Page 8 of Beautiful Sin
Before he could deploy another one of those looks that made my knees forget their job description—the one where his eyes softened at the corners and his lips curved just so—I turned and dropped into the seat beside Nico. I could feel Jaxson’s gaze following me like a physical touch as he took his place across the table, a warm caress that made the fine hairs on my arms stand at attention.
“My, my.” Wei’s amused voice cut through the tension, dripping with that knowing tone that made me want to crawl under the table and die. “Isn’t it interesting how that old shirt of Jaxson’s seems to command everyone’s attention this morning?” He took another sip of his ridiculously expensive coffee, dark eyes dancing with mischief over the rim of his mug. The bastard was enjoying this far too much.
I glanced down at the shirt—one of Jaxson’s ancient hand-me-downs that practically swallowed me whole—and tugged self-consciously at the collar. Which, naturally, only made it slip further off my shoulder, exposing more skin to the suddenly too-warm air of the kitchen. Perfect. Just perfect. The fabric was worn soft from years of use, carrying faint traces of Jaxson’s scent despite countless washes. Wearing it was like being wrapped in his embrace, a thought that sent another wave of heat crawling up my neck.
I lifted my gaze, only to catch Colt staring at me with an unusually dark expression, his eyes fixed on my exposed shoulder before trailing up to my face with an intensity that made my breath catch. His jaw was clenched tight, perfect posture even more rigid than usual, the muscle at his temple jumping visibly. Great. My sloppy appearance must be offending his perfectionist sensibilities again. The man probably ironed his underwear; of course my disheveled state would bother him.
“Your shirt is…” He trailed off, jaw tightening even further, his knuckles white around his fork.
“Falling off?” I supplied helpfully, trying to adjust it and failing miserably. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you inherit clothes from giants.” The word “inherit” felt wrong on my tongue—too familial, too brotherly for the decidedly unbrotherly thoughts I’d been having about the shirt’s original owner.
Xander leaned over, his movement bringing a waft of his scent—something woodsy and expensive that contrasted sharply with the lingering scent of alcohol from the bar. His fingers brushed my shoulder as he adjusted the collar, his touch lingering just a second too long, warm against my skin. The contact sent an unexpected shiver down my spine, one I desperately hoped no one noticed. “Looks good on you,” he murmured, closer than necessary, his breath warm against my ear.
“Aww, look at our little Lan swimming in big brother’s clothes,” Nico sang out, grinning wickedly around a mouthful of French toast. “If you’re trying to start a new fashion trend, I’d call it ‘Drowning in Denim.’ Or maybe ‘Help, My Shirt Ate Me’?”
“I’m not that small,” I protested, shrugging away from Xander’s helping hands, though the movement only made the collar slip again. My cheeks burned as Nico pretended to wipe away a tear, his expression comically mournful.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Colt muttered darkly from across the table, his eyes still fixed on me with that intense look that made me want to check if I had breakfast on my face or possibly a third eye sprouting from my forehead. His gaze felt like a physical weight, pressing against my skin.
“And at least I don’t look like a walking thrift store reject,” I shot back at Nico, trying to ignore Colt’s unsettling stare by focusing on the safer target.
“Ouch! He bites!” Nico clutched his chest dramatically, staggering back in his chair like I’d physically wounded him. “But seriously, bro, we need to feed you more. I can practically hear those clothes plotting their escape.” He reached over to ruffle my hair, a gesture I tolerated from him in a way I wouldn’t from the others. Nico’s touch was simple, brotherly, without the undercurrents that seemed to complicate every interaction in this house lately.
“Now, now,” Wei interrupted, his knowing smirk growing wider as his gaze flicked between Jaxson’s white-knuckled grip on his mug and Xander’s hovering hands. “I think our little Shrine Maiden looks perfectly fine in oversized clothes. Wouldn’t you agree, Jaxson?” The question seemed innocent enough, but the gleam in Wei’s eyes suggested otherwise. He was poking the bear, and the bear in question was currently looking like he might snap his coffee mug in half.
The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees as Jaxson’s eyes narrowed at Xander’s hand, still suspiciously close to my shoulder. The intensity of his gaze made me shiver despite the kitchen’s warmth, my body responding to his attention in ways that were entirely inappropriate for breakfast—or any meal, really, given our relationship.
Seriously, what was with everyone this morning? Was there some full moon effect I didn’t know about that made all my brothers act weird? Must be a caffeine thing. Or maybe they’d allcollectively lost their minds. Whatever it was, it was making the already cramped kitchen feel like it was shrinking by the second, the air thick with something I couldn’t quite name.
“Eat more,” Jaxson finally said, pushing his own plate toward me. That familiar worry line appeared between his brows—the one that always made guilt twist in my stomach like a living thing. “You’re too thin.” The words were simple, but the concern behind them was layered with history, with years of him taking care of me, watching over me, being more parent than brother.
The mother hen routine that had become Jaxson’s default setting whenever food was involved. I picked at the extra French toast he’d given me, trying not to sigh. I knew where this came from, of course. The memory rose unbidden, sharp and clear despite the years.
I blamed his overprotective streak on that incident from years ago. The one where I’d collapsed at school and scared everyone half to death. The doctors had thrown around words like ‘malnourished’ and ‘depression’ like confetti at a particularly grim party. I mean, what did they expect? Our parents had just died, and I was sixteen—an age where everything felt like the end of the world even without actual tragedy involved. Food had been the last thing on my mind back then, grief sitting heavy in my stomach, taking up all the space.
The incident had sent Jaxson into full-blown protective overdrive. Social Services had descended like vultures in sensible shoes, poking their noses into every corner of our lives. Poor Jaxson had been stretched thinner than our grocery budget back then, trying to convince them he could handle being guardian to two minors while building his real estate career and juggling more part-time jobs than a circus performer. The dark circles under his eyes had become a permanent fixture, his smile growing rarer by the day.
Then came That Day—the one that still featured in my nightmares. The social worker had arrived with her clipboard of doom, ready to drag me away. I’d gone full octopus, clinging to Jaxson like my life depended on it. Which, in my teenage mind, it absolutely did. The stress had been too much, and I’d pulled my signature move—passing out right there on the doorstep. Nothing says ‘I’m totally fine’ like face-planting into unconsciousness.
I remembered waking up in the hospital, Jaxson’s face hovering above mine, pale and drawn with worry. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he’d whispered, his voice rough with emotion. He’d stayed by my bed all night, his hand holding mine, anchoring me in a world that felt like it was falling apart. That was the moment something shifted in our relationship—when he went from being my stepbrother to being my protector, my guardian, my everything.
“You’re doing that thing again.” Wei’s voice cut through my brooding, dragging me back to the present. “The one where you space out and look like a sad character from a webtoon.” His tone was teasing, but I caught the flicker of genuine concern beneath it. For all his sarcasm and knowing smirks, Wei had always been able to read me better than anyone.
I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at my French toast like it had personally offended me, possibly by insulting my ancestors. “I do not look like a webtoon character.” The denial was automatic, though I knew it was a losing battle.
“You kind of do,” Nico chimed in helpfully, mouth full of eggs, a smudge of syrup decorating his chin. “Especially with that whole ‘delicate flower’ thing you’ve got going on.” He gestured vaguely at my face with his fork, nearly taking Colt’s eye out in the process.
“The word you’re looking for is ‘Shrine Maiden,’” Wei corrected with a smirk that made me want to dump his preciouscoffee over his head. “It’s in his genes, apparently. Mom said our great-grandmother had the same look—petite, pretty, and prone to attracting stalkers.” He took another sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim with those knowing eyes that missed nothing. “The Ji women were famous for it, apparently. Something about the bloodline.”
Colt actually paused his methodical breakfast consumption at that, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. “Stalkers?” The single word contained more sharp edges than seemed possible, his usual precise diction giving way to something harder, almost protective.
“Oh yeah.” Wei was clearly enjoying himself now, settling back in his chair like a storyteller preparing for his grand performance. “Some guy tried to kidnap her, claimed she’d put a spell on him with her looks.” He gestured dramatically, nearly spilling his precious coffee. “Said he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think of anything but her. Poor bastard probably just needed therapy, but back then they called it ‘bewitchment.’”
Nico burst out laughing, nearly choking on his breakfast, his eyes watering as he coughed and sputtered. “So that’s why half the city’s male population keeps stalking Lan! They probably think he has magical powers or something.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively once he’d recovered, his expression comically lascivious. “Though I doubt it’s his spiritual energy they’re after.”
“It’s not funny,” I muttered, stabbing my eggs with more force than necessary, imagining they were Wei’s smug face. It wasn’t my fault I’d inherited Mom’s delicate features and ended up looking like some kind of accidental honey trap. The number of ‘accidental’ bumps and dropped items around me at work was getting ridiculous. Just last week, a customer had managed to spill three separate drinks in my vicinity, each time requiringme to bend over and help clean up while he stared with all the subtlety of a foghorn.
Xander, who’d been doing his best impression of a zombie until now, cracked open an eye. The honey-gold color was startling against his sleep-deprived pallor, surprisingly alert for someone who’d crawled in at dawn. “You need to start dating,” he announced, like he was delivering profound wisdom, though his gaze lingered on me a beat longer than necessary, trailing down my neck to where Jaxson’s shirt gaped open. “Or at least get laid. That’ll keep the stalkers away.”
