My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 57: Unread Messages

Three Days Earlier

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3rd Person’s POV

Ethan stepped out of Shellie’s Diner, the door shutting behind him with a jingle of the bell that felt oddly hollow. The night air hit him like a splash of cold water—sharp and jolting, but it didn’t do anything to calm the furious pounding in his chest. He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, bowing his head as he tried to steady his breathing, but every time he blinked, Noah’s face flashed before him, guilt swirling in his eyes, the tremor in his voice echoing in his mind when he’d said it.

’He’s my stepbrother.’

Those words still rang in his ears, each one like a bruise he just couldn’t shake off.

He hurried his pace, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the pavement, anger pushing him forward while guilt tugged him right back. An annoying little part of him, the foolish, soft part...urged him to turn around, to go back, to listen, to take Noah’s hand and tell him it was okay. But his pride, damn that stubborn pride—kept his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched tight.

"He could’ve told me," he muttered, his voice rough and low. "He should’ve just told me."

That his father’s rival at business, that his own rival at basketball and everything related...was his best boyfriend’s stepbrother.

The streets were mostly deserted, flickering streetlights casting pale pools of gold that stretched and shattered with every step he took. Finally reaching his house, a big, echoing two-story that always felt too spacious for just him, he unlocked the door and stepped into the silence. It swallowed him whole.

He slammed the door harder than necessary, the sound bouncing off the marble floors. Shrugging off his hoodie, he tossed it onto the couch, where it landed with a dull thud. His reflection in the hallway mirror caught his eye, dark bruises along his jaw, a faint cut near his temple, and exhaustion etched into his features. For a moment, he barely recognized the person staring back at him.

"Perfect," he said bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "You look like hell."

The mirror didn’t have much to say about that.

He lingered there for a while, his thoughts in a dizzying loop he just couldn’t break free from. He’d asked Noah to meet him at the diner because he really needed him, because he had a way of making everything feel a little lighter. His smile, his calm voice, and even that nervous laugh of his always managed to pull him from the dark places his mind dragged him into. But tonight... he’d dropped that bombshell on him out of nowhere, right when he was already hanging by a thread.

He let out a shaky breath and rubbed his forehead. "You picked the wrong time, Noah," he whispered to the empty room, his voice faltering a little. "The absolute worst time."

The words hung there in the stillness, swallowed by the quiet. Outside, the wind brushed against the windows, and for a fleeting second, Ethan wished he’d just stayed inside that diner, wished he’d let his pride take a backseat and listened instead of running away. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Because even though he felt furious at him for keeping something so significant from him, he was equally angry at himself for caring this damn much.

Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, the soft amber glow from his bedside lamp spilling across the room. His knuckles throbbed beneath the antiseptic cream, and he cringed as he dabbed a cotton pad against the bruises lining his jaw. The sting was nothing, nothing compared to the one twisting painfully in his chest.

He sighed and tossed the pad aside, staring at the faint cuts scattered across his face, his reflection a fragmented version of himself in the bathroom mirror. Adrien Fell’s name popped into his head, bitter and sharp. The same guy who had been a thorn in his side for years. The same arrogant jerk who picked fights just for kicks. And somehow, impossibly, that guy was Noah’s stepbrother.

He let out a dry laugh, though it held no humor. "Of course," he muttered under his breath. "Of course it’s him."

He recalled how Noah’s voice had quivered when he told him, the guilt and fear in his eyes, like he’d been bracing for him to walk away. Maybe he already sensed he would. He’d always felt he was hiding something from him. The hesitation, the way he’d evade questions about home, the way he’d tense up whenever he asked to walk him all the way there. He thought it was just shyness or maybe some family drama he didn’t want to discuss. But this?

Ethan leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand across his face. "You could’ve told me, Noah," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I wouldn’t have cared. I just... I deserved to know."

He looked up again, locking eyes with his own tired reflection in the mirror. They looked different—shadowed, restless, somehow older. It hit him then how much weight he’d given him in his life without even realizing it. Every text from him lightened his day; each shared laugh felt like something he’d started to depend on.

But now... now it all felt like a beautiful lie.

He turned off the bathroom light and stumbled into the darkened hallway, the faint hum of the city outside his window doing little to alleviate the silence pressing down on him. He sank onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. The phone on his nightstand buzzed once, then twice, more unread messages from Noah lighting up the screen. He couldn’t bring himself to open them. Not yet.

"He said he trusted me," he murmured into the stillness. His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw. "But if he really did, he would’ve told me sooner."

Lying back, he stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the words echoing in his mind until they eventually faded into silence.

By the time exhaustion finally pulled him under, the last thing he whispered to the empty room was a quiet, aching truth—

"You should’ve just told me, Noah."

Noah shouldn’t have thought for a second that telling him earlier would change how he felt about him.