Cruel Desires: My Bully Turned Stepbrother

The Secret Is Out

Gabriel's POV

The dinner table felt like a pressure cooker that was about to blow. My mother was still on the floor, her hands trembling as she tried to fix her hair, her face a blotchy, frantic mess.

Derek's dad didn’t even look down at her. He just poured more wine, his eyes fixed on my mum with a terrifying kind of amusement.

"What is the problem, Sarah?" Mr Miller asked, his voice calm, almost bored. "I thought I told you months ago, my son likes men. Did you think I was joking?"

My mother’s face turned a shade of gray that made me think she was actually going to be sick.

She looked at him, then at the guy who was still standing there like he owned the place.

She opened her mouth to scream, but then her gaze flickered toward the expensive wine, the crystal, the sheer scale of the power sitting at this table.

Her spine snapped straight. She stood up, dusting off her skirt with shaking hands. "Oh... oh, don't mind me. I was just joking. A little... a little family humor, you know? Of course I knew."

It was the most pathetic thing I had ever seen. She would sell her own soul to keep this ring on her finger.

Derek didn't say a word. He just stood up, grabbed his jacket, and looked at me. "Get ready. Tomorrow, we are going to the tailor. You need a suit that doesn't look like it came from a thrift store bin."

The next afternoon, the tailor’s shop smelled like expensive wool and cedar. It was a private boutique, the kind of place where the door stayed locked and the lights were dimmed to make you feel like you were being judged by the gods of fashion.

I stood on the pedestal, the tailor a nervous, middle aged guy named Mr. Rossi poking at my ribs with a measuring tape. He kept apologizing every time the tape touched a bruise.

"Stop hovering," Derek snapped. He was leaning against the velvet wall, watching, his arms crossed. Brandon, the guy who kissed him yesterday was standing right next to him, his hand resting casually on Derek’s hip. From what I had heard for the past twenty hours, apparently they were dating.

So, Derek had a boyfriend. Brandon had been out of town for a while. He just came in yesterday and came straight to see his duck head boyfriend. If only he knew while he was gone, Derek was so busy cheating on him and tormenting me, making my life a living hell.

Brandon suddenly laughed, a sharp, patronizing sound. He walked over, his eyes scanning my reflection in the mirror like I was a piece of meat he was thinking of tossing in the bin.

"God, Derek, he’s like a twig," Brandon said, tapping my shoulder. "Are you sure this thing can stand up for an hour during the wedding? He looks like a stiff breeze would snap him in half."

"He is not exactly a gym goer," Derek said, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. There was no warmth there, just a cold, possessive hardness.

"He looks like he got a terminal illness," Brandon added, chuckling. He turned to the tailor. "Maybe you should build a frame underneath the suit. You know, to give him a shape. It is sad, really."

Mr. Rossi looked like he wanted to jump out the window. He kept his eyes glued to the floor, his fingers trembling as he tried to pin the hem of my pants. "Sir, I... I can certainly adjust the padding..."

"Don't bother," I said. My voice was steady. I was tired. I was so incredibly tired of being the punching bag for a billionaire’s mid-life crisis.

I shouldn't be bothered about Brandon anymore by the way, he was just a d**k like his silly boyfriend. They deserve each other.

Brandon ignored me. He moved closer, his cologne, something sharp and metallic, overwhelming the smell of the shop. He leaned in, peering at my face.

"You know, Derek, if he is going to be in the photos, we should probably hide those bruises with makeup. They are hideous."

He reached out to touch my neck, but I jerked back.

"Don't touch me," I said.

Brandon’s smile didn't reach his eyes. It was cold. He glanced at Derek, looking for the signal to escalate. Derek was watching, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.

"What did you say?" Brandon asked, his voice dropping.

"I said don't touch me," I repeated. I looked at Brandon, then shifted my gaze to Derek. I saw Brandon’s eyes dart to Derek again, searching for permission. That was the real dynamic here.

Brandon was the boyfriend, but he was terrified of losing his spot, and he could see that Derek’s focus was entirely on me.

"You are really feisty for a charity case," Brandon said, rolling his eyes. "Derek, just tell him to shut up."

I stepped off the pedestal. The tailor let out a little squeak of fear and scurried to the back, leaving us alone in the massive room. The silence was sudden and heavy.

I looked at Derek. I didn't see the boss anymore. I didn't see the guy who owned the city. I saw a hypocrite who was drowning in his own secrets. My injuries were all his fault, yet he let his stupid boyfriend curse me out.

"You want me to shut up?" I asked, my voice hitting a calm that felt like ice. I took a step toward them. "You want to keep playing this game, Derek? You want to stand there and let your little boyfriend insult me?"

Derek’s eyes went dark. He stepped forward, his body blocking the exit, but I didn't back up.

"If you say one more word about my body," I said, my voice quiet, flat, and tired. I wasn't even angry anymore. I was just done.

"I will tell your stupid boyfriend exactly what you do to me. I will tell him you made me suck your c**k, Derek. And that you practically went hard for me, even though you claim to hate me."

The room went dead silent.

Brandon’s smile didn't just fade, it vanished. His eyes snapped to Derek, wide and searching, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his face.

Derek stopped moving. He stood frozen, his chest heaving, his face turning an ash gray color as the implication of my words hit him. He looked at me, and for the first time, he didn't look like a predator. He looked like a man who realized he had left his house on fire.

"What is he talking about?" Brandon asked, his voice barely a whisper.