chapter 4

The dining room felt unbearably small, the air thick with unspoken tension. The table was set beautifully, with my mom’s favorite floral china and Richard’s polished silverware, but no amount of elegance could mask the growing discomfort in the room.

I sat across from Elliot, barely able to lift my eyes to meet his. Every clink of silverware against plates seemed to echo louder than it should, and the conversation was stilted, filled with forced laughter and polite smiles.

Mom was oblivious to the tension or maybe she was deliberately ignoring it. She leaned forward, her eyes bright as she passed a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Isn’t this wonderful? All of us here together, like a real family.”

Elliot smiled faintly, the expression almost convincing. “It’s great, Mrs. Daniels”

“Oh, please, call me Mom!” she interrupted, her cheeks flushing with excitement.

Elliot hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “Okay... Mom.”

Richard chuckled, patting Elliot on the shoulder. “See? We’re all settling in nicely. This is the start of something great, don’t you think?”

I forced a tight smile, my fork stabbing into a piece of roasted chicken. Something great? For them, maybe. For me, it felt like being trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

“So, how was everyone’s day?” Mom asked brightly, clearly trying to keep the conversation alive.

Richard launched into a story about a meeting he’d had earlier that week, something about a new client and a challenging negotiation. I barely listened, too focused on the man sitting across from me.

Elliot ate with an ease that grated on my nerves. How could he sit there so calmly, acting like we were strangers who had no history? He didn’t seem affected at all, while my hands trembled every time I reached for my glass.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Mom said, nudging me with a smile. “Everything okay?”

I froze, the words catching in my throat. What could I say? That the boy who had made my life a living hell was now my stepbrother? That every second in his presence was like walking on a knife’s edge?

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a small laugh. “Just... tired.”

Mom frowned slightly but didn’t press further.

Elliot glanced at me then, his dark eyes unreadable. For a moment, I thought I saw something there—regret, maybe? But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“So, Elliot,” Mom said, turning to him. “What do you do for work?”

Elliot cleared his throat, setting down his fork. “I’m in corporate finance. Mostly investment analysis.”

Richard beamed. “He’s one of the best in his division. Got promoted twice in the past year.”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Mom said, genuinely impressed. She turned to me, her eyes sparkling. “Sweetheart, isn’t that great? You two have so much in common. Both hard workers, both ambitious...”

I gritted my teeth, forcing another smile. “Yeah. Great.”

Elliot’s lips twitched, as if he was fighting back a smirk.

“So, what was she like in high school?” Richard asked suddenly, his tone light.

My heart stopped.

Elliot looked up, clearly caught off guard. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched uncomfortably long.

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about that,” I said quickly, my voice strained.

“Nonsense,” Mom said, waving me off. “I bet you were just as hardworking back then as you are now.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Elliot spoke first. “She was... smart. Really smart.”

His words surprised me, but the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

“Of course she was,” Mom said proudly. “She’s always been a bright one.”

Elliot glanced at me again, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he said softly. “She was.”

An awkward silence followed, the weight of what wasn’t being said hanging heavy in the air.

“Well, high school’s behind us now,” Richard said, attempting to lighten the mood. “It’s all about moving forward, right?”

“Right,” Elliot said, his tone neutral.

I nodded, though the lump in my throat made it hard to speak.

After dinner, I offered to help clear the table, desperate for an excuse to escape the suffocating atmosphere. I carried a stack of plates into the kitchen, setting them on the counter with more force than necessary.

A moment later, Elliot walked in, his presence filling the small space like a storm cloud.

“You don’t have to help,” I said quickly, keeping my back to him.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his tone low.

We worked in silence for a while, the clatter of dishes the only sound.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I meant what I said earlier.”

I turned to him, frowning. “About what?”

“About you being smart. You always were.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening. Was he trying to compliment me? To make up for everything?

“It doesn’t change anything,” I said quietly, my voice trembling.

“I know,” he said, his expression somber. “But... I’m trying.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of me wanted to believe him, to think that he’d really changed. But the other part, the part still scarred from the past, couldn’t let go of the pain so easily.

“You can’t just erase what you did,” I said finally, my voice sharper than I intended.

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know.”

The tension between us was almost unbearable. I wanted to scream, to cry, to demand answers—but instead, I turned back to the sink, gripping the edge of the counter to steady myself.

“Just stay out of my way,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Elliot didn’t reply. When I finally turned around, he was gone.