CHAPTER 1: OVERPROTECTIVE BROTHER
ISABELLA
The zipper hissed closed on my duffel bag, loud in the heavy silence of my room.
Vincent stood by the door, arms folded like iron bars. Damian leaned against my desk, sunglasses perched in his hair, unreadable as ever but his eyes never stopped watching. Measuring. Judging.
“You two gonna glare me into submission or just stand there until I combust?”
My voice was light. My pulse wasn’t.
Vincent didn’t move. “Finals can be taken from home. It’s safer.”
Safer.
Always safer.
But never freer.
“I already talked to Dad. He’s fine with me going back to campus.”
“That was before”
“I’m not a prisoner.”
Vincent’s jaw clenched. His hand tightened on the handle of my suitcase, like he thought I’d vanish the second he blinked.
Typical Vincent.
Protective to the point of suffocation.
“I need this,” I said, softer now. “I need normal. I need me.”
No response. Just silence so dense it pressed against my chest.
Damian hadn’t spoken once, but his gaze was like pressure on my spine sharp, assessing. Always a shadow behind Vincent. Always close enough to catch me, but never close enough to reach.
Say something, I thought.
Help me.
Then his voice came low, calm, deliberate.
“She’s not a kid, Vince. Let her go.”
It shouldn’t have meant anything.
But it did.
Because Damian wasn’t just Vincent’s second-in-command.
He was the boy who used to sneak me candy under the table. The man I dreamed about when I was too young to understand what desire felt like. The one who never looked at me like anything but Vincent’s kid sister.
Except sometimes… when he thought I wasn’t watching… he did.
I stepped forward. Yanked the suitcase from Vincent’s grip.
“Thanks for the concern. But I’m going.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Vincent warned.
I smirked.
“Then it’s mine to make.”
And I walked past them without looking back.
In the living room, Dad sat in his usual chair, half-hidden behind The Tribune. Same khaki shorts. Same war-scarred stillness.
“You’re really going?” he asked without lowering the paper.
“I need to finish what I started.”
“You already have.” He folded the paper, stood slowly, and touched my cheek with calloused fingers. “But if this is what you want…”
“It is. Just tell Vincent to stop acting like I’m made of glass.”
A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “He’s being a brother.”
“He’s being a tyrant.”
He shrugged.
“No men. Unless something goes wrong.”
Relief flooded me. “Deal. Thank you.”
Outside, the SUV idled like a bodyguard.
Damian slid my bag into the trunk, then opened the passenger door.
“I’ll drive.”
My heart skipped.
“Alone?”
Vincent’s voice answered from behind me.
“Of course not.”
Of course.
The drive was quiet. Too quiet. Just the hum of the road and the sound of my heartbeat trying to outrun my thoughts.
Vincent kept glancing at me through the mirror not angry this time.
Sad.
Uncertain.
Like he was watching something slip through his fingers.
I looked away. Too fast. Too guilty.
Damian didn’t speak, but his hands on the wheel were tense knuckles white. Once, I caught him staring at me in the mirror.
Not with softness.
With heat.
Then he looked away.
By the time we reached campus, the silence had become unbearable.
I jumped out the second we stopped.
“Thanks for the ride,” I muttered.
From across the parking lot, a girl whispered, “Who are they?”
Another giggled, “God, they look dangerous.”
If only they knew.
If they saw past Vincent’s overprotective edge, past Damian’s cold composure
If they knew what those two were capable of.
“Call if you need anything!” Vincent called.
“I won’t,” I shot back.
Inside the dorm building, Liliana was waiting.
Smirking. Arms folded. Eyes glinting.
“Okay, your brother is fine, but that one?” She pointed to the window like it was cursed. “Damian Vercetti is a walking felony with abs.”
I ignored her.
“You sure you’re here for finals?” she teased. “Not to relive your eighth-grade fiancé fantasy?”
“I never said love,” I said too fast.
She raised a brow. “You wrote his name in cursive on every notebook. That counts.”
I dragged my suitcase past her like it might protect my pride.
“If you knew what they’re really like…” I murmured.
She caught up. “Still doesn’t make him any less hot.”
In our room, she darted to the window.
“They’re still there!”
I froze. Against my better judgment, I moved beside her.
Vincent waved his familiar two-finger salute.
But Damian… didn’t move.
He wasn’t smiling.
He was staring.
His eyes locked onto mine burning. Calculating. Something between anger and obsession.
Like I was the answer to a question he hated asking.
Then he turned.
Opened the door.
Gone.
Liliana whistled. “That man just looked at you like you were a sin he wanted to commit.”
“He sees me as a sister.”
But the words felt brittle. Wrong.
She leaned closer.
“Maybe once. But not today.”
I didn’t answer.
Because deep down…
God help me, I needed her to be right.
