In love with my Stepbrother

I couldn’t stop looking around the spacious room I would be calling my own from now on. Even now, it didn’t quite feel real. The space was enormous—big enough to fit our entire house back in the province. I sank onto the double bed, feeling the soft, luxurious mattress beneath me. It was nothing like the cheap foam I had grown up sleeping on. The comfort made me pause, a twinge of sadness sneaking in as memories of our old home resurfaced. If only Grandma had lived… I wouldn’t have had to leave the place I loved so much, leaving behind the familiar streets, the old house, and the life I knew, just to come with Mom and her fiancé, Tito Diego, to Manila. But I was only seventeen. I couldn’t live on my own yet, so I had no choice but to follow them. Tito Diego wasn’t the problem. He was kind, respectful, and treated Mom well. I even liked him. I didn’t mind if they got married—Mom had been widowed for ten years. It was time for her to be happy again, to find love with someone who cherished her. If only life were that simple. My problem wasn’t Mom’s new husband… it was his son. Andy—or Andres Martin Santillan. I hadn’t liked him from the start. He had an attitude, a spoiled rich-kid arrogance that I could never tolerate. I had seen it firsthand when Tito invited me, a twelve-year-old, to Andy’s birthday party. He was fourteen then—just two years older—but the disdain in his eyes and the words he whispered cut deep. He refused the gifts Mom and I brought, giving them instead to his nanny. Worse, he cornered me, hurling insults, calling Mom a gold-digger. I wanted to fight back, to defend her, but I respected Tito Diego too much. I didn’t want to upset Mom. So I held it in, burying the humiliation and pain. I swore I’d never step foot in that house again. I made excuses, avoided every invitation… until fate, as it often does, proved ironic. Five years later, here I was. I was still lost in thought when Mom’s voice called from the closed door. “Cecilia, honey, come on! Dinner’s ready. Tito Diego and Andy are waiting.” I sighed, gathering my courage before opening the door. “Wow… look at my daughter! That dress suits you perfectly,” Mom exclaimed, eyes sparkling with pride. I forced a small smile. “Mom… can I skip tonight? I’m still full.” “Don’t be silly. It’s your first night here. You need to show respect.” I stayed silent. Mom studied me carefully, then gently took my hand. “Andy’s changed. He’s not the same brat he used to be. If that’s what worries you…” I looked up at her. She was trying to ease my fears. She was right—I wasn’t in my own home anymore. I had to learn to live with the family that now sheltered us. We walked into the grand dining room together, two helpers trailing behind us. At the large dining table sat Tito Diego and another young man—Andy. The resemblance was uncanny. Same sharp features, same intense gaze, but he looked younger, fitter. Even sitting down, it was clear he was taller than Tito Diego. And that familiar beauty mark on his temple… I knew immediately—it was him. “Oh, you’re here! Come, sit with us,” Tito Diego greeted cheerfully. “Good evening, sir,” I said, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. “Good evening… you remember Andy, right?” Tito asked. I hesitated, then glanced at him. Our eyes met. But he wasn’t the same boy I remembered—there was calmness in his expression now, a softness I hadn’t seen before. “Yes, sir,” I said softly. “And you, Andy… don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Cecile?” He chuckled, eyes flicking to mine. “Almost… but don’t get me wrong. She looks… different now. Not the little girl I used to know.” I blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, you mean she’s grown up… I suppose time flies. One day, she’ll marry, and we’ll have grandchildren soon enough,” Tito said, grinning at me. I choked on my breath, stunned by how casual he was. “Diego, my baby is still young. Don’t rush the kids,” Mom said, laughing softly. Before I could recover, Andy spoke up. “Tita’s right. You shouldn’t say that. Look at Cecile—she’s already nervous. Sorry, Cecile… Dad’s just joking.” I froze, unsure where to look. At Mom for reassurance? At Andy for… what? His sincerity? Yes. Mom had been right. Andy had truly changed. The next morning, I got ready for school early, nerves fluttering in my stomach. It was my first day at the new university, and since Andy attended the same school, I expected to see him. When I arrived at the car, he was already in the back seat. I chose the front, giving myself some space. “Good morning, ma’am,” the elderly driver greeted. “Good morning, sir,” I replied with a polite smile. “I’m not a ‘sir,’ ma’am. Just your driver,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh… I thought you were Tito’s bodyguard. Your uniform looks like a PSG,” I said innocently. He chuckled, and I heard Andy’s soft laugh from behind me. My cheeks heated. I felt like a fool, but I couldn’t help it—the comparison was apt. Arriving at the university only made my nerves worse. The campus was massive. I had googled it, of course, but seeing it in person was overwhelming. “Your building’s over there,” Andy’s voice came from the back seat. He pointed toward the green-and-red building. “Ah… thanks,” I said, ready to step out—until he spoke again. “Have you given Mang Peter a heads-up?” “Who?” I asked. “Your driver… the one who looks like a PSG,” he said, grinning. “Oh… not yet.” “Here, take this. Message him thirty minutes before class ends, so he can pick you up on time.” He handed me his phone, typing the number for me to save. “Thanks,” I said, touched by the small gesture. ⸻