Puck Me Harder: A Stepbrother Romance [BL]

Damon’s POV

That fucking monster Noah Miller.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly the leather groaned under the pressure, my knuckles turning a deathly shade of white. A mix of pure rage and disbelief burned a hole straight through my chest. How could he do something so reckless? How could he casually slaughter the prime minister’s daughter and think he could get away with it? What kind of sick, twisted game was going on inside that golden-boy head of his?

I had always known Noah was a cold, calculating piece of work, but I had pegged him as a standard psychopath... someone who hid behind a flawless reputation while pulling everyone’s strings. But this? To throw a girl off a third-floor balcony in the middle of a high-profile party? I was looking at a legitimate, unhinged serial killer.

Fuck.

I forced myself to take a deep, shaky breath, desperately trying to steady my racing thoughts. I needed to figure out a strategy to handle this nightmare before it completely ruined my family.

It wasn’t my personal house, nor was I the one who threw the party, but the entire event was being hosted at one of my father’s most prominent luxury estates. If a political execution happened on Silver ground, the fallout would bleed directly onto our name.

I was entirely certain Noah killed her. The problem was the evidence... or rather, the complete lack of it. A calculated bastard like Miller wouldn’t leave a trail. By the time I could even make it back to the security wing, he would have completely wiped the digital footprint of every single camera near that wing.

How was I supposed to pin the murder on him without a single shred of proof? Attempting to use the fact that they had walked up to room four together was a dead end. To make that accusation stick in a court of law, I would have to bring forward a witness to verify the exact timeline. I would have to drag Micah right into the middle of a high-profile murder investigation.

My chest tightened at the mere thought. Absolutely not. I was the entire reason the holy boy had been at that degenerate party in the first place.

I had dragged him into my world, and I would damn well burn the rest of the world to the ground before I let his innocent name get smeared in a bloodbath.

Letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh, I slammed my foot onto the accelerator, forcing the sports car to rocket through the rain.

By the time I tore down the long driveway of the estate, my worst fears were visually confirmed. Flashing blue and red emergency sirens sliced through the dark storm, reflecting garishly against the wet concrete. Multiple police cruisers were parked haphazardly across the lawn.

’Fuck. The body has already been found.’

I slammed the car into park, threw open the door, and stepped out into the freezing downpour. I marched directly toward the grand front entrance, my jaw set in a hard line. Before my boots could even cross the threshold, a gruff, heavily built officer stepped into my path, extending a solid arm to block me.

"This is an active crime scene, kid. Step back behind the tape," the officer barked, his voice straining over the sound of the rain.

I looked past his shoulder, my eyes scanning the interior of the mansion. The music had finally been cut, replaced by a suffocating, tense silence. Dozens of wealthy, privileged students were forced to sit flat on the marble floor, their expensive clothes ruined as they huddled together under the watchful eyes of armed guards. They were all officially suspected criminals now.

"I live around the estate. I was also at this party," I stated coldly, my voice cutting through the damp air.

The officer’s eyes narrowed, his posture turning sharp and interrogative. "Do you have any knowledge regarding the murder that took place on these premises?"

"No," I replied smoothly, not blinking a single eye.

Before the officer could press me any further, another uniform-clad man scrambled out from the back corridor, holding a high-end department laptop under his arm. His face was entirely pale, slicked with anxious sweat as he approached the senior officer.

"Sir, I’m completely unable to retrieve any security footage from the western wing," the tech officer admitted, his voice laced with panic. "The central database for that entire floor has been completely wiped clean. It’s a total blackout."

A dark, bitter smirk threatened to pull at the corner of my lips. I knew it. The bastard had already executed his cleanup script before the body even hit the water.

"Then keep fucking trying!" the lead officer roared, his face flushing a violent shade of angry red as he spun around. "The corpse floating in that pool belongs to the biological daughter of the prime minister of this country! If we are going to make the call to report his own daughter’s death to him, we need to have ironclad evidence to back it up!"

The senior cop abruptly whipped his head back toward me, his chest heaving with stress. "And who exactly do you think you are, wandering into a cordoned-off zone?"

"I’m Damon Silver," I said flatly.

The shift in the air was quick. The lead officer’s eyes widened, the aggressive, authoritative bark in his posture completely evaporating into thin air. The legendary influence of the Silver family name hit him like a physical blow.

"Oh," the officer stammered, his entire tone shifting into something polite. "Mr. Silver. Forgive me. You... you must be returning to check on the integrity of the crime scene. Is that why you came back?"

I wanted to laugh in his face and tell him no, but I played with the idea he gave me. I simply gave him a slow nod.

"Follow me, then," the officer offered, quickly gesturing for me to walk beside him. "Let me personally lead you out to the backyard. I’ll take you straight to the individual who first discovered the body."

I followed him through the silent, miserable crowd of students, stepping out of the glass sliding doors and onto the wide patio. The neon pool lights were still glowing, casting an eerie, translucent blue hue through the heavy rain. Right at the edge of the deep end, a white sheet was draped over a distinct, motionless form. The officer paused, gesturing toward the grim sight.

"She fell directly from the third-floor balcony," the cop explained, shivering slightly in the wind. "Slammed her head violently against the stone edge of the pool before drowning face-down in the water."

It was a perfect, brutal execution. She hadn’t slipped. She had been forcefully pushed.

"Who exactly found the body first?" I asked, deliberately turning my eyes away from the covered corpse, a knot of pure disgust tightening in my throat.

"Him," the officer said, lifting a finger to point toward the far side of the patio.

Seated completely calm and collected on a luxury beach lounger, wrapped in a dry police blanket, was Noah. Fucking. Miller.

A dark, incredulous laugh trapped itself in my throat. The absolute audacity of this man. He had effortlessly transitioned himself from the ruthless culprit to the grieving, helpful star witness.

"Do you happen to know him, Mr. Silver?" the officer asked quietly.

"Of course I do," I replied, my gaze locking onto Noah’s icy blue eyes. Noah was already staring dead at me, his expression completely devoid of fear, his features molded into a mask of disciplined composure. "He’s my varsity captain, after all."

"Right. I’ll leave you two alone to talk for a moment," the officer muttered, clearly relieved to hand off the tension. "I need to head back inside and continue the formal interrogations."

The moment the officer’s heavy footsteps faded back into the house, the mask slipped from my face. I marched across the wet stone, stopping directly in front of Noah’s lounger, towering over him as the rain poured down around us.

"Nice game, Miller," I whispered, my voice dripping with venom. "I finally see exactly why they made you the captain. You play dirty."

Noah didn’t even flinch at the accusation. He didn’t look down, nor did his pulse skip a beat. He simply tilted his head up, his voice cutting through the thunder with calmness. "Did you drop Micah off safely at home?"

My jaw clenched. "You knew it was Micah under that shirt."

Noah gave a slow, terrifyingly empty grin. "I always know where my brother is, Silver."

"Let’s completely forget about Micah for a second," I hissed, leaning down into his space, my hands shoving deep into my pockets to keep from wrapping them around his throat. "Why the hell did you kill your own girlfriend, Noah? What did she do to warrant a drop from the third floor?"

Noah raised a flawless eyebrow, his expression mimicking genuine confusion so perfectly it made my stomach turn. "Why on earth should I tell you a single thing? And besides... who exactly said I killed her? The poor girl simply had a few too many drinks, slipped backward off the slick, wet balcony tiles, and tragically fell on her own. It was a te~rrible, unavoidable accident."

He spoke the lie with such fluid that I knew, in that exact moment, the law would never touch him. He had written the perfect script, and he was going to perform it flawlessly.

Realizing the absolute futility of arguing with a ghost, I shook my head in pure disgust, turning my heel to walk away.

"I truly hope to God that Micah never finds out what kind of a disgusting monster you actually are under that golden-boy exterior," I threw over my shoulder.

But before I could take a second step, Noah’s voice shattered the night air behind me, dropping into something dark, it made the hairs on my arms stand up.

"And I also highly hope I don’t get forced to kill you next for playing around with my brother, Damon," Noah whispered, the dry blanket slipping from his shoulders as he leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine like a predator tracking prey. "I am not going to warn you a second time. Get your goddamn eyes and your tatted hands completely off Micah. He belongs to me."

"Make me," I shot back, my voice a dangerous, unyielding challenge.

I turned my back on him completely, striding back toward the mansion where the exhausted, out-of-their-depth officers were looking like they had entirely lost hope of finding a suspect.

They were terrified of the political pressure that they were desperate for an easy exit. They were going to do exactly what Noah predicted. They were going to make the easy assumptions. They were going to rule that she simply slipped on the wet balcony and fell to her death.

And that was exactly how the narrative played out. By the time the clock struck dawn, the local news outlets were already rolling out the official morning headlines:

’Tragic Accident at Elite Student Gala: Prime Minister’s Daughter Slips and Perishes in Pool.’

Later that morning, as the rain continued to wash over the city, the prime minister’s private jet touched down at the local tarmac, the grieving politician flying into the city in preparation for his daughter’s sudden burial.