My Stepbrother Wants Me-Chapter 193: Left Out

Julian’s POV

I gripped the edge of the door, my knuckles white. Gabriel was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, looking entirely too relaxed for my comfort. The air between us felt charged with the left off conversation I had just been having with Ethan. I scanned Gabriel’s face for any hint that he had just heard his brother confess to a plot of political sabotage and emotional manipulation.

"You guys are being pretty loud in here," Gabriel said, his eyes flicking from me to Ethan, who was still sitting on the bed looking like he’d seen a ghost. "Did you guys really have to do that?"

Shit! He heard us. My heart was thumping against my ribs. I was already calculating how to explain away the words destroy and Mayor. I opened my mouth, ready to launch into a desperate lie about a business disagreement or a debate about Richard’s campaign strategy, but before I could speak, Gabriel spoke again.

"Look, I don’t care if you’re in here plotting how to avoid Richard’s dinner tonight," Gabriel said, letting out a short, annoyed breath. "But you could at least have the decency to tell me what’s going on. You and Catherine disappeared earlier like the house was on fire. I go to my room for an hour, come back, and find the front door looking like it was kicked in and the lounge smelling like a brewery."

I felt a wave of relief so intense it almost made my knees buckle. He didn’t hear us. If he had heard the specifics, he wouldn’t be complaining about the front door or my disappearing act. He was just being his usual, nosy self, feeling left out of the loop. My brain, which had been frozen in a state of panic, suddenly snapped back into gear.

I took a breath, trying to steady my voice. "We didn’t kick the door in, Gabriel. We were just in a hurry."

"A hurry for what?" Gabriel pressed, stepping further into the room and forcing me to move back. He looked at Ethan. "And you. You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward. Why do you look like you’re about to have a heart attack?"

Ethan, to his credit, recovered faster than I expected. He stood up from the bed, smoothing out his rumpled shirt with trembling hands. He didn’t look at me, but I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. He knew he had to cover the tracks he’d just laid down with his loud mouth.

"I got into an accident," Ethan said hurriedly, his voice a bit too high, a bit too fast. He stepped toward Gabriel, gesturing vaguely toward his own disheveled appearance. "On the way over here. Some idiot swerved into my lane. I’m fine, obviously, but the car is a mess and I’m a bit rattled."

Gabriel frowned, his gaze drifting over Ethan’s clothes. "An accident? You don’t look like you were in a car crash. You look like you’ve been rolling in the dirt."

"I was," Ethan lied, gaining momentum. He looked Gabriel right in the eye, his expression shifting into a mask of fake grief. "The car went into the shoulder. And... it was bad, Gabriel. My dog was in the passenger seat. He didn’t make it. He was hit when I tried to get him out of the car. It was... it was a mess."

Gabriel paused. He went still, his brow furrowed as he processed the information. He looked at Ethan for a long time, the silence stretching out until I felt like I was going to snap.

"Your dog?" Gabriel asked, his voice skeptical. "Ethan, I’ve known you since we were kids. We went to the same prep school. I’ve been to your apartment a dozen times. Since when do you have a dog?"

I held my breath. I had forgotten that Gabriel actually paid attention to details like that. Ethan, however, didn’t even flinch. He let out a shaky, hollow laugh that sounded remarkably like genuine sorrow.

"I got him six months ago, Gabe. A rescue," Ethan said, shaking his head. "I didn’t exactly bring him to the Vaughn mansion for tea, did I? Richard would have had the thing stuffed and mounted if it shed on the carpet. I kept him at the apartment. He was... he was a golden retriever. Named Buster."

I watched from the sidelines, leaning against my desk. I realized in that moment that my best friend was a much better liar than I had ever given him credit for. The detail about the name—Buster—was a stroke of genius. It added just enough weight to the lie to make it feel grounded.

Gabriel sighed, the suspicion leaving his face as quickly as it had arrived. He looked genuinely uncomfortable now, the way people do when they realize they’ve been insensitive about a death. "Oh. Damn. Sorry, man. I didn’t know. That’s... that’s rough."

"Yeah," Ethan muttered, looking at the floor. "It’s been a hell of a day."

"Is that why Catherine was so worked up?" Gabriel asked, turning back to me. "I saw her in the hall a minute ago. She looked like she was ready to burn the place down."

Before I could answer, the door to my room, which I had left cracked open, was slammed the rest of the way. Catherine barged in, her face flushed with a deep, vibrating anger. She didn’t even notice Gabriel at first. She was staring directly at me, her chest heaving as she marched into the center of the room.

"I can’t do it anymore, Julian!" she yelled, her voice thick with frustration. "I am on the absolute verge of losing it. Lucy is pushing me to the wall. She’s standing out there in the hallway acting like nothing happened, talking about how ’tragic’ it is that people can’t control their emotions. If she says one more word to me about my mother or about how I don’t belong here, I am going to—"

"Catherine," I said sharply, stepping forward to intercept her.

She stopped mid-stride, her mouth snapping shut as she finally realized we weren’t alone. She blinked, her eyes darting to the side where Gabriel was standing, his expression shifting from sympathy for Ethan to sharp confusion.

The room went dead silent. Catherine’s hand was halfway to her hair, frozen in a gesture of agitation. She looked at Gabriel, then at me, then at Ethan. She knew she had just said too much. The mention of Lucy—the mention of being pushed to the wall—didn’t fit the "grieving for a dog" narrative that we were supposed to be maintaining.

Gabriel stepped toward her, his eyes narrowed. "Losing what, Catherine? What is Lucy pushing you to do?"

Catherine swallowed hard. I could see the panic rising in her throat, the way she looked at me for a lifeline. Her anger was still there, simmering just under the surface, but the shock of Gabriel’s presence had effectively muzzled her.

"Is there a problem?" Gabriel asked, his voice dropping an octave. He looked between the three of us, the skepticism returning ten times stronger than before. "Because you guys are acting like there’s a body hidden in here. If Lucy is doing something, tell me. Why are you all acting like she’s the one who killed the damn dog?"

I moved to stand beside Catherine, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. I could feel her trembling under my touch. We were standing on a knife’s edge. One wrong word from Catherine, one slip from Ethan, and Gabriel would start pulling on the threads until the whole tapestry of our lies unraveled right in front of him.

"She’s just stressed, Gabe," I said, my voice steady, though my heart was still racing. "It’s been a long day for everyone."

Gabriel didn’t look convinced. He crossed his arms and waited, his gaze fixed on Catherine, waiting for her to finish the sentence she had started.