“Well,” he murmured, eyes skimming the screen as though reading a menu, “your friends are… enthusiastic.”
My stomach knotted hard enough to ache. I had completely forgotten to look at their messages.
His voice dropped into something smooth and mocking as he read aloud, savoring every word:
“He sounds really bad… in a good way.”
His gaze flicked to me, lingering. “Charming.”
He kept scrolling.
“Have you two hooked up yet?”
One eyebrow arched. “Bold assumption.”
Another swipe.
“Sex with your hot new stepbrother? Damn, that’s kinky.”
A quiet hum left him. “They certainly root for chaos.”
My face burned. My fingers gripped the edge of the tub as if I could hold myself underwater until he disappeared.
But he continued, unhurried.
“Maybe he has a girlfriend.”
His jaw tightened in a way that didn’t match his tone. “How concerned.”
Another message popped up under his thumb.
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend, right?”
He didn’t look at me, but the air tightened all the same.
Then the next.
“There were no girls on his insta.”
He let out a low exhale, somewhere between a laugh and a warning. “They’ve been investigating. How thorough.”
And finally, the last one.
“Lulu, answer!!!”
He set the phone against his palm, tapping the screen lightly with his thumb, amused, curious, too entertained for my sanity.
Then he lifted his gaze to mine.
“I did not realize,” he said softly, “that your entire social circle considers you the protagonist of a forbidden little saga.”
I couldn’t breathe.
He stepped closer to the tub.
Not touching.
But close enough that the steam curled toward him, drawn like everything else.
