Stepbrother beg

Chapter 3

The movie was honestly pretty boring.

But underneath it, I felt a thrill I couldn’t quite explain.

When it ended, I deliberately lingered a little before drifting out with the crowd.

Ethan was tall enough that I spotted him immediately.

He stood there like a rock in the middle of the lobby.

His gaze cut straight through the moving crowd and pinned itself to me with perfect precision.

Good. He hadn’t disappointed me.

I knew he was smart.

If he wanted to find me, he’d always find a way.

The stream of people slowly pushed me closer until I was finally right in front of him.

I lifted a brow and put on an expression of innocent surprise.

“Ethan? Wow. What a coincidence.”

He gave a small nod.

Then his eyes moved past me and landed on Logan behind me.

I smoothly introduced them.

“Nice to meet you, man,” Logan said brightly, reaching out a hand. “Guess that makes you the overprotective brother.”

Ethan didn’t take it. He just gave a cool, flat “Mm,” then grabbed my wrist and started pulling me away.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Logan hurried after us and blocked his path. “We’re on a date. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“What am I doing?”

Ethan stopped.

In my memory, he was always gentle, always patient, always indulgent.

I had never seen him look this severe before.

“I should be asking you that,” he said. “What exactly do you mean, asking her out to a movie this late?”

Logan froze for a second.

Ethan’s expression darkened even more.

“We’re both men. Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re after.”

“I—I…”

Logan tried to explain.

But Ethan was already shoving me into the passenger seat.

He ignored Logan knocking on the window and hit the gas.

On the drive home, he kept sneaking glances at me in the rearview mirror.

Did he think I’d speak first, the way I always used to?

He could keep dreaming.

Neither of us said a word the whole way back.

When we got home, Ethan took a slow breath, obviously about to sit me down and have a serious talk.

I went straight to my room instead.

The door slammed shut behind me, cutting off his eyes, his presence, everything.

I’d already given him a chance earlier, and he hadn’t taken it.

Now that chance was gone.

I shrugged off my coat and dropped heavily onto the bed.

The room I’d left in a mess had been cleaned spotless.

The floor, the desk—everything was immaculate.

Even the sheets smelled fresh, obviously just changed.

Did he not know what day I might come back, so he’d simply been changing them every day?

I could almost picture him sitting outside my door, looking pathetic and hopeful, waiting for me to come home.

God.

He really was so good to me.

So why couldn’t he go all the way?

Why did some ridiculous inferiority complex make him so determined to push me away?

Love should be selfish. Possessive.

He didn’t understand that.

So I’d teach him myself.