Bound by a Hybrid and a Lycan

Celeste

I never wanted a new family.

Especially not one with glass walls, a private chef, and a stepbrother who looked like sin wrapped in designer clothes.

The Monroe mansion sat on top of the hills like a crown. Its white walls sparkled under the perfect blue sky. I stared at it from the back seat of the fancy car, holding my old, worn suitcase tight against my chest.

It was the only thing I had left from my old life. The only thing that still felt like mine.

Mom sat beside me, smiling so wide I thought her face might crack.

“Don’t look like you’re going to a funeral, Celeste,” she said, checking her makeup in a small mirror.

“Don’t act like we just won the lottery,” I shot back.

She gave me that same disappointed look she’d perfected my whole life, but said nothing. She was too happy, too caught up in her fairy tale ending.

And why wouldn’t she be?

She’d married Richard Monroe. The man who owned half of California. The man with billions in the bank and a face that still turned heads, even with gray hair. Her dream had come true. Poor girl marries rich man. Rags to riches. Cinderella story.

For me? It felt more like a nightmare dressed up in designer clothes.

The car came to a stop, and my stomach twisted into knots.

The front door opened before we even reached it. A woman in a perfect black and white uniform stood there, smiling like she’d been practicing in a mirror.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Monroe,” she said to my mother. Then she turned to me. “Miss Morgan. Mr. Richard is waiting inside for you.”

“Darling!” a deep, smooth voice called from inside.

Richard Monroe walked down the steps like a king coming to greet his subjects. He probably closed million-dollar deals with that same confident smile and a sharp knife hidden behind his back.

He kissed my mother, and she giggled like a teenager. The sound made me cringe, but I couldn’t look away as I stood there, clutching my suitcase tightly.

“Celeste,” Richard stated, turning to me. His smile was warm. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied quietly, staring at the floor.

“Sir?” He laughed like I’d told a joke. “We’re family now. Call me Dad.”

My stomach twisted. The word Dad didn’t belong to him.

This man? He was just the guy who married my mother for reasons I didn’t want to think about.

“Call him Dad, Celeste,” Mom said sharply. “Don’t be rude.”

Rude. She thought I was being rude. This woman, who never cared about my feelings before, never asked if I wanted to move, if I wanted a new family, if I wanted any of this.

“Dad,” I finally said.

“Good girl,” Richard muttered, looking pleased with himself. “Jace will be home soon. But first, let’s get you settled. Maria, show them to their rooms.”

Jace.

My new stepbrother.

I hadn’t met him yet, only saw one picture on Mom’s phone when she was showing off her new life to her friends. He was tall, with broad shoulders, dark messy hair, and a tattoo peeking out from his collar.

He looked like the kind of boy mothers warned their daughters about.

And now he was my brother.

The word made my skin crawl.

The inside of the mansion was even more overwhelming.

Shiny marble floors that reflected everything like mirrors. Crystal chandeliers hanging from impossibly high ceilings. A staircase so wide and grand that an entire wedding party could walk down it side by side.

Everything screamed money, power, and status.

Nothing felt like home.

I followed Mom as the maid took us upstairs. “Your rooms are on the third floor,” Maria explained. “The family wing.”

Family wing. It felt like we were truly a family, like we belonged here.

She opened a set of double doors to reveal my new bedroom.

I stopped breathing.

It was huge. Bigger than our entire old apartment. Cream-colored walls with gold decorations. A bed so big I could probably fit five people on it. A chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Windows from floor to ceiling with a view of the whole city.

And a closet. A whole room just for clothes. It was bigger than my old bedroom.

I dropped my suitcase on the floor. The sound echoed in the space.

“So this is where you dump me,” I hissed.

“Celeste, please,” Mom sighed. “Can you just try? For me? Just this once?”

I stared at her, really taking in her appearance. She was dressed in a designer dress, adorned with expensive jewelry. Her hair was styled impeccably, and her makeup was flawless.

She looked like a stranger.

“This is the best life I could give us,” she responded softly, like she was trying to convince herself. “I did this for you, for us. Can’t you see that?”

I wanted to scream and tell her that I never asked for this. I was happy in our small apartment and didn’t need fancy rooms, designer clothes, or a stepfather with billions of dollars.

I just needed her to care about me. To ask what I wanted. To see me as more than just a burden she had to drag into her new, perfect life.

But I didn’t say any of that.

“Why do you even care what I think?” I asked instead, my voice shaking. “You never cared before. Not once. You never asked if I wanted to move. If I wanted a new family. If I wanted any of this.”

“Everything I’m doing is for you,” she said, and she actually looked hurt. Like she believed her own lies.

“Sure it is.” I laughed, even though nothing was funny. “Keep telling yourself that, Mom. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

Her expression turned stern. “This is your room. I need to go find Richard.” She uttered his name like it was something precious. “Unpack, make yourself at home, and try to be grateful.”

She walked out without another word. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

I was alone.

I fell back onto the huge bed and stared at the ceiling. The silence was thick and heavy, pressing down on me like a weight.

I was on the verge of tears, but my anger was too intense to let them fall.

I hadn’t even started unpacking when I heard heavy footsteps in the hallway.

Then my door opened.

No knock, no warning, just opened.

“Are you kidding me?” I snapped, sitting up fast. “Do rich people not know how to—”

The words died in my throat.

He filled the doorway like he owned it, and everything beyond it.

Six feet of solid muscle wrapped in a tight black shirt that showed every line of his body. Gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Messy dark hair that looked like he’d just woken up. Sharp cheekbones that could cut glass. Full lips that curved into a cruel smile.

And eyes. Dark, dangerous eyes that looked at me like I was something he wanted to destroy.

Jace Monroe.

My new stepbrother.

His eyes lingered on my body, moving slowly and hungrily, as if he was savoring every moment. It felt like he was committing every detail to memory.

A rush of heat flooded through me, causing my skin to tingle and my heart to race.

I hated it. Hated the way my body reacted to him. Hated that some part of me recognized something in him.

“You’re in my room," he announced, his voice deep and rough, like gravel and honey mixed together.

I blinked, trying to find my voice. “Excuse me?”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The click of the lock sounded impossibly loud.

“This used to be my room,” he muttered, walking closer. Each step was slow and deliberate. Like a predator stalking prey. “Until your gold-digging mother moved in and took over my house.”

Fire shot up my spine. “Watch your mouth,” I snapped, standing up.

“Or what?" He stepped closer, so close that I could see the green flecks in his dark eyes. I could even smell his cologne, something clean, dark, and expensive that made my head spin. “You’ll run crying to your mommy?”

“I’ll kick your ass,” I said, lifting my chin.

He laughed; the sound was cruel, cold, and joyless. “You? You’re barely five feet tall. I could break you with one hand.”

“Size doesn’t matter when you know where to hit,” I shot back.

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. Something that made my stomach flip.

“This is my house," he said softly. “My room, my life. You and your mother? You’re nothing but parasites who moved in and ruined everything.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Your Royal Highness. I didn’t realize you were such a spoiled prince who throws tantrums when things don’t go his way.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t talk to me like we’re equals.”

“Don’t talk to me like I begged to be here!” I shouted, all my anger spilling out. “You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to move into some stranger’s mansion and pretend to be part of his perfect family? I didn’t ask for any of this!”

He stared at me. Then he moved closer. So close I had to tilt my head back to look at him.

“Here’s a rule for you, little stepsister," he murmured in a low, almost whisper-like voice. “Stay the hell away from me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Pretend I don’t exist. If you get in my way or try to play happy family with me, I will make your life a living hell.”

I should have been scared, backed down, and apologized. But I didn’t.

“You came into my room,” I said, my voice steady even though my heart was pounding. “You approached me. So maybe you should follow your own advice.”

His eyes flashed. “I’ll walk into whatever room I damn well please. This is my house.”

“Then next time,” I snapped, meeting his stare head-on, “knock first. Or I’ll scream loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood.”

His lips curved into a cruel smile. “Scream all you want, bitch,” he said, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. “Nobody’s going to save you here. Nobody cares.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He pulled back and looked at me again. This time with pure disgust.

“You’re not even pretty,” he said slowly. Each word was meant to hurt. “So flat. So boring. So plain. I don’t know what game you and your mother are playing, but it won’t work on me. I see right through you.”

The words stabbed into me like knives.

He looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was dirt on his expensive shoes. Like, I didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him.

And for one horrible second, I almost believed him.

Before I could say anything—before I could think of a comeback or defend myself—he turned and walked out.

The door slammed so hard the windows shook. Picture frames on the walls rattled.

I stood there, frozen, my hands shaking, heart racing, and body feeling like it was on fire.

What the hell just happened?

My skin was still buzzing from how close he’d been. From the heat of his body. From the way he’d looked at me—like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss me or destroy me.

This wasn’t just tension between step-siblings.

This was war. And I wasn’t planning to lose.