My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 125: Bad, Bad Boy

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Third Person’s POV

Adrien pushed himself away from the counter, exhaling deeply, as if releasing a bit of the tightness in his shoulders. His mind was a jumbled mess cluttered with unsettling memories he was trying, but failing, to banish and all he craved was the comfort of his room, a dark and quiet place where he could pretend everything was fine.

He barely took two steps before his phone buzzed in his pocket.

A sharp, intrusive vibration.

He paused, pulling it out, hoping for something boring. Maybe a text from Dad checking if he was back home. Or just a random group chat notification.

But dread washed over him as he saw the name lighting up the screen.

Vanessa.

Again.

Just seeing her name made his jaw tense. She’d been sending him daily texts, sometimes three or four a day. Long messages, short ones, flirty notes, irritated rants often all within an hour. He hadn’t replied to any of them in weeks, but that didn’t stop her. It was like she didn’t understand what silence meant.

Like she didn’t understand what the term ’fuck buddy’ was.

He should’ve ignored this one too.

He should’ve just locked his phone and kept walking.

But something, maybe curiosity or irritation, nudged him to open it.

The message expanded, and the photo loaded in bright detail.

There was Vanessa, posing in front of a mirror in her bedroom, one hip jutting out, her lips slightly parted in what she likely thought was a sultry look. She wore a violet lingerie set...lace, sheer panels, thin straps clearly designed to lure him in, just like always.

Her text oozed with expectation.

Nessa: My parents aren’t home tonight. Come keep me company? 😉

Adrien’s face didn’t change. Not even a flicker.

Funny how three months ago, this would be all he needed to get in his car and drive all the way over to Vanessa’s house and fuck her stupid.

He stared at the image for a brief moment before pressing the side button to lock his screen, his expression hardening into something frozen and unreadable. The request, the pose, the clear invitation, none of it stirred any feeling in him. Not even annoyance. Just a weary disbelief that she still thought this would still work.

He muttered under his breath, his voice low and flat, "Not tonight, Vanessa."

Not ever.

But he didn’t send that.

He didn’t even reply at all.

Instead, he leaned against the wall for a moment, letting the frustration simmer just beneath his skin. Vanessa had a knack for picking the worst times, like she could sense when he was at his breaking point.

He rubbed a hand over his face, letting his phone dangle loosely in the other hand.

It was almost funny.

All he could think about was Noah.

Noah’s flushed cheeks in the woods’ golden light.

Noah’s surprised gasp when Adrien had pulled him away from Ethan.

Noah’s trembling voice asking why he was so angry.

Noah’s brown eyes, hurt, confused, shimmering with disappointment he didn’t want to cause.

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten.

Vanessa didn’t stand a chance.

Not when every part of him every stubborn, reckless, hopeless part was tangled up in the one boy he could never have.

His thumb hovered over the delete button.

For a second, he thought about blocking her completely, but that felt like too much effort he didn’t have.

So, he deleted the photo, got rid of the message, and shoved his phone back into his pocket with a quiet, bitter sigh.

Then he pushed off the wall and walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last, heading toward his room like a man carrying something too heavy to define.

Because tonight, Vanessa wasn’t the issue.

Noah was.

Noah always was.

And he had no idea what to do with that anymore.

Noah’s POV

Gigi’s apartment always radiated this warm, cozy vibe that embraced me the moment I walked in that afternoon, like the place itself understood I needed comfort. The air was tinged with the scent of vanilla candles and something herbal, probably sage or lavender because Gigi was always "cleansing the energy."

Her crystals lined the windowsill like a small army keeping watch over the apartment, each labeled with its purpose: protection, clarity, creativity, emotional balance. I still wasn’t sure if they really worked, but honestly, being around Gigi always lifted my spirits, so maybe they did.

I took a look around her place, remembering how much it meant to her. Gigi didn’t live there to play at independence. She lived there because she had no other choice.

She’d come out to her parents last year, standing in their living room with trembling hands, her voice steady yet hopeful. They didn’t accept her, couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that their first born daughter was a lesbian.

They even went as far as to say that being bestfriends with me might have influenced her to like girls, since I liked guys.

And when their rejection escalated into shouting and tears, Gigi packed a bag and walked out.

She was just sixteen to going to seventeen at the time. Her aunt was the only one in the family who took her in, gave her this little apartment, and covered the rent so Gigi could finish high school and pursue her dreams of fashion design without drowning in heartbreak since the woman herself understood Gigi wanted to learn how to live independently and away from her family.

So yes, the place was small. But it was hers and she had turned it into something lovely.

We sat cross-legged on the rug, a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies between us. Gigi’s cookies were always award-worthy...warm, soft in the middle, and totally addictive. I took a big bite, enjoying the way the chocolate melted on my tongue while Gigi launched into her animated rant.

"And I swear," she said, waving half a cookie like it was a microphone, "I don’t get why Adrien so mad about a damn hickey. Like—pfft." She made a tiny explosion noise. "Who cares anyway, he can be angry till he explodes or whatever."

I snorted into my cookie. "He wasn’t that dramatic."

"Yes, he was." She narrowed her eyes at me, her curls bouncing as she shook her head. "Noah, babe, based on your story, the man looked like he was ready to flip the whole dining table just because you wore a turtleneck to hide your sin."

I sighed, hugging a pillow to my chest as I leaned back against her couch, the very same couch we’d fallen asleep on during sleepovers ages ago. "It wasn’t about the turtleneck."

"Oh, I know that." Gigi tucked her legs under her and sat in a criss-cross position, looking like she was preparing for a deep spiritual reading. "He acted like you committed murder. Actually, no. I think he’d handle that better."

I let out a tired laugh. Talking about Adrien twisted something in my stomach, a knot I didn’t know how to untangle. The way he’d shouted. The way he’d looked at me. The way it hurt.

Gigi must’ve sensed the shift in my mood because her expression softened as she reached for another cookie. "Look, I’m not trying to upset you or anything. I’m just saying... it’s odd."

I picked at the edges of my cookie. "Everything about him is odd."

"Yeah," she agreed. "But he’s like super hot, so literally no one really cares."

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice as if the walls could hear us.

"I mean, why would your stepbrother care so much...even to ruin your date too? You and Ethan were just sharing a really adorable moment at the cliffside. It’s not like you two were..." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "Wait. Were you two—"

I choked. "Gigi! No! I mean...kind of—but not really—okay, maybe a little but—"

Her jaw dropped as she gasped. "Noah! You bad, bad boy!"

You see, this is why I didn’t tell her that part when I told her what happened the day before.

But I should have known nothing gets past lesbians.