My Stepbrother Wants Me-Chapter 116: He Is A Vacuum Cleaner

Catherine’s POV

My dress felt like a second skin, cold and sleek, while the diamonds around my neck felt like lead. I stood near a towering sculpture of a swan, watching the melt-water drip steadily into a crystal basin. It was a metaphor for the whole evening; expensive, temporary, and slowly disappearing under the heat of a thousand artificial smiles.

Julian had been gone for ten minutes. Ten minutes was an eternity in a room where all these faces felt fake. I scanned the crowd, my eyes darting past men in tuxedoes and socialites draped in more carats than I could count. I saw Gabriel near the bar, talking to a group of young interns. He managed to always blend in l because of his personality I guess.

My eyes caught Richard holding a glass, leaning in close to a major tech mogul while Lisa was standing just a few feet away from him, her hands clasped tightly over her evening clutch.

From a distance, she looked spectacular. The emerald gown complimented the fake glow of her skin, and she was nodding along to a story being told by a woman in a feathered headpiece. But I knew the signs now. I saw the way her gaze moved toward Richard every few seconds, a silent, desperate check-in to see if she was standing correctly, if she was laughing at the right volume, if she was being the "perfect" wife.

She wasn’t participating in the party; she was playing the perfect puppet.

"She’s a fast learner, isn’t she?"

The voice was thin, like parchment paper rustling in a breeze. I turned to find a woman standing beside me. She was elderly, her silver hair pulled back into an elegant chignon that looked almost painful. Her sharp, watery blue eyes were fixed on my mother. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"Mrs. Sterling," I said, recognizing our host’s wife. I forced a polite smile, though my heart began to gallop. "It’s a beautiful event. Thank you for having us."

"The Vaughns are always the main attraction, dear," she said, her voice devoid of any real warmth. She took a small sip from a glass of clear liquid. "But I was talking about your mother. She has that look. The one they all get eventually."

"The look?" I asked, furrowing my brow. "I’m not sure I follow."

Mrs. Sterling turned her head slowly. "The look of a woman who is trying to become invisible while standing in the center of the room. It’s a delicate art. I haven’t seen it performed quite so well since Elena."

The name hit me like a physical blow. Julian’s mother. The woman Richard claimed had abandoned her family.

"You knew Elena?" I asked, stepping closer, my voice dropping.

Mrs. Sterling let out a dry, rattling laugh. "In this circle, everyone knows everyone. Elena was... vibrant. She was like a wildfire when Richard first brought her around. She had opinions. She had a laugh that could be heard from the other side of the lawn. She was a woman who lived in full color."

She paused, her gaze drifting back to my mother, who was currently laughing at a joke Richard had made, with wide and glassy eyes.

"And then, piece by piece, the color started to fade," Mrs. Sterling continued. "Richard doesn’t like wildfires, Catherine. He likes hearths. Something he can control. Something that provides warmth only when he decides to light the match. Elena didn’t just ’have a breakdown.’ She was extinguished. She became a shadow of herself until there was nothing left but the silhouette of a woman. And then, one day, the silhouette was gone too."

A chill that had nothing to do with the ice sculpture washed over me. I looked at Lisa. My mother, the woman who used to sing in the kitchen while making breakfast, the woman who had always been my rock. I saw the way she was standing now... stiff, performative, her eyes tracking Richard like a captive animal tracking its tamer.

"History has a way of repeating itself in that family," Mrs. Sterling whispered, leaning in closer. The scent of her perfume filled my nose. "Julian has the same fire his mother had. Richard spent years trying to put that out, too. He’s been quite successful, I hear. The boy is a block of ice now."

"He’s not ice," I defended, the words out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Mrs. Sterling raised a penciled eyebrow. "Is he not? Well. Perhaps you see something the rest of us don’t. But be careful, child. Richard Vaughn doesn’t just marry women; he consumes them. And he doesn’t just raise sons; he carves them into the shapes he needs. If you aren’t careful, you’ll find yourself becoming a ghost just like the rest of them."

She gave me a final, pitying look before drifting back into the crowd, her silk skirts wiping the floor as she swayed her hips.

I stood there, frozen. My mind was a storm of images and thoughts. Richard wasn’t just a politician. He was a vacuum, sucking the life out of everyone around him to fuel his own ascent.

"Catherine."

I jumped, nearly spilling my drink. Julian was standing behind me. His mask was firmly in place, his hair perfectly smooth and his tuxedo impeccable, but his eyes were dark, swirling with an intensity that bordered on feral. There was a jagged energy coming off him, a cold heat that made the air around him feel thin.

"You’re back," I whispered, searching his face. "Are you okay? You were gone for a long time."

"I’m fine," he said, his voice a low, clipped rasp. He didn’t look at me; he was looking at Richard. "I ran into an old acquaintance. It was... productive."

I knew that tone. It was the tone he used when he was suppressing a rage so deep it threatened to swallow him whole. I wanted to ask him what happened, to tell him what Mrs. Sterling had said, but the sound of a gavel striking a podium cut through the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen! If I could have your attention!" Arthur Sterling’s voice boomed over the speakers.

The crowd began to shift toward the grand staircase. Richard was already moving, his hand firmly on Lisa’s lower back, guiding her toward the stage with the practiced ease of a man who owned the floor. He looked back at us, his eyes flashing with a command that was impossible to ignore.

"It’s time for the ’Family Auction,’" Julian muttered, the words sounding like a curse. "The moment where he sells the idea of us to the highest bidder."

He reached out, his hand finding mine. His grip was almost too tight but I didn’t pull away. I needed the contact. I needed to know that even in this house of ghosts and silhouettes, there was someone else who was still breathing.

"Don’t let go," he whispered, his eyes finally meeting mine. There was a desperate, raw honesty in them that shattered the "Vaughn" mask for just a second. "Whatever he says up there... whatever role he makes us play... don’t let him extinguish you, Catherine."

I squeezed his hand back, the violet satin of my dress shining under the gala lights like a bruise. "He won’t," I promised. "I’m not his mouse, Julian. And neither are you."

We began to walk toward the stage, following the man who wanted to carve us into his own image.