Becoming His Aunt

Start Reading

The trash can hit the floor with a sharp clatter.

A sticky mess rolled across the hardwooda used condom half-wrapped in a crumpled tissue.

Fresh. Sometime last night, or maybe even this morning.

The jagged edges of the spare key hed handed me bit deeply into my palm. I squeezed it until my knuckles went bone-white.

I thought the blurred lines and lingering tension between us actually meant something.

Bile surged to the back of my throat. The man I had secretly loved for years just screwed someone else.

Right here. In this bed.

Chapter 1

My phone buzzed just as I was smoothing out the duvet in Roman's bedroom. It was my mom.

Ever since he dropped his spare key into my palm last month, Id been coming over almost every day. He hadn't made it official yet, but the unspoken lines between us were clear enough. We both knew what this was.

After the usual interrogations about my daily life, my mom casually dropped a bomb. Bianca was back in the States.

My hand froze mid-swipe across the nightstand.

My thumb scrambled to slam the speakerphone button off. I peeked through the crack in the door. Roman was lounging on the sofa, scrolling quietly on his phone. His features were locked in their usual indifferent, unbothered mask.

He hadn't heard. I let out a quiet breath.

Lowering my voice to a harsh whisper, I pressed the phone to my ear. "Wasn't her wedding supposed to be next month? Why is she back?"

"You didn't know?" My mom hesitated. I heard her heavy sigh through the receiver.

She spilled it: Bianca had caught her fianc cheating red-handed right before the wedding. The whole thing blew up, and the marriage was off.

My stomach dropped. Bianca was my cousin, but we were only a few months apart. We practically grew up in the same sandbox. Hearing her life implode like that made a dull ache throb in my temples.

But then there was the other thing.

Bianca was the only girlfriend Roman had ever publicly claimed in college. Back then, I was just the girl who sat next to him in class. A close friend, at best.

When they started dating, I pulled back. I made myself scarce. But at every family Thanksgiving or summer barbecue, Bianca always found a way to corner me and bring him up.

Her favorite line? "I owe it all to you, Rowan. If it wasn't for you, I never would've met a guy as amazing as Roman."

It took me a while to figure out the game she was playing. She knew exactly how I felt about him. She was just marking her territory, forcing my nose into the dirt so Id know my place.

That toxic little dance lasted right up until graduation. They hit a wall over their post-grad plans. Bianca packed her bags for grad school overseas and dumped him cold.

Roman crashed after that. I was the one who stayed. I scraped him off the floor when he was blacked out on cheap whiskey, and I anchored him while he slowly pieced himself back together.

Maybe because I was the one who waded through the mud with him, the walls he kept up with everyone else seemed just a fraction lower for me.

Back on the phone, my mom was winding herself up over Bianca's cheating ex, her voice shrill enough to bleed through the earpiece.

Panic spiked my pulse. I shot a glance back through the cracked door.

Roman was busy with Dumpling. His head was bowed, his long fingers trailing a slow, rhythmic path down the Ragdoll's spine. The sharp line of his jaw cut a shadow against his neck. His face remained an unreadable, sculpted blank.

The cat was a puddle of fur pressed against his thigh, eyes half-shut in absolute bliss.

Chapter 2

I gave him this eight-month-old Ragdoll half a year ago. That was right after I heard about Bianca's engagement, when I finally scraped together the courage to confess my feelings.

He accepted the gift that day and named the kitten Dumpling on the spot. He said she was just like mea soft, little handful.

His eyes were incredibly warm when he said it, a faint smile playing on his lips. It fueled my nerve.

But maybe he sensed what was coming. Roman suddenly turned his head, dodging my gaze. His voice dropped. "Rowan, just wait a little longer, okay?"

My blood turned to ice.

That was the exact moment it hit meeven if Bianca had a fianc, even if she was walking down the aisle, Roman would keep waiting for her. Just like I was stupidly waiting for him.

"Rowan?" My mom's voice snapped me back to the present.

I blinked hard, tossing out a distracted, "Yeah?" But my eyes stayed glued to Roman in the living room.

He was on the phone now too. A soft, lingering smile rested on his lips. A sharp, ugly spike of panic twisted in my gut.

His lips moved. The shape of the word was unmistakable.

"Bianca."

My mom was still talking, but the words dissolved into static. A violent throbbing pounded at my temples. My palms went cold.

Dumpling suddenly bolted into the bedroom, clipping the trash can by the bed.

It clattered onto the hardwood. I knelt down to right it, and a Trojan box rolled out.

Right behind it came a sticky, tangled mess. Half-wrapped in a crumpled tissue. It was fresh. Sometime last night, or maybe this morning.

I couldn't even process the suffocation closing in my throat. Operating on pure, robotic numbness, I ripped another tissue from the nightstand, picked up the filthy pile, and tossed it back into the trash.

My mom's voice pierced through the ringing in my ears. "Oh, I meant to ask earlier. Your aunt said Bianca needed to clear her head, so she booked a flight to your city yesterday.

She should've landed last night. Did she call you?"

The air was sucked out of the room.

Last night, I called Roman over a dozen times. Every single one went to voicemail.

And when I walked in this morning, he didn't offer a single word of explanation.

The puzzle pieces locked together with sickening clarity. Bianca didn't call me last night. She called Roman.

I don't remember hanging up. I don't remember walking out of the bedroom.

When my eyes met Roman's, I froze. The questions were burning a hole on my tongue, but before I could get a single syllable out, he pointed at the door.

"I have something to take care of in a bit. Rowan, you need to head back."

The casual, effortless ice in his voice clamped down on my lungs. I couldn't drag in a breath.

I lowered my head, my fingernails digging ruthlessly into my palms until the skin threatened to break.

After he rejected me half a year ago, I spent days buried under my duvet, repeating the same lie until I believed itlet him go.

I woke up, went to work, and went through the motions of living. I just stopped looking for him.

Until two months ago, when I nearly got lost hiking up in the mountains.

When he finally found me, Roman pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. It was the first time he'd ever held me like that.

His breath was scalding against the curve of my neck. His voice was raw, frantic. "Rowan Rowan"

The violent trembling of his body bled through my jacket. He was terrified.

Everything shifted into overdrive after that. He even dropped the spare key to his apartment right into my hands.

Chapter 3

I thought my turn had finally come. But the wedding was off. The only one getting exactly what they wanted today was Roman.

Now, the invisible glass wall was back up. The warmth, the late-night texts, the lingering touches over the last two monthsall of it felt like a sick, twisted hallucination.

The deadbolt clicked.

Bianca pushed the door open. Her gaze flicked between us, heavy with a suffocating cocktail of fake embarrassment, guilt, and raw pity. It was that pity that did it.

It felt like cement pouring directly into my lungs. Every breath became a ragged, useless gasp.

She caught my eye, then glanced at Roman. A split-second pause. Then came the frantic, over-rehearsed explanation.

Shed shown up in a panic last night, and Roman was just being a good Samaritan. She was only back because shed left something in the guest room.

She leaned so hard on those two words the floorboards practically creaked under them.

Silence stretched. Finally, Roman gave a short nod. "I'll grab it."

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, forcing the corners of my mouth up into a rigid, plastic curve. Then my eyes dropped.

Dangling from Biancas perfectly manicured fingers was a familiar keychain. The exact same spare key.

A high-pitched ringing pierced my eardrums.

I wasn't special. Not even about this.

Roman walked out of the bedroom, holding a small paper bag. Bianca reached for it.

His hand shot out, his long fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist.

"The doctor said it was a mild reaction. Why hasn't it cleared up yet?" The deep crease between his eyebrows screamed panic, but his voice was a velvet murmur.

A murmur he had never, not once, used with me. Not even during our most intimate, breathless moments over the last eight weeks.

Biancas wrist was pale, dusted with tiny, barely-there red bumps. She tilted her head, shooting him a dazzling, effortless smile. "It's fine, Roman. The swelling's already down."

His gaze was locked onto her skin. The hard, rigid line of his mouth finally softened. "Good."

They stood there in the middle of the living room, completely wrapped up in their own private orbit. I was just a ghost haunting the edges. Looking at him now, it made sickening sense.

This was how Roman was supposed to look. Every word, every loaded stare was soaked in a desperate, undeniable heat.

A stark, brutal contrast to the scraps of attention he tossed my way.

When she left him, he built a fortress of ice and pretended he didn't care. Now that she was back in his airspace, the armor was gone. He was practically radiating it, aggressively projecting every single ounce of his lingering obsession to make sure she knew he wasn't letting her go again.

My fingernails bit so hard into my palms the skin nearly broke. Acid burned the back of my throat.

A soft weight bumped against my ankle. Dumpling. She rubbed her head against my shin, meowing frantically. She was starving.

I moved like a zombie, tearing open a fresh can of wet food and dumping it into her bowl.

When I stood back up, they were still whispering to each other.

The air in the apartment was suddenly too thin. I shoved my phone and wallet into my purse, zipped it shut, and headed straight for the exit.

As I reached the entryway, I stopped. I reached into my coat pocket. My fingers brushed the jagged metal of the spare key. I pulled it out and set it quietly on the entryway table.

I wasn't going to stand there and let him give me the speech. I wouldn't survive the humiliation.

I reached for the doorknob.

"Bianca is allergic to cat hair."

My hand stalled on the brass. I slowly turned around, staring blankly at him.

Roman barely lifted his eyes. His voice was a flat, deadpan drawl that left exactly zero room for argument.

"Take Dumpling with you."

Chapter 4

The air in the room flatlined into a dead, suffocating silence.

My mouth parted, but my vocal cords felt paralyzed. I just stared blindly at Roman. I guess when the pain hits a certain threshold, your tear ducts just short-circuit. You don't cry; you just hollow out.

"Rowan, please don't get the wrong idea."

Fingers wrapped around mine. The sudden jolt of body heat snapped me out of my trance. I hadn't even registered Bianca closing the distance between us. She patted the back of my handa soothing, almost maternal gestureher voice dropping into a gentle register.

"Roman was just saying that since I just got into town and don't really have a place to crash, it wouldn't be safe for me to stay in a hotel by myself. He offered to let me stay here for a few days. Once I clear my head and fly back, he can bring Dumpling back home."

She threw a glance over her shoulder at Roman, a perfectly coy smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "I can't believe after all these years, he's still so sweet."

I stared at her, the absolute absurdity of the situation bubbling up in my chest like battery acid. If there were an Olympic medal for sliding a shiv between someone's ribs with a smile, Bianca would take the gold every damn time. Even knowing she was completely innocent and clueless about it all.

At least I think she was clueless.

Back in college, Roman was infamous in our department for being untouchable. He came from old money, was built like a runway model, and possessed an aura so inherently cold and detached that people practically parted like the Red Sea when he walked down the hall. The only reason I even managed to breach his perimeter was because we got thrown into the same lab group.

We practically lived in the lab that semester. Bianca, playing the doting cousin, felt bad that I was burning the candle at both ends, so she started dropping off artisan lattes and warm pastries almost every afternoon. Little by little, she and Roman started crossing paths. Soon enough, those coffee runs magically went from orders of one to orders of two.

After they made it official, Bianca used to joke that she didn't want me to feel like the third wheel, trying to drag me along to everything they did. It took me rejecting her invitations a dozen times before she finally got the hint and backed off.

But there was this one night we were stuck at the lab late, and somehow, I ended up getting roped into a late-night dinner run with them. Bianca and I were busy catching up, completely oblivious to the fact that Roman had ordered three plates of garlic noodles topped with heavy scallions.

Bianca loved the noodles, but she absolutely despised onions of any kind. A microscopic wrinkle appeared between her brows, but she didn't complain. She just picked up her fork and started taking tiny, reluctant bites.

When youre obsessed with someone, your radar is always dialed into their frequency. Roman was no exception. The second he noticed her dodging the green bits, his jaw set. He yanked a paper napkin from the dispenser, smoothed it onto the table, andright under Biancas stunned gazeproceeded to painstakingly pick every single piece of scallion out of her bowl, one by one.

When he was done, he looked at her wide-eyed expression, the ice in his eyes melting into something dangerously warm. "Now you can eat," he told her, flashing a rare, soft smile.

Halfway through the meal, with her cheeks flushed pink, Bianca leaned over and whispered in my ear using the exact same tone she just used now: "Rowan, Roman is just so sweet."

I didn't say a word. I just stared at her perfectly clean bowl of noodles, my mind going entirely blank.

After that night, Roman started cornering me in private to grill me about Biancas likes and dislikes. I spilled everything, playing the role of the perfect, dutiful wingman. But I made damn sure I never went out with them again.

The memory snapped, dumping me back into the present.

I slid my hand out from under Bianca's, shoving the acidic burn deep down into my stomach. I turned on my heel and marched straight for the utility closet.

I grabbed a canvas tote bag, blindly shoving in Dumplings toys, her brush, and the leftover cans of wet food. Then I scooped up the cat from where she was stretching lazily on the couch.

I didn't spare Roman a single glance. Not one.

As I passed Bianca on my way to the door, my boots stalled on the floorboards. I forced the corners of my mouth up into a razor-thin smile.

"Roman has never been a sweet guy," I said, my voice dead flat. "He's just sweet to you."

Chapter 5

The skies opened up on the walk back. Luckily, my place was close to Romansjust a ten-minute trek. By the time I showered, wrestled Dumpling into the tub, and dried us both off, the clock was creeping past ten.

My phone lit up on the nightstand. A text from Bianca.

[ Rowan, I swear I didn't come back to steal Roman from you. ]

I stared at the glaring screen for a long time. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard before I typed out a single, definitive line and hit send.

[ But you guys slept together last night, didn't you? ]

Radio silence.

As the screen dimmed to black, a memory clawed its way to the surface.

A few days ago, my best friend flew into town for a work trip. Roman and I took her out to dinner. While we waited for the food, her eyes kept ping-ponging between the two of us, calculating the space between our shoulders.

I shifted in my seat, a little on edge, and instinctively glanced at Roman.

He didn't miss a beat. He just reached across the table, wrapping his hand around mine. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against my knuckles.

It felt like a confession. A public claim.

The heat from his palm bled straight into my bloodstream, turning my chest into a chaotic, burning mess. I was entirely consumed by it until the waiter started setting plates down.

Then I heard my best friend waving the waiter down. "Hey, sorry, I think we messed up the order. My friend here doesn't eat scallions. Can we swap out the scallion chicken for something else?"

I froze. I looked up, and my eyes slammed straight into Roman's.

A flash of raw, unfiltered surprise flickered in his dark eyes before he masked it.

I dropped my gaze, my stomach hollowing out. I felt incredibly, utterly pathetic. I was so insignificant to him that in all this time, he never even noticed my aversions. I hated scallions just as much as Bianca did.

I should have figured it out right then.

The memory dissolved. I dragged myself over to my laptop and flipped it open. Time to find a new place.

Id moved to this city six months ago for a job transfer. Roman was the only person I knew here, so he helped me secure this apartment. He told me it was an empty property owned by his uncle, just sitting around collecting dust.

Holden. Roman's uncle. He had a dual Master's in Finance and Business Admin from an Ivy League, yet he was only three years older than Roman.

Wed only crossed paths once. It was at Romans birthday partythe exact same night I confessed my feelings and got brutally shot down. Even with my head bowed, the sheer weight of the room's mocking, pitying stares practically burned a hole in my skull.

While I was drowning in that suffocating humiliation, Holden caught my eye from a quiet corner of the room. He just looked at me and offered a faint, grounding smile.

I didn't overthink it after that. I took the apartment, got Holden's contact info from Roman, and wired him the market-rate rent on the dot every single month. Other than that, we were total strangers.

I stared at the blinding white screen until the text started to blur. I bookmarked a few decent neighborhoods, added a couple of realtors' numbers to my phone, and felt a heavy, sickening throb pulse behind my eyes.

I dug my knuckles into my temples, but my vision kept swimming.

Finally, I just slammed the laptop shut and collapsed back onto the sofa. My limbs felt like lead. Every ounce of energy drained straight out of my bones.

It was probably from getting caught in that freezing rain.

My awareness started to splinter, dragging me down into a heavy, feverish fog.

A shadow shifted in my periphery. The faint rustle of fabric.

Then, the sudden, shocking ice of a palm pressing firmly against my forehead.

Chapter 6

When I finally opened my eyes, sunlight was pouring through the bedroom blinds. The fever broke. My mind was sickeningly clear.

I stared at the ceiling for a long second before turning my head to grab my phone off the nightstand. The lock screen lit up, flooded with dozens of missed calls and unread texts. Coworkers, my best friend, real estate agentseven Bianca had fired off a late-night "I'm sorry".

The only empty thread was Roman's.

I tapped his name. The last message was from two days ago. Id mentioned a new rom-com hitting theaters, hinting that the reviews were great and it was perfect for a date night. I asked if he wanted to go.

He hadn't hesitated.

[ Sounds good. I'll get the tickets. ]

Then Bianca showed up, and he dropped me without a second thought. I stood outside that theater for hours. I sent him endless texts and called until it went straight to voicemail. Nothing but dead air.

I forced the memory down, threw off the duvet, and headed for the bathroom to wash the sick off me.

Walking past the kitchen downstairs, my steps stalled. A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette was standing by the stove. A heavy Dutch oven was at a rolling boil, and a handful of fresh, raw shrimp sat on the cutting board. A YouTube cooking tutorial for a comforting seafood porridge blared from his phone speaker.

The guy just stood there, staring at the ingredients like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

After a long beat, he finally moved, strictly following the chef's instructions step-by-step. I leaned against the doorframe, watching quietly. When the video told him to toss in a handful of chopped scallions, he didn't even flinch. He just completely skipped the step.

He must have felt my eyes on him. His hands paused, and he slowly turned his head to meet my gaze.

"Rowan?"

It clicked. It was Holden.

Holden seamlessly hit the lock button on his phone, killing the video. A relaxed, easy smile touched the corners of his mouth.

"Your fever just broke. You need something light on your stomach. Go sit on the couch. The food will be ready in a minute."

I gave a numb nod. "Okay."

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

"By the way, I wanted to run something by you."

I paused, glancing back over my shoulder. "Yeah?"

"My firm just invested in a new project here in the city, so I'll probably need to stay for a while." He paused, his tone dropping into something softer. "I didn't get a chance to give you a heads-up before I flew in last night. Sorry about that."

I stared into his eyes. Fragmented memories from last night suddenly clicked into place.

The solid weight of his arms carrying me from the sofa to the bed. The glass of water pressed to my lips. Him feeding me meds and practically keeping watch over me the entire night.

A weird, tangled knot formed in my chest.

Other than that one brief run-in at the birthday party, Roman rarely ever brought up his uncle. Whenever he did, it was just a passing comment. I definitely didn't peg him as the nurturing type.

When I didn't say anything, Holden shifted his stance. He slid one hand into his slacks pocket, leaving the other resting at his side.

"Will it be a problem if I stay here?" he asked quietly. Then, a sudden smile broke across his face. "If it's too inconvenient, I can always find another place."

I blinked, pulled out of my thoughts. I was moving out in a few days anyway, so it didn't really matter.

"It's your house, Holden," I said evenly. "You're not bothering me."

Chapter 7

Holden was still in the kitchen working on the porridge. Boredom started to itch at my skin, so I pulled out my phone and started mindlessly scrolling through my feed.

The very first post was from Bianca. It had been up for ten minutes.

It was a shot inside a darkened movie theater. In the frame, a man sat in the seat next to her, dressed in a black casual hoodie. His head was slightly bowed, only showing the sharp, clean line of his profile.

My heart skipped a beat, then landed with a heavy, sickening thud. Id know that silhouette anywhere. It was Roman.

They were watching the exact same rom-com hed stood me up for.

Bianca had timed the photo perfectly. The screen was frozen on the very last line of the credits.

[ For all the lovers. ]

Before I could stop myself, I was already in my messages with Roman. I tapped the text box. The cursor blinked at me, mocking and steady. I stared at it until the screen dimmed, but I couldn't force a single word out.

What right did I even have to demand an explanation? We weren't anything. Not officially.

Suddenly, the status bar at the top flickered.

[ Roman is typing ]

My breath hitched. My pulse hammered against my ribs, high and frantic in my throat.

A message popped up a second later.

[ Dumpling still has some stuff here. When are you free to come pick it up? ]

It was like a bucket of ice water being dumped directly over my head. The shock left me gasping, my internal temperature plummeting to zero.

A jagged, bitter laugh threatened to break out of my chest. I didn't know what I was still hoping for at this point. I was such a damn fool.

I was about to type a reply when Holden walked out of the kitchen, carrying a black ceramic pot.

"Porridge is ready," he said, his voice grounding me. "Come have a taste."

I reflexively locked my phone and set it face down on the table.

Holden picked up a ladle and started serving. The seafood porridge was steaming, the scent of fresh ocean air and toasted rice filling the room. He stirred it slowly, making sure it was perfectly mixed before spooning it into a bowl for me.

He set the bowl down and slid into the chair opposite mine. He gave a casual shrug, his eyes searching mine.

"You