Stepbrother's Darling

Mirabelle's POV My mother hates me. But the feeling is mutual, my resentment towards her has rapidly evolved into something I can't control. She hasn't been a part of my life for over ten years and I appreciate that she's not a part of it. I was fine without her until now. I should be celebrating, I got into my dream college. I've been waiting my whole life to get into Bradley Thorne College, and now that I've finally got in? I have to report to the school before Dad can pay for my housing. But guess who I'm going to stay with? Yep, my mother. I hate that my dad asked her for help, but it was either this, or lose my spot, which I couldn't do. Dad has worked very hard to get me here, so the least I can do is endure my mother’s charity for a week. Just that, and then Dad will pay for my housing, hopefully, I don't lose that. “Miss,” the driver clears his throat. “We're here.” I look out the window. I've seen this place in the tabloids a few times. So this is the house Amelia left me for. I nod to myself, it's nice but not enough to give up your child for but then again, I'm not Amelia Wright and just like her name, my mother has a tendency to believe she is never wrong. I step out of the car and the driver helps me with my luggage, three suitcases. At the door, someone lets us in, and I wince at how polished everything is. The Thorne mansion is too clean, too still. It smells like lilies and freshly printed money. I stand on the pristine stone, clutching the worn strap of my duffel bag, I'm so out of place here. Amelia comes out of nowhere, but I hear her before I see her. I try not to act surprised, she looks just as flawless as the magazines say, perfectly composed in a cream pantsuit, looking like a woman who plans $500,000 weddings for fun. Because she does. “Mirabelle, darling!” she squeals with a wide grin, too happy for someone who abandoned me when I was eight. “You’re here! We were so worried,” she says, her arms stretched wide for a hug. I don't know who the show is for, me or the rich husband tailing her like a lost puppy, but I don't react fast enough, and she pulls me into a hug. “Aww, look at you, you've gotten so big. You're taller than your mommy.” My mommy? I'm in hell. The thought rubs me the wrong way. I've never had a mother, not in her. I hastily pull away from the hug and take two steps back. My being here does not mean I will play house with her in front of her husband. “Did you have a good trip?” I nod, praying for this awkward interaction to end. “Darling, this is my husband, Marcus. You remember him from the wedding, right? And your sister's graduation?” “Hi,” I blankly greet. Marcus gives me a small nod. “Good to see you again, welcome to my humble abode, consider this house yours too.” “Thank you,” I nod, knowing I'll stay out of the way. “Maria has prepared a room for you. Feel free to ask her or your mother if you need anything changed. Amelia has been preparing for days. She's very excited you're here.” Amelia nods. “Wait, you haven't met your brother, Vaughn,” she says, calling out for him, her voice bouncing off the large walls every time. Soon, a tall shirtless man with a cap on walks into the room. Marcus slaps the cap off his head, and Amelia grabs his arm. “Vaughn, this is your sister, Mirabelle. She's my youngest.” Vaughn looks me up and down and nods. “Welcome.” That's all he says, but the way he says it makes my stomach turn. He looks nothing like his father, while Marcus is handsome. His son is ethereal. He's so pretty. I don't think men are allowed to look this pretty. He's prettier than me, and Amelia clings to his arm, as if showing him off to say see why I left. He's perfect, and those eyes? Trouble. “I'm off to my meeting,” Marcus says. “Mirabelle, welcome once again. Maria will show you to your room,” he says, motioning to the girl in a maid's uniform in the corner of the room. “No need. I'll show her the dungeon,” Vaughn says, a dark smile playing on his lips. God, he's devastatingly handsome.I've met him once, back when we were both younger and I was forced to visit Amelia with my sister. She was the reason I came. Aside from those encounters, I never met him. Didn't know what he looked like because I avoided any and everything connected to Amelia. The moment his dad walks past me, his green eyes, the same unnerving shade as Amelia’s, lock onto mine. “Mirabelle,” he says, as if trying the word out. “Did you enjoy the carriage ride? Mom picked out the best car for you.” Mom. I almost scoff, the concept of Amelia being someone's mother is unbelievable. She has not one nurturing or maternal bone in her body — or perhaps that's merely to me. Amelia lets go of his arm and comes to hug me again, catching me off guard. “I missed you, darling,” she says, holding me tighter when I try to pull away. “Behave yourself, no bratty revenge outbursts, stay out of sight, not heard.” And there she is, the Amelia only I know. Because somehow she has the world convinced she is an angel with no flaws. “Of course, Amelia,” I hiss, finally pulling away. “Come, sister,” Vaughn says. “Your luggage will follow.” He doesn't wait for me, he's already going up the stairs without me, but I catch up. “So, you're Mommy's little darling,” he snickers. “You look better than your pictures in her office.” My pictures? “I'm not her darling, or anything,” I snap. Vaughn pauses, and I almost crash into him but still, he remains unfazed. “So then you're my darling,” he smirks. “Listen, hotshot, I don't need your pathetic attempts to play nice with me. I am not your sister, I will be gone and out of your hair soon so stop,” I warn. “Just pretend I don't exist because in your world? I don't.” Vaughn laughs, a rough, dark sound. “So you think I'm hot?” “What?” I choke out. That's what he got from all I had to say? He is just as shallow as Amelia, they're made for each other, a perfect mother and child duo. Vaughn grins, hooks the strap of my heavy duffel bag and slings it onto his shoulder, making it look weightless. I'm tempted to look at his muscles but I keep my eyes where his are. Being a Thorne, and that gorgeous? He probably has an ego, one I don't plan on stroking. Thankfully, he turns and walks again. I follow at a safe distance. The second floor is intimidating. It's too quiet. Vaughn stops in front of a heavy oak door and taps it. “This is your cage for the week,” he says, dropping the bag just inside the doorway. “I'm just down the hall and that room is Mom's office,” he says, pointing to the room directly opposite mine. “If you hear the floors creak at 3 AM? That’s me heading in. Or sometimes, heading out. A bit annoying, isn’t it?” “Only if you’re not trying to be quiet,” I retort. “Oh, I'm never trying to be quiet, Belle. Nothing in this house is quiet. You’ll hear everything. My mother’s work calls, my father’s late-night meetings, and certainly, my conquests,” he leans in close, his breath warm against my ear.