My Arrogant Stepbrother

21 : The Slip

Friday morning started like any other. The bell rang, students shuffled to their lockers, and the familiar buzz of chatter filled the halls. But I knew—deep in my gut—that something was different.

The air felt heavy, charged, like the seconds before a storm breaks.

And then I saw her.

Chelsea.

She stood in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by her usual crowd of sycophants, her phone raised as she whispered to them with a smug grin. The way people started glancing my way made my stomach twist.

Something had shifted.

I quickened my pace, keeping my eyes on the floor, praying I was imagining it.

But then, from behind me, I heard the word that froze me in place.

“Stepbrother.”

The word dripped with mockery, followed by a ripple of laughter.

My heart lurched.

I spun around, and there she was, her eyes locked on mine, her smirk wide and cruel.

“Oops,” Chelsea said innocently, waving her phone like it was nothing more than a toy. “Did I say that out loud?”

Her friends giggled, some whispering, others pointing. My cheeks burned, and panic clawed at my chest. She hadn’t released the photo yet, but she’d cracked the door open—just enough to let the poison seep out.

⸻

Jason appeared a moment later, cutting through the crowd like a blade. His eyes found mine instantly, his expression stormy. He’d heard it.

“What the hell was that about?” he demanded once he reached me, his voice low but seething with anger.

I shook my head quickly. “It’s nothing.”

He leaned closer, his jaw tight. “Don’t lie to me, Liv.”

I tried to brush past him, but he caught my arm—not roughly, but firmly enough to stop me. “Who told her?” he hissed.

“Jason, please—”

“Who?” His voice was sharp, demanding, desperate.

I opened my mouth, but before I could answer, Chelsea’s voice rang out again, louder this time, for everyone to hear.

“Careful, Olivia,” she sang, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Secrets don’t stay hidden forever.”

Gasps rippled through the hall. Jason’s grip on me tightened, his eyes snapping toward her, narrowing into dangerous slits.

He knew.

He didn’t know everything—not yet—but he knew enough to realize Chelsea was the source of my fear.

⸻

Later, in the quiet of the parking lot, Jason cornered me again. His eyes were wild, his chest rising and falling hard, like he was barely holding himself together.

“She’s got something on us, doesn’t she?” he asked, his voice low and raw.

I froze.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

Tears pricked my eyes. “Yes.”

His face darkened, fury sparking in his gaze. “What is it?”

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. Telling him would drag him down with me, and that was exactly what Chelsea wanted.

But the fire in his eyes told me he wasn’t letting this go. Not anymore.

⸻

That night, another message arrived.

He’s starting to figure it out. Maybe I should just tell him myself.

I clutched the phone, my heart racing.

Chelsea wasn’t just playing anymore. She was ready to strike.