memory of his. Her mind spun. It was wrong. They were step-siblings. They lived under the same roof. Their parents were married.

And yet… it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt inevitable.

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