My Arrogant Stepbrother

25 : Breaking Point

By Friday, I was unraveling.

Every corner I turned at school, I felt eyes on me. Every whisper felt like another dagger. Chelsea’s rumor about my mom had taken on a life of its own. Some people pitied me, others mocked me, and a few were bold enough to ask invasive, disgusting questions like they had any right to know my family’s private pain.

Jason kept his promise to stay close, but even his presence couldn’t shield me from the damage. The more he hovered, the more Chelsea’s words gained traction. People didn’t just whisper stepbrother anymore—they whispered pathetic.

By lunch, I couldn’t take it. I abandoned my tray, bolted from the cafeteria, and locked myself in the girls’ bathroom.

I slid down the stall door, hugging my knees, the tears spilling before I could stop them. I had tried to be strong, to ignore Chelsea’s games, but she was winning.

She was ripping apart everything I cared about.

⸻

The sound of the door creaking open snapped me back. Footsteps echoed against the tile. Then a voice, smooth and mocking, filled the space.

“Well, well. Looks like the princess finally cracked.”

Chelsea.

I stiffened, my tears drying instantly, replaced by a hot rush of anger. I shoved the stall door open, and there she was, leaning against the sinks with her arms crossed, her smirk infuriating.

“What do you want?” I snapped, my voice hoarse.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Just checking in. You’ve been so quiet lately. Thought maybe you’d learned your lesson.”

My hands clenched into fists. “You’ve made your point. You’ve humiliated me, trashed my mom, spread your poison. Congratulations. You win.”

Her smirk widened. “Oh, Olivia, you really think this is about winning? This is about putting you in your place. You walked into my world and thought you could steal the spotlight, steal Jason—”

Her voice sharpened. “But he’s mine. Always has been. Always will be.”

I froze. Her eyes glittered with something darker than cruelty—obsession.

“This isn’t about me,” I whispered. “It’s about him.”

Chelsea’s silence was answer enough.

⸻

Something inside me snapped then.

For weeks, I’d let her control me. I’d cowered, obeyed, suffered in silence. But staring at her now, I felt something stronger than fear—rage.

“You’re pathetic,” I spat. “You think Jason will ever want you? He sees through you, Chelsea. Everyone does. You’re not powerful—you’re desperate.”

Her face twisted, the mask slipping for the first time. “Careful, Princess.”

“No,” I said firmly, my voice trembling but louder now. “You don’t get to scare me anymore. You don’t get to control me. You can spread your lies, post your photos, drag my family through the mud—but at the end of the day, you’ll still be alone. And Jason will never, ever be yours.”

Her eyes burned with fury, her nails digging into her arms. For the first time, she looked shaken.

“You’ll regret that,” she hissed, storming out of the bathroom.

I stood there, my chest heaving, tears still streaking my cheeks—but for the first time, I felt something I hadn’t in weeks.

Strength.

Chelsea had pushed me to my breaking point. But maybe, just maybe, I was done breaking.