chapter 2

The evening was already a swirl of emotions—excitement, nervousness, and a faint sense of dread I couldn’t quite shake. I clutched the edge of my chair as my mother bustled around the dining room, arranging plates and utensils with a level of enthusiasm I hadn’t seen in years.

“You’re going to love him,” he said for what felt like the tenth time. “He’s really grown into a wonderful young man. I think you two will get along great.”

I tried to match her smile, but my gut told me otherwise. My mind raced with possibilities. Who was Richard’s son? What was he like? Would he resent this sudden blending of families as much as I feared I might?

Before I could dwell too much on it, the sound of a door opening caught my attention. Mom lit up like a firework. “There they are!”

Behind her, someone else stepped into view.

I froze.

The air seemed to shift, growing heavier, colder. My heart dropped like a stone as recognition hit me with the force of a tidal wave. Standing there, impossibly real, was him.

Tall, with dark hair slightly tousled, and wearing a fitted jacket that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine, he was undeniably handsome—but I couldn’t see past the face that had haunted my high school years.

It was him.

The boy who had tormented me relentlessly. The one who turned every hallway into a battlefield and every classroom into a cage. The boy who’d made me feel small, unworthy, invisible—except when I was his target.

The high school bully I had worked so hard to forget was now standing in my living room.

And he was my stepbrother.

“Elliot, this is my daughter,” Mom said brightly, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. “Sweetheart, this is Richard’s son, Elliot.”

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. My mind reeled as I struggled to process the cruel twist of fate unfolding before me.

Elliot’s dark eyes met mine, and for a moment, he looked just as shocked. Recognition flickered across his face, followed by something else—amusement? Guilt? I couldn’t tell, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“You two know each other?” Richard asked, his tone curious.

“Oh, we... went to the same high school,” Elliot said smoothly, recovering faster than I could. His voice had matured, deeper and more composed, but I could still hear the faint echo of the boy who used to mock me.

“Really?” Mom beamed, clasping her hands together. “That’s perfect! See, I told you you’d get along.”

I forced a smile, though every muscle in my body screamed at me to run. “Small world,” I managed to say, my voice strained.

Elliot’s lips curved into a faint smile—polite, almost charming—but I didn’t trust it. Not for a second. “It’s nice to see you again,” he said, his tone unreadable.

Nice? Nice?! The word grated against my nerves. Did he really think we could pretend the past didn’t exist? That I could forget everything he’d done to me?

“Elliot, why don’t you help her set the table?” Richard suggested, oblivious to the storm brewing between us.

“Sure,” Elliot said, stepping closer.

I flinched instinctively, my heart racing. Memories surged to the surface—his mocking laughter, the cruel nicknames, the way he’d cornered me in the hallway just to see me squirm.

“Let me,” he said, reaching for the stack of plates I’d been holding. His fingers brushed mine, and I yanked my hand back as if burned.

“Thanks,” I muttered, stepping away quickly.

His eyes lingered on me for a moment, an unreadable expression crossing his face. Was that regret? Or was he enjoying this?

We worked in tense silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. I could feel his gaze on me, but I refused to meet it.

Dinner was even worse.

Mom and Richard chatted easily, laughing and sharing stories, while Elliot and I sat across from each other like two actors in a play we hadn’t rehearsed for. He was perfectly composed, answering questions and smiling at jokes as if this were any other family dinner.

But every so often, his eyes would flicker toward me, and I couldn’t tell if he was trying to apologize or mock me.

“So, what was Elliot like in high school?” Mom asked suddenly, turning to me with a playful grin.

I nearly choked on my drink. Elliot’s fork froze mid-air, but he quickly recovered, his smile tightening just slightly.

“Oh, you know,” I said, forcing a laugh. “High school was... a long time ago.”

Mom frowned, clearly unsatisfied with my vague answer, but thankfully, Richard changed the subject.

By the time dessert rolled around, my nerves were frayed. I excused myself to the kitchen, desperate for a moment alone.

But, of course, Elliot followed.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning casually against the counter.

I spun around to face him, anger bubbling to the surface. “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

“Technically, I live here now,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious.

“Don’t joke about this,” I snapped. “You... you made my life hell, Elliot. And now I’m supposed to just act like none of that happened?”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I expected. “Look... I know I was a jerk. A complete asshole, actually. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I’m not that person anymore.”

I crossed my arms, my chest tightening. “You think an apology can erase everything? The names, the humiliation, the—” My voice cracked, and I turned away, furious at myself for letting him see me like this.

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t. But I want to make it right. If you’ll let me.”

I looked at him then, really looked at him. There was something different in his expression—something I hadn’t seen before.

Regret.

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“I don’t trust you,” I said bluntly.

He nodded, as if he’d expected that. “Fair enough.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, the tension between us almost unbearable. Finally, he pushed off the counter and headed for the door.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, pausing in the doorway, “I am sorry.”

And then he was gone, leaving me alone with the weight of the past—and the uncertain future ahead.