My Arrogant Stepbrother

4: Humiliation And Defiance

By the end of my first week at Brookwood Academy, I had learned three things:

1. The cafeteria food looked gourmet but tasted like cardboard.

2. Jason Cole’s fan club was real, terrifying, and everywhere.

3. Jason himself seemed to have made it his personal mission to make my life miserable.

It wasn’t just the smirks he threw my way in the halls or the sharp comments he delivered under his breath when no one else was listening. It was how he used his influence like a weapon. A whisper here, a glance there, and suddenly the whispers about me spread like wildfire.

By Friday, the entire school seemed to know my name—and not in a good way.

“Did you hear? She’s only here because her mom married into money.”

“Jason said she grew up dirt poor.”

“I bet she doesn’t even belong in this school.”

I kept my head down, pretending the words didn’t sting. Pretending I didn’t care.

But Jason knew. He always knew.

That afternoon, I was walking across the courtyard, juggling a stack of books, when it happened.

“Hey, Princess!”

I froze at the nickname, already dreading what came next. Jason’s voice cut across the crowd of students lounging on benches and steps, his friends gathered around him like he was hosting a royal court.

“Why don’t you show us how you curtsy?” he called, smirk firmly in place.

Laughter rippled through the courtyard. My face flamed as dozens of eyes turned to me.

“I said,” Jason repeated, louder this time, “give us a curtsy. You want to be a princess, don’t you?”

The books felt like bricks in my arms, my heart hammering in my chest. He wanted to humiliate me, right here in front of everyone. And if I refused, the laughter would only grow.

For a second, I considered running. But then something inside me snapped.

I dropped the stack of books onto a nearby bench and stepped forward, raising my chin.

“Of course,” I said sweetly, plastering on a fake smile. “Anything for my dear stepbrother.”

Jason’s smirk faltered for a split second, like he hadn’t expected me to play along.

I grabbed the sides of my skirt and performed the most exaggerated, mocking curtsy I could manage, bowing low like some medieval servant girl. The courtyard erupted with laughter—not at me, but at the ridiculousness of what I was doing.

Then I straightened, looking Jason dead in the eye. “There. Was that good enough for you, Your Highness?”

His friends whooped, some even clapping. Jason’s jaw tightened, his smirk straining under the weight of his pride.

Before he could reply, I added, loud enough for everyone to hear: “Or do you need me to kiss your feet too? Because I left my disinfectant at home.”

The laughter exploded again, louder this time. Jason’s friends doubled over, and even a few students who normally worshiped him hid their giggles behind their hands.

Jason’s hazel eyes locked on mine, burning with something sharp and unreadable. Embarrassment. Anger. Maybe even grudging respect.

I didn’t flinch.

I picked up my books, turned on my heel, and walked away, my head held high. My hands were trembling, my knees weak, but I didn’t let it show.

Behind me, the laughter faded into murmurs. Jason didn’t say another word.

But I knew one thing as I strode across the courtyard, heart pounding in my chest: I had just declared war.

And this time, Jason Cole wasn’t the only one who knew how to play.