Page 44 of Heartless Stepbrother
I wanted to scream. To shove him away and make every single person here see the monster lurking beneath his flawless mask. But I couldn’t.
Because my mother’s smile was pinned to me. Bright, hopeful, blinding. Her eyes glistened with tears, and I was locked in this gilded cage of her happiness.
So I bit back the fury, letting it simmer under my skin.
“I’m not affected by you,” I hissed, voice low, tight. “I just hate being touched by you.”
He laughed then, dark, guttural, a sound that seemed to echo through my bones.
“Liar.”
His thumb moved, slow and deliberate, tracing tiny circles against the soft curve of my hip, too intimate for a dance, too close to call innocent. The touch branded me, igniting every nerve ending with a primal shock I hated to admit was real.
“Your fingers are trembling.”
He leaned in, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.
“Your breath’s catching.”
His voice dropped lower, a predatory purr.
“Your body’s telling me a very different story.”
I had to fight for air. Each breath felt thick and jagged. Inside, my mind screamed rebellion, but my body betrayed me, alive with a terrifying awareness I couldn’t shut down.
He savored it. Every second.
Around us, people smiled. Cameras flashed. Our parents glowed. Marcus and my mother danced, bodies pressed together, laughing like they believed in happiness, like they’d never bled before.
And there we were, their children, the illusion of family spinning beneath the lights.
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and forced the question out, quiet but sharp. “Why didn’t you stop it before it happened?”
His gaze didn’t waver. He looked down at me like he was memorizing my breaking points.
“If you hate us so much, why let them marry at all?” I whispered. “Why wait?”
He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing my cheek, his lips almost grazing my ear when he spoke.
“Because,” he murmured, voice low enough to curl against my skin, “ending it before it started would’ve been mercy. And I’m done giving him mercy.”
My stomach twisted.
“What are you talking about?”
His hand tightened, pulling me closer. From the outside, it probably looked romantic. A boy whispering something sweet to a girl under the lights. But his words were poison.
“I want him to feel it,” he said softly. “All of it. The disappointment. The regret. The loss. I want him to finally understand that everything he touches rots.”
I tried to pull back, but his fingers stayed, firm at my waist, keeping me tethered to him. “You’re cruel,” I breathed.
He smiled, slow, dangerous, devastating.
“You’re just now figuring that out?”
I swallowed hard, the music swelling around us like an ocean I couldn’t swim in. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell them?”
He laughed under his breath, the sound more like sin than humor. “Tell them what, exactly? That their golden boy whispered terrible things to you?” His thumb stroked the side of my waist, lazy and deliberate. “You’ve seen how they look at me.”
