Forbidden to Love My Stepbrother

Chapter 7

The next morning, I wake to a silent house. The maids shuffle in the kitchen and drift through the halls as usual, but Grey is gone. I’m not a breakfast person, I usually need someone to drag me from bed because I never sleep early. But today I woke up at dawn, hoping to catch him. He left at dawn.

I barge into his room, toast still hanging between my teeth, jam smearing the corner of my mouth. He didn’t even lock it, not that he needed to. He couldn’t have been hiding anything. Still, when people live somewhere long enough, they bring something back. A souvenir. A memento.

Grey’s new room is like all the others: spacious, luxurious, soft ivory and warm cream coloring. A king-size bed dominates the center, angled away from the windows. A patio door directly across from it. I chew my toast slowly as I smooth a hand over his neatly made bed. Even seven years ago he was a neat freak, making his own bed despite the maids cleaning up every morning.

The side table is bare. I tug the drawers open, also empty. I finish my toast, brush the crumbs onto his flawless sheets, sniff, then head for his wardrobe. What am I even looking for? Something that proves Grey is lying. Something that shows he doesn’t really want to play brother and sister, not after everything we shared.

I fling the wardrobe doors open. Sickening.

My face scrunches at the sight of perfectly coordinated suits, arranged by color like a paint sample chart. Not many, he probably didn't bother bringing everything knowing he could replace it all here. But the symmetry, the precision, it’s so him. That obsessive need for order. He's told me he doesn't expect perfection from me yet he lives by it.

I yank a pale blue coat and shove it out of line, swapping it with the red. His perfect sequence ruined.

A satisfied smile curves my lips. I used to do this all the time, sneak into his room just to mess with him. I remember him catching me once, only to grin, shake his head, and tackle me, spinning me in dizzy circles until we both collapsed laughing.

Something catches my eye near his neatly zipped travel bag, his passport. I reach for it, but as I lift it, something slips out. A photo. It lands face down. Too big to be a passport photo. A Polaroid.

I bend, pick it up, and turn it over. On the black-and-white surface, Grey is in frame smiling. smiling. A dark-skinned woman presses a kiss to his cheek, her natural curls wild and beautiful. She holds the camera, grinning wide into the lens.

My heart skips.

She’s gorgeous. My fingers tremble against the glossy paper, and I force them to still. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Could be a friend. Just someone close. Nothing important. s**t. I’m still shaking.

It never even crossed my mind that Grey could’ve had someone while he was away. That while I kept myself for him, he might have dated others. After all, we never agreed on anything. He never promised me a damn thing, I was the one who decided to wait.

I bite my lip, staring at the Polaroid. Even if it was a fling in the UK, it must be over now. It can’t be the reason he is shutting me out. It can’t be.

I tuck his passport back into the bag but slip the Polaroid into my pocket. If he kept it this close, it must mean something.

I linger in his room another minute, but there is nothing left to do. I leave just as my phone rings, loud even from the hallway. It cuts off before I can answer.

I pick it up, press my thumb to the screen. Sharon’s name flashes. I hadn’t planned on going to class today. I wanted to wait for Grey. Still, I text her back.

Me: What’s up?

Sharon: Where the hell are you? Did you not read the school bulletin?

Me: You know I don’t read those.

Sharon: f*****g Scott is posting edited photos of you from last night. Telling people you had your t**s out.

I freeze. Heat spikes through me. “That f*****g piece of s**t!”

Sharon: Are you coming to school or not?

Blinding the bastard wasn’t enough, huh? He had to push further.

Me: I’m coming.

I yank on my usual outfit, shorts, a spaghetti-strap top, and boots. I storm out, jump into my car.

As soon as I step out, Sharon and Regina flank me. “Where is it?” I demand, my eyes flashing, fist itching to deliver hell to the asshole who dragged me out of the house today.

Sharon presses her phone into my palm as we reach the bulletin board. And there it is. His handiwork. My stomach churns at the sight. It is a photo of me not even wearing the red gown from yesterday but from another gala even a few weeks back. The piece of s**t edited boobs all over my chest. I rip the damn thing off the board, crumpling it into my fist.

“Hey, you’re not allowed to do that,” some prissy girl pipes up, but her voice fades into nothing when she catches the look on my face.

I spot Scott. Laughing with his friend, chest puffed up like he’s proud of himself. He is sitting in the courtyard surrounded by his friends talking about whatever, probably patting himself on the back for the s**t he pulled.

He doesn't see me coming. My eyes snag on a full wastebasket, overflowing with trash. I grab it midstride, some of the contents spilling out, crumpled paper, a half eaten soggy sandwich sliding near the rim. I march straight to him.

I reach him and upend the basket over his head. The trash rains down. The sandwich hits his white T-shirt with a wet splat. The guys around him leap back, stunned. Scott just stands there dripping, stinking, his smug grin wiped clean.