Chapter 3
1204 Words
“Is Uncle Diego strict with Andy?” I asked Mom as she set a warm glass of milk on my bedside table. My room was dim except for the soft lamp glow, making the conversation feel even more intimate.
“Strict? Not exactly,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
“I just… noticed how his mood shifted earlier when I mentioned Andy’s paintings. It felt like he wasn’t happy about it at all.”
Mom sighed softly.
“It’s not that he dislikes Andy’s talent. He simply wants Andy to focus. You heard him—Andy’s supposed to be the future CEO of the company. That’s a heavy title. Diego only wants him prepared.”
“That’s… a lot of pressure.”
A small knot formed in my chest. Poor Andy.
“There isn’t much we can do,” Mom continued gently. “Andy is the only blood relative left who’s capable of inheriting the company. If Diego had another child, maybe the responsibility could be shared. But Andy grew up an only child… and after the separation, Diego focused everything on him.”
I drew my knees close, studying her carefully.
“Speaking of the separation… I’ve been meaning to ask. Why did Uncle and his ex-wife split up?”
Mom paused, then sat beside me, her voice turning solemn.
“Since you’re older now, I think you can handle the truth. Diego’s ex cheated on him.”
My eyes widened.
“What?”
“Many times,” she said quietly. “Andy was only ten when it began. Diego forgave her repeatedly for the sake of their family. But eventually, he reached his limit. He filed for annulment.”
“But… why did she cheat? Was Tito Diego difficult? Strict? Something?”
Mom shook her head.
“No, dear. Your uncle is a kind, patient man. I wouldn’t have stayed with him if he wasn’t. His ex simply… wasn’t content. She grew up wealthy. Diego was just an ordinary employee back then. I suppose she looked down on that.”
“But he eventually built a successful business,” I reminded her.
“Exactly. She assumed he would never change his circumstances. She left too early—and lost not only a good husband but also her child.”
I swallowed.
“She gave Andy to him?”
“Not quite. Andy was fifteen when the annulment was filed. Old enough to know what his mother had done. He was furious. The court gave him the choice—and he chose his father. His mother filed for custody but lost after that.”
Pieces finally slid into place.
The coolness in Andy’s early behavior.
The maturity hidden behind his quietness.
The pressure on his shoulders.
And the loneliness.
“Cecil,” Mom said, touching my hand, “now that you know, I hope you understand Andy better. We may not be his blood family, but we can still be the home he’s been missing. He’s had a painful past, but he kept a good heart. And I believe, if you give him the chance, he’ll be a good brother to you.”
Her words settled warmly in the room.
And maybe in my heart too.
⸻
After learning everything, something inside me shifted.
I felt closer to Andy.
Softer toward him.
More protective.
Maybe it was because we both knew what it was like to grow up with only one parent — just different versions of the same loneliness.
In a short time, we became each other’s safe place.
Every day, we talked. At home. At school. Over lunch. During breaks.
Sometimes he even showed up at my campus just to hang around.
I told him he was clingy.
He only laughed and said, “You already know that—why ask?”
His presence caused chaos on campus, though.
Girls stared.
Whispered.
Flipped their hair as if auditioning for a shampoo commercial.
The moment my classmates learned he was my stepbrother, not my boyfriend, they suddenly became overly friendly.
Desperate, even.
As if getting close to me was some golden ticket to Andy.
Absolutely not.
They weren’t getting his number.
Or his IG.
Or even his shadow.
So now, as we sat together on a bench, I could practically feel the glares from nearby girls.
They were staring like we were filming a romance drama in public.
“Don’t look at them,” Andy murmured, eyes still on his book. “You’ll just get annoyed.”
I crossed my arms, glaring anyway.
“They’re annoying. How do you tolerate people like that?”
“It’s easy,” he said. “I don’t give a damn .”
“Hmph. Easy for you to say. Just wait — the moment you leave, they’ll swarm me again. Asking a bunch of questions .”
He closed his book, turning to face me fully.
“What kind of questions?”
“Oh, you know. ‘Does he have a girlfriend?’ ‘Is he dating anyone?’ Stuff like that.”
“Then tell them I already have one.”
I froze.
“W–What? Who?”
He smirked and flicked the tip of my nose.
“Secret. I’m not telling you — you might report me to Dad again.”
My guilt poked me.
“Hey… I was just complimenting your paintings. I didn’t know he was going to be that serious about it.”
He laughed and lightly tickled my side, making me yelp.
“I’m teasing. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Stop! They’re looking at us!” I hissed, nodding toward the fangirls whose faces were now twisted in pure heartbreak.
“Let them be jealous,” he said casually. “It suits them.”
“Whatever.. But anyway — do you really not have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
His answer was simple. Firm.
“That’s impossible. Guys your age all have girlfriends.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
My breath caught.
“W-What? No! Obviously not.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
“Good.”
His tone deepened, unexpectedly protective.
“No boyfriend. And even if you try, I won’t allow it. You’re under my watch.”
I blinked.
“Why does the question suddenly bounce back to me?”
Before I could press further, he stood up and grabbed his bag.
“I have class soon. What about you?”
“Library. Research. Probably an hour.”
“Go home after. No detours,” he said.
“Yes, Big Brother—”
He stopped mid-step.
Turned slightly.
“Don’t call me that,” he said under his breath.
“Unless you want me to be ki-“
I didn’t catch the rest. He was too far already.
I blinked.
“What?!” I shouted back.
He hesitated for half a second — like he was deciding whether to repeat himself.
Then he smirked, cheeks lifting in that soft, boyish way that was becoming dangerously familiar.
“I said—” he called out, louder this time,
“you’d be really pretty if you weren’t so deaf!”
The students around us giggled.
My face heated instantly.
- Writer
