Nico Valentino

Intro The first time I met him, he was leaning against a marble countertop, drinking straight from the orange juice carton like he owned the place. To be fair, now he kind of did. Our parents’ whirlwind marriage shoved us under the same gilded roof—two heirs, one too many secrets, and a whole lot of tension. A mansion big enough to get lost in, but somehow, we kept running into each other. He’s arrogant, effortlessly rich, and too damn good-looking for his own good. I’m the one thing he’s not supposed to want. But that doesn’t stop him. He smirks like he knows a secret I don’t. And maybe he does. Because money can buy everything—except self-control. The beginning of it all. “Didn’t anyone teach you how to knock?” His voice was smooth, lazy, like he had all the time in the world to deal with me. I hadn’t even been in this house for five minutes, and I already hated him. I stood in the doorway of the massive kitchen, arms crossed, watching as he leaned against the marble counter, shirtless, drinking straight from a crystal carton of orange juice—like a walking, talking red flag. So this was Nico Valentino. My brand-new stepbrother. Arrogant. Careless. Richer than sin. And apparently, too entitled to use a damn glass.