Seducing My Brother’s Cold Roommate

I fell in love with my brothers roommate at first sight.

I spent nearly three weeks cultivating this breathless, high-pitched princess voice, practically purring whenever he walked into the room, only to find out he absolutely loathes sweet, girly girls.

The realization shattered me. In a fit of sheer, dramatic panic, I hijacked his live stream, typing like a woman possessed:

Hilarious. Honestly, you're not even my type.

You uptight poser. I already have a new man. He's a college quarterbacksweet, gorgeous, and doesn't look like hes running on empty.

That night, for the first time in his legendary esports career, the cold god of gaming shut down his stream mid-match.

I didn't even make it halfway out of the building before he caught me in the stairwell. Trembling, crying, begging for mercy in the shadows, the pink silk bow on the front of my dress shredded under his fingers.

"Heather," he whispered, his breath hot and dangerous against my ear. "Even bad girls have to be punished..."

01

My older brother, Brandon, was a certified player, but recently he seemed to have retired from the field.

Lately, he was practically a monk, locked up in his off-campus apartment. No clubbing, no bars, and hed even ruthlessly turned down several invitations from gorgeous women.

Our parents grew highly suspicious. They were terrified Brandon was hiding some poor, innocent girl in his den of iniquity, tricking her with his charm. Naturally, they dispatched me to his apartment to investigate.

I rang the doorbell. No answer.

Frustrated, I pounded heavily on the heavy wood door.

"Brandon Colton! Exactly how many food deliveries did you order?"

A voice answered from the other sidedeep, cold, and entirely unfamiliar.

"One second."

My heart did a violent little flip.

My mothers instincts were spot-on. Brandons apartment actually had a secret resident. But the "sister-in-law" sounded incredibly intimidating, like someone who didn't tolerate nonsense.

I was busy conjuring up an image of a fierce, sophisticated older woman when the door was pulled open.

I looked up. There was no beautiful, intimidating older sister.

Instead, I was staring at a face so ridiculously handsome it stole the breath right out of my lungs.

He was easily six-foot-three, with pale skin, sharp, aristocratic features, and a chilly aura that screamed do not cross me. He possessed a lean, muscular frame that even his casual gray t-shirt couldn't hide, and an effortless, quiet wealth radiated from his very posture.

I stood there, completely entranged, unable to even blink.

Then a shocking realization hit me: had my brother actually pulled a god-tier hunk? Had Brandon gone on a journey of self-discovery and brought home a boyfriend who looked like a literal runway model?

Every single cell in my body was suddenly screaming. He was, down to the very last detail, my exact type.

I had to have him. If I didn't get this mans number, Id regret it for the rest of my life.

And if he really was my brother's boyfriend... well, Brandon and I would just have to fight for him fairly.

"Hi," I said, tilting my head to offer my sweetest, most dazzling smile. "I'm Brandon's sister, Heather Colton."

My mother was a beauty-obsessed woman who had married a strikingly handsome man, and I had been lucky enough to inherit their best features. All my life, teachers and classmates had told me my smile could melt glaciers.

But right now, my face was practically aching from smiling so hard, and the mans expression remained as cool and still as winter.

His eyes swept briefly over my outfita pleated navy schoolgirl skirt, thigh-high white socks, and a tiny cropped cardiganbefore he stepped back to let me in.

"Brandon is in the shower," he explained, his tone even and brief. "I'm his roommate."

Roommate.

I let out a long, silent breath of pure relief. Thank god. He wasn't the boyfriend.

Once we sat down in the living room, he handed me a chilled bottle of strawberry cream soda.

I seized the opportunity. As I took the bottle, my fingers deliberately brushed against his palm. I pitched my voice into a soft, breathless coo. "A guy this handsome must have a really beautiful name."

He paused, looking at me with a steady, unreadable gaze. "Beckett Song."

He seemed slightly caught off guard by the fact that a girl who looked like a quiet, sweet student would flirt so aggressively.

"What a coincidence," I said, my eyes shining with manufactured excitement. "A fortune teller once told me my future husband would have that exact name."

"Superstition is a bad habit," Beckett replied, his voice entirely flat. "The fortune teller lied to you. You shouldn't go back."

I choked on my own breath. Talk about a romance-killer.

I pushed forward anyway. "Someone as amazing as you must have girls lining up to date you, right?"

Instead of looking flattered, Beckett remained entirely indifferent. "Not really."

"Then can I be first in line?" I asked softly, gently tugging at his sleeve, looking up at him with the most innocent, earnest eyes I could muster.

Becketts heavy lids lifted slightly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Dating too young will ruin your grades."

What?

I sat up straight, my brain stalling. After all my heavy-handed flirting, this man thought I was a high schooler? What an absolute tragedy.

I squared my shoulders and puffed out my chest. "Beckett, Im in college." I emphasized the word, making sure he got the point.

Then, complaining about the heat, I casually slid my baby-blue cardigan off my shoulders.

Becketts eyes followed the movement, drifting downward for a fraction of a second before he instantly looked away. His expression remained perfectly blank. "I'll go get the air conditioning remote."

"Don't worry about it," I said, sliding closer to him. I could smell the faint scent of his clean, cedarwood soap. "AC isn't eco-friendly. Besides, you look so delightfully cool. Why don't we just..."

Before I could finish, Brandon walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel, and sat down directly between us.

"I'll let you two siblings catch up," Beckett said, rising smoothly and politely retreating to his room.

I instinctively wanted to follow him, but Brandon caught me by the collar. Through the crack of Becketts door, I could only see the glow of a high-end dual-monitor gaming setup.

02

"Heather, take a piece of advice from your brother," Brandon said, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. "Drop the fantasy. Wake up. Do not mess with Beckett Song."

"Whos messing with him?" I muttered, feeling a little defensive.

With a face like that, he was clearly the one messing with my peace of mind first. Besides, Brandon was supposed to be in the showerhow much of our conversation had he actually heard?

Brandon reached over and aggressively ruffled my pigtails. "Weve both been playing the field for years, Heather. Don't play innocent with me. You looked like you wanted to devour him whole."

"Fine," I grumbled. "But I really like him. Didn't you teach me that if you like someone, you go after them with everything you've got?"

Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long sigh. "Kid, Beckett is different. Hes from an incredibly old-money, strict family. The guys never even had a girlfriend. He doesn't know how to deal with a little predator like you."

"But physical attraction is a perfectly valid starting point," I argued in a small voice.

Then, remembering why I was here, I squinted at him. "Wait. If you and Beckett are living here alone, where is my sister-in-law?"

"Which one?" Brandon asked dryly.

I stared at him.

"Look," Brandon shrugged, "Ive been taking a break to grind the new Wukong game. I haven't had time to date anyone."

Mystery solved.

No wonder Brandon hadn't been leaving the house. He was just pulled into a massive gaming binge.

03

"Does Beckett play games too?" I asked, remembering the lit-up screen Id glimpsed.

Brandon waved a dismissive hand. "Him? Yeah. Hes a little worse than me."

I was shocked. Worse than my brother? He had to be absolute trash at gaming.

Over the next few weeks, Beckett and I rarely saw each other in person. Most of our communication happened over text.

No matter how I tried to flirtasking him "innocent" questions about my college calculus homeworkhe managed to steer the conversation back to academics with surgical precision.

After a month, our romantic progress was absolute zero, though my math grades had never been higher.

My roommate, Chloe, finally offered a different perspective. "Heather, men find a girl most attractive when shes dominating in her own element. What are you good at?"

The only thing I could think of where I might have an upper hand on Beckett was gaming.

I immediately opened his contactwhich I had saved as Husbandand sent a sweet, breathy voice note:

"Hey, are you playing games tonight? Want to play together? I can carry you."

"No," came his predictable, swift rejection.

I kept pushing: "It's okay if you're bad, Beckett! I'm really good."

This time, his reply was incredibly brief: "Sorry. I'm streaming."

Streaming?

Did he stream his terrible gameplay as some sort of comedy routine?

The more I thought about it, the more suspicious I became. I quickly opened a search engine and typed in his name.

Within seconds, my jaw hit the floor.

The man my brother claimed was "worse than him" was actually the reigning MVP of the pro league, a legendary esports champion nicknamed "The Reaper" for his brutal, merciless play style.

And I had just offered to "carry" him.

Before the mortification could fully paralyze me, I found his stream link and clicked in. There he was, sitting in his gaming chair, looking exactly like he did in person.

Quiet. Distant. Aloof.

When he wasn't smiling, he looked entirely untouchable. He was pulling in millions of viewers purely on his god-tier mechanics and that face.

His chat was usually focused on strategy, but because of my text, some unusual comments were slipping through:

Who was that girl who texted Reaper saying he was bad? And why did he actually reply to her in the middle of a match?

Lmao, Im cringing for her. Imagine telling a world champion you'll carry him.

I stared at the screen, my face burning.

A little later, the stream host announced a viewer giveaway: they would select one viewer for a live voice call, and they could ask Beckett for a small wish.

I threw all shame out the window. Under the username Beckett's Wife, I began furiously spamming the chat:

Husband! Pick me!

My school just paved a new road today, it's called 'No Way Out of Loving You.'

Beckett, you're stepping on my hair...

If we have a baby, I'll let them take your last name.

My shameless, chaotic energy quickly broke through the sea of standard gaming comments.

Beckett looked at the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly as if his vision was being assaulted. He gestured to the moderator. "Pick her."

The chat erupted:

Reaper is ruthless. Hes going to publicly execute this fan.

Don't you guys know? Beckett absolutely despises obsessive fangirls.

Hes probably just going to give her a polite warning to behave.

Everyone, including Beckett, probably assumed Id back out of the call from embarrassment. But I clicked accept within a millisecond.

Shame? What was that? Could shame help me land a gorgeous billionaire's son?

04

The stream host laughed, reading my username aloud. "Beckett's Wife, welcome. What is your wish?"

My camera turned on, and my eyes met Becketts through the screen.

His dark pupils contracted slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his otherwise stoic face.

"Beckett," I said, resting my chin in my hands, putting on my sweetest, most teasing voice. "Can I get a kiss?"

Under the gaze of millions of viewers, Beckett coolly replied, "No."

The chat flooded with comments:

Oh my god, she actually asked that.

"Can I come over and look at your abs?" I continued.

"No," he said, perfectly deadpan.

"Will you call me baby or wifey?"

"In your dreams."

I felt like I was interacting with an AI bot, and it was honestly thrilling. "You're so good at this, Beckett. My brother lied to me. Your fingers are so incredibly flexible, and the pink on your knuckles is so pretty..."

It would look even prettier on my skin, I added silently in my mind.

Beckett maintained his polite, chilly distance, parrying every single one of my advances.

As his scheduled stream time neared its end, I finally threw down my real card.

"Take me out to dinner, Beckett."

He stared at his camera for a long moment. Then, his lips parted. "Okay."

"Love you, husband!" I blew a kiss to the camera and immediately disconnected the call.

The host was grinning, and the chat was in absolute chaos:

She's like a sweet strawberry shortcake. I don't know if Reaper was charmed, but I certainly am.

I can't believe I just witnessed this live. Is this a romantic comedy?

I've been following Reaper for three years, and this is the first time I've ever seen a girl get close to him. Are they secretly dating?

The straight-forward girl always wins the quiet guy. I bet he falls for her.

No way, she goes to my college. She's a total social butterfly. They're from completely different worlds.

On the day of our dinner, I woke up at six in the morning.

I selected my absolute best dressa pastel piece with a delicate pink silk bow at the collar. I spent two hours applying a flawless "no-makeup" makeup look.

I spun around in front of my roommate. "How do I look?"

Chloe gave me a thumbs-up. "Like a princess."

Satisfied, I arrived at the restaurant forty minutes early. I immediately ordered a full steak dinner for myself and devoured it.

That way, when Beckett arrived, I could eat two bites of a salad and pretend I had the delicate appetite of a bird.

I was happily chewing on my last bite of steak when I heard a familiar voice. I looked up to find Beckett standing there, staring at my empty plate with a highly complex expression.

Even in my embarrassment, I couldn't help but admire him.

Unlike his usual gaming hoodies, he was wearing a crisp, tailored white shirt buttoned all the way to his collar, and dark trousers that emphasized his long, powerful legs. He looked incredibly sophisticated, and the restraint of his outfit only made him look sexier.

I wondered if he had dressed like this on purpose, knowing exactly what it did to me.

"The waiter just brought this by mistake," I said, my voice entirely confident despite the lie. "I told him I didn't want it, but he insisted."

Beckett listened to my terrible excuse, his lips twitching into a tiny, rare smile.

The waiter walked over, handing us the menus.

"What else would you like?" Beckett asked.

I quickly slipped back into my sweet persona, smiling warmly. "I'm already full. My appetite is quite small. You should just order for yourself."

The waiter looked confused. "Miss Colton, did you still want the double order of truffle mac and cheese you requested with the steak, then?"

The private room fell into a dead, agonizing silence.

The dinner ended up being a very quiet affair, with Beckett quietly ordering a few signature dishes to save me from further embarrassment.

05

A few glasses of red wine later, the alcohol began to warm my blood.

I slid my foot out of my heel under the table, letting my toes brush lightly against his trouser leg, slowly tracing upward.

He moved his leg away, but I immediately followed, pressing closer. This time, I bumped against something solid and remarkably firm.

Beckett looked up, his dark eyes darkened by a sudden, heavy intensity. "Heather, stop. My patience isn't as limitless as you think."

I blinked, sensing a sudden shift in him that I couldn't quite define.

He quietly sliced a fresh piece of steak and placed it on my plate. "You're still growing. Eat."

That wordgrowingbothered me.

I didn't call him "husband" because I wanted to be his little sister.

The wine gave me a sudden burst of courage. I reached across, grabbed his collar, and pulled him down into the seat next to me. Before he could react, I straddled his lap, my voice dripping with honey.

"Husband, do kids do this to you?"

"Get up, Heather, or I'm throwing you out the window," Beckett said, his hand landing with a firm, swatting pressure just below my waist.

It wasn't hard, but the sheer intimacy of the contact sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"You wouldn't dare," I whispered, staring at his lips. I leaned down, but just as our lips were about to touch, a sharp knock sounded on the door.

I flinched, pulling back quickly, and my elbow slammed hard against the edge of the table.

"Are you made of glass, Heather?"

Though his voice was exasperated, his hands were incredibly gentle as he lifted my arm to inspect the rapidly reddening skin.

Before we could adjust, the door swung open.

The lingering tension in the room instantly turned into a cold, sharp awkwardness.

I looked toward the door. Standing there was a highly elegant, sophisticated young woman. She was tall, impeccably dressed, with a classic, refined beauty that made her look like she belonged in a museum.

But the way her eyes swept over me made me instantly uncomfortable.

She froze at the entrance, looking shocked. "Beckett, I'm so sorry. Am I interrupting something?"