REVENGE KISS: FALLING FOR MY BAD BOY STEP BROTHER

Chapter 011: Boiling Point

~SAFFRON~

I wake up to sunlight filtering through my curtains, my body feeling weak and my mind already spinning. The clock on my nightstand says 7:45 a.m., but it feels like I haven’t slept at all. Last night keeps replaying—the almost-kiss, his lean-in, the way I didn't pull away. Part of me wants to believe I imagined it. Why would Jason want to kiss me? Why would I let him? The idea of us wanting it terrifies me. But I'm sure it happened. If not for that wall phone, he would've, and I wouldn't have stopped him.

I stare at the ceiling and roll over, pulling the covers higher, but the guilt won’t let go. Jason had looked so… broken for a second. Like all that anger was hiding something deeper—can't even stay angry at him now even if I try. And now that our parents are coming home today, the house won’t feel empty anymore. But that almost makes it worse. Like I'll have to pretend nothing happened, smile through family dinner while every glance at him across the table reminds me of that almost kiss.

I wonder what's going through his head. If he'd even acknowledge it. I should push him on Elixir, get his side, clear the air. No, Jason is insufferable. Elixir on the other hand was gentle with me, hurt by the rumors Jason believed. He dropped me off safely, no pressure. Nothing about him, other than that mysterious scar, screams creepy. Elixir is the uncomplicated one.

I let my messy hair fall back as I head downstairs in my oversized T-shirt, craving coffee to clear my head.

When I get to the kitchen, Jason’s surprisingly there.

He's standing close to a quietly whirring blender in black sweatpants and a plain blue T-shirt. His hair looks slightly damp, from showering, maybe. He’s scrolling on his phone like last night never happened. The same hand that gripped my wrists now casually pours a green smoothie from the blender into a glass. I hover in the doorway for a while, my heart doing a stupid flip I can't seem to control.

He doesn’t look up when I walk in.

I grab a kettle, and glance at him from the corner of my eye. I catch him looking at me. But I focus on boiling water for my coffee, humming Bitter Sweet Symphony by The Verve.

When I glance at him again, he's still looking at me, like really looking. Almost judging. What's his issue? I face him, my hand on my waist as I lean against the counter. He doesn't look away. No smile. No smirk. Just those eyes—now calm, guarded—staring at me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“What is what?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

He scoffs, looking away like he doesn't have it in him this morning to argue. “Don't start.” He says. Drinking from his smoothie, he starts walking away.

“What happened between you and Elixir?” I blurt out.

So much for self thought.

My question makes him stop dead. He turns slowly, eyeing me like I'd just kicked him in the gut. A knot twists in my throat. I can't believe I just asked him that.

“Why didn't you ask him?” He gestures vaguely with the glass.

I blink. “I did.”

He goes still, thoughts churning behind those eyes. “Don’t get yourself involved with him,” he says, his eyes fierce. What is he burying about Elixir? The thought flashes through my mind, linking his secrets in a way that makes my stomach twist. But I don't push it.

“Okay,” I fold my arms, lowering my head to avoid his eyes as I ask him another question I can't quite stop myself from asking. “Can we—Can we at least talk about last night, at the stairs?”

“What happened last night at the stairs?” he asks quickly with a flat tone. I look at him, and I feel so stupid for asking. He looks completely clueless. “I was pretty wasted, I don't remember,” he adds.

I chuckle painfully, nodding in acceptance even if I feel it in my chest that he remembers vividly. “Never mind.” But deep down, a sudden ache tugs at my chest and I f*****g hate it. I hate that his words can affect me this much—especially after glimpsing that broken side of him last night. Unlike Elixir's raw confessions last night, Jason's just building higher walls, and it hurts more than it should. His denial stings like he's slamming the door on vulnerability, leaving me questioning everything.

He points in my direction. “Your water’s boiling,” and with that, he leaves the kitchen, the boiling water hissing behind me, mirroring my seething emotions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day goes by fast after hours of chatting with Kate, leaving out the Elixir and Jason's drama for now. By the time the sun sets, our parents have arrived. The live-out butler, Mr. Haymond, has everything ready. Fresh flowers in vases, the house spotless, and now a special welcome dinner. The aromas fill the air with the scent of roasting turkey and something sweet in the oven, making my stomach twist with a mix of hunger and anticipation.

I questioned my mom earlier in her room as she unpacked after yapping about how much I missed her. "Is the gala so important? Paris sounded perfect."

She sighed. "Oh, sweetie, it was. But life doesn't pause for romance. The gala is important. As for our honeymoon that was cut short, Fred and I will make it up later." Her eyes sparkled with that post-trip glow.

I didn't push then, but curiosity lingers. Last night with Jason still haunts me, and his denial this morning. It stings fresh every time I remember.

We’re finally all sitting at the dining table, the chandelier making the dinner setting look so beautiful—the crispy roast turkey, the slightly over-steamed broccoli… the bottle of red wine Fred’s slowly pouring like he’s trying to make the evening last longer.

My mom looks really pretty tonight, wearing a plain dress, her hair loose, smiling more than she has in weeks. Fred's in his usual weekend slacks and button-down, looking put-together even after hours of traveling.

Then there’s Jason.

He’s sitting straight across from me, staring at his plate like it personally offended him. He hasn’t said a word since we sat down.

Conversation keeps trying to happen—My mom laughs at something Fred says, a little too loud, a little too long. Fred smiles, looking at my mom with so much admiration.

I think about the gala again, pondering over why they went on the trip when there's a very important gala that Fred needs to attend.

“But why was the trip scheduled around the same week as the gala?” I ask, my voice laced with genuine confusion, setting down my fork.

My mom glances at Fred. “The gala's date shifted because of a sponsor crisis, and Fred has to keynote or the whole thing falls apart,” she answers, her fingers now gently squeezing Fred's arm in quiet support.

Fred nods, his expression calm as he sets his glass down with a soft clink. I continue eating.

“And what's this gala about?” Jason chimes in for the first time this evening, straightening in his chair, cutting a piece of the turkey as he gazes at his father.

Fred meets his gaze evenly, though I catch the subtle tightening of his jaw. “A fundraiser for Sterling Heights College's athletics program. It's important that we, the Millers and other members of the fundraising team are there,” he says carefully, his hands folding neatly on the table like he's bracing for pushback.

Jason's face changes instantly. His brows furrow deeply, a storm brewing in those eyes as he leans back, arms crossing over his chest. “The Millers?”

Fred's posture tenses slightly. “Yes, Jason, the Millers,” his voice stern yet calm.

Jason's lips press into a thin line, his fist clenching on the table. “Well, I’m not going,” he says, his tone defiant.

Fred narrows his eyes, a flash of anger and disappointment crossing his face as he stops eating. “You’re going. You're giving a speech.”

Jason's shoulders tense, his face flushing with frustration. “Dad—”

“I don't want to hear it, Jason,” Fred cuts him off, his hand slapping lightly on the table—not hard, but enough to echo, his expression hardening with paternal authority. My mom shifts uncomfortably, a concerned frown on her face as her hand reaches out to touch Fred. Fred looks at her, and then he sighs, his demeanor softening. Looking back at Jason, he says calmly, “I'm giving you that speech, you're going to learn it and present it like the good son that you are. I'm not going to lose working with a very good friend of mine because of your issue with his family.”

The silence that follows is heavy, Jason's breathing audible, his gaze dropping to his plate. He looks defeated. And I have to wonder who the Millers are—if Jason goes around having issues with everyone.

Fred turns to me then, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips despite the tension. “Saffron, I would be really glad if you come with us,” his voice is warmer now, his eyes meeting mine with genuine invitation.

I glance at my mom, my heart picking up pace at the idea of attending a gala. “You’re going?” I ask her, searching her face for reassurance.

She nods, her expression brightening. “Yeah. Of course,” she says, her tone light, “It's going to be an amazing one” She adds, trying to lift the mood of the dinner.

I turn back to Fred, forcing a smile that feels a little shaky. “It would be my pleasure,”

My words are polite but my pulse quickens as I glance at Jason, who is furious with unspoken rage.