CLAIMED BY MY STEPBROTHER

The Boy Beside Me

(Lucian's POV)

I was already in the car when he stepped out the front door. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder and tried to look relaxed, but he didn't pull it off.

I didn’t say good morning or glance at him. I just watched him awkwardly slide into the passenger seat, as if he feared taking up space. I thought, this is going to be a long semester.

“Morning,” he said anyway.

I put the car in gear and didn’t respond.

He didn’t try to speak again, which I appreciated. Some people keep talking into silence, hoping it will change. He simply stared out the window, hands clasped in his lap, quiet like someone who is struggling not to look scared.

Good. He should feel a bit scared.

I took the turn out of the estate faster than needed. I caught a glimpse of him grabbing the door handle, and a small, mean part of me felt satisfied by that. I took the next turn even faster. The car hugged the curve hard enough for his shoulder to hit the window, making me hear him catch his breath.

“Lucian-”

“You'll live.” I didn’t slow down.

He didn’t say anything after that. He just gripped the handle tighter, knuckles turning white, staring ahead like ignoring the speedometer would keep him safe. That was fine with me. I wasn’t driving to make him comfortable. I was driving to teach him a lesson.

Next time, you won't ask to come.

I truly believed that until we pulled up outside the school gates. I stopped the car partly on the curb, engine still running. He looked at me like I had forgotten something.

“This isn’t the entrance.”

“It’s close enough.” I didn’t glance at him. “Get out.”

He hesitated for a beat too long, so I repeated it, this time with less patience. “Get out, Max.”

He got out. I watched him stand on the curb for a moment, backpack straps in his hands, looking between me and the school gates as if he were trying to figure something out. I almost felt a brief twinge of something, but I crushed it before it could develop into anything significant.

I leaned across the seat before he walked away. “One more thing.”

He turned back.

“If anyone asks how you know me,” I said, “you don’t. We’re not brothers here. We aren’t anything here. You keep quiet about the house, about my father, about everything. Are we clear?”

Something flickered on his face-hurt or maybe just tired resignation, but I didn’t look long enough to be sure. “Clear,” he replied quietly.

I drove off before he even turned around.

By the time I parked and crossed the main courtyard, I had already stopped thinking about him or convinced myself I had.

People noticed me as usual not loudly, just a shift in the air, conversations dropping a notch, a few heads dipping in something close to a bow. A couple of older betas actually did bow, quickly and instinctively, as if it was ingrained in them before they were old enough to question it. I ignored it. I never acknowledged it. I didn’t need to show respect to receive it; I just walked, and the crowd parted.

“Cross.”

I didn’t need to look back to know who it was. No one else called my name like we were friends.

Theo fell into step beside me, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair as if that made him look important. His father handled half the shipping contracts my father's company relied on, which meant we looked equal on paper. In reality, Theo understood his place, and it wasn't equal to mine.

“You look terrible,” he said cheerfully. “Rough night?”

“Don't.”

“Fine, fine.” He raised both hands, grinning without a care. “Heard your dad's new wife moved in this week. And the kid.” His grin sharpened slightly, fishing. “Is that true?”

“None of your business.”

“So it's true.” He laughed softly, the kind of laugh that made you want to hit something. “Human, right? I heard he's human.”

I didn’t respond. I just kept walking, and something in my silence must have weighed enough because even Theo—who never knew when to stop—backed off a step like he suddenly remembered who he was talking to.

I didn’t think about Max again until I walked into International Trade Law and saw him three rows back, alone, pen in hand and notebook open, as if he had arrived early to claim the emptiest spot in the room.

He spotted me the moment I saw him. I watched something flicker across his face—a quick thought of should I say something—before he remembered the car, remembered the curb, and looked back down at his notebook like I was a stranger.

Good. He caught on quickly.

I took a seat on the opposite side of the hall, as far away as possible, and told myself the tight, unfamiliar feeling in my chest was irritation. Just irritation. Nothing more.

It didn’t feel like irritation.

I didn’t examine that thought either. I just opened my laptop and didn’t look at him again for the rest of the lecture.

I told myself that took no effort at all.

It was a lie, and a small, treacherous part of me already knew it.