My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 170: Like Nothing Even Happened

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⭒❊✿❊⭒∘∙⊱⋅•

I hung around in the entryway for a while after Ethan’s departure, his goodbye still echoing softly in the air like a faint whisper. The house seemed to expand in his absence, the lofty ceilings and polished floors stretching out around me, making the silence weigh heavily on my skin.

I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the spot where he had just been, feeling the warmth of his kiss still lingering on my lips, while Adrien’s felt like a brand, more intense and impossible to shake off.

God, please help me.

Soft footsteps approached from the hallway, and I recognized one of the maids, Maria, if I remembered correctly (yes, I took note of all their names) who came in with a small smile as she reached for the silver tea tray Ethan and I had left on the console table. I instinctively stepped forward and gently took it from her hands.

"I’ll handle that, miss" I said quietly, managing a small smile of my own. "It’s really no trouble."

Maria’s expression softened, the lines around her eyes crinkling with understanding. She had been around long enough to know I wasn’t one to demand attention or complicate anyone’s job; in fact, I preferred to blend into the background.

"Thank you, Mr. Noah" she murmured, giving my arm a light pat before turning away, her footsteps retreating gracefully down the hallway.

The tray turned out to be heavier than I anticipated, porcelain cups clinking softly against their saucers as I made my way to the sprawling kitchen at the back of the mansion. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, glinting off the marble countertops and the gleaming stainless-steel appliances that resembled art pieces more than cooking tools. The chef, was at the island, chopping herbs with a rhythmic precision, the sharp scent of fresh basil filling the air.

He looked up as I walked in, his round face lighting up with a friendly grin. "Mr. Noah! You’re looking a bit pale today. Are you hungry?"

Yikes, was it that obvious I looked like shit?

I opened my mouth to tell him the truth-that my stomach was too knotted up with everything swirling inside me to consider food-but before I could say anything, he slid a small plate toward me. On it were warm croque-monsieur bites, golden and crispy with melted Gruyère oozing slightly at the edges, paired with a handful of fresh strawberries dusted with powdered sugar.

Truly a masterpiece that I couldn’t even find the stomach for.

"You need to eat something," he insisted gently, wiping his hands on his apron. "You’re already too skinny, no starving on my watch!"

I tried not to laugh at the well-meaning body shaming that usually came from people who genuinely cared. Instead, I quietly said, "Thank you," and pulled out one of the high stools at the counter, settling down as I picked at the food.

The first bite was surprisingly comforting...soft, buttery bread, salty ham, and the sharp tang of melted cheese, and for a few moments, I let my mind focus only on that, pushing aside the storm of thoughts about Adrien, Ethan, and the tangled mess my heart had become.

I was halfway through the plate when the front door opened, followed by the familiar sounds of laughter and chatter-Mom and Keith were back from their anniversary trip, bags rustling and heels clicking against the marble floor. The maids hurried past the kitchen toward the entryway to take their coats and luggage, and I quickly wiped my fingers on a napkin before hastily joining them.

Mom spotted me right away, her face brightening as she shrugged off her elegant wool coat into waiting hands.

"There’s my boy," she said warmly, pulling me into a hug that smelled of cold winter and her favorite rose perfume. She held me at arm’s length for a moment, her perfectly arched brow lifting as she studied my face. "You alright, sweetheart? You look... a bit tired."

My heart raced, wondering if she could sense the turmoil brewing inside me-the secrets weighing heavily that felt too daunting to express.

"I’m fine," I assured her, forcing a smile that I hoped looked genuine. "Just a lazy day recovering from the party. How was your anniversary getaway?"

"Perfect," Keith chimed in for both of them, kissing my forehead as he passed his briefcase to another maid. "Your mother dragged me to three different wineries, and I didn’t complain even once."

Mom laughed, playfully swatting his arm, and for just a moment, the normalcy of it all felt soothing, until movement on the staircase caught my eye.

Adrien was slowly coming down, his dark hair a bit tousled from whatever he’d been doing upstairs. He wore a simple black hoodie and gray sweatpants, looking effortlessly casual, which made my heart race and my cheeks heat up.

He nodded at Keith with a low "Hey, happy anniversary," but he didn’t look my way. Not once. Not even when I couldn’t help but stare, searching for any hint of what had transpired between us in the hallway-the confession, the kiss, the raw vulnerability that had shattered everything I thought I knew.

He walked right past us, heading toward the kitchen without so much as a glance in my direction, as if I were invisible. As if he hadn’t just pinned me against the wall hours ago and kissed me like the world was ending.

My chest tightened painfully. There was no way things hadn’t changed, he had to know that, right? That we couldn’t just go back to pretending, to the careful distance we’d kept for years. Yet here he was, acting like nothing had happened, like the air between us wasn’t still charged with everything unsaid.

Mom squeezed my hand, pulling me back to the moment. "We brought gifts," she said brightly, blissfully unaware of the storm inside me. "And stories for dinner. Lots of them."

Great...just what I needed right now.

I nodded, forcing another smile as I followed them toward the living room, but my gaze drifted back to the kitchen doorway where Adrien had vanished. The croque-monsieur bites suddenly felt heavy in my stomach, and the butterflies that had been fluttering all day twisted into something sharper, closer to fear.

Because if he could look at me like nothing even happened after kissing me like I was everything... what did that mean for us going forward?