My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 189: Killing Me Slowly

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About halfway down the hallway, I almost bumped into Mom, who was gliding past in one of her effortlessly chic outfits, waving her hands animatedly at a group of maids and servants trailing behind her, all clutching clipboards and fabric samples.

She was deep into redecoration mode, pointing out crown molding that seemed to offend her aesthetic and chatting about whether to go with eggshell or ivory for the guest suites.

"And I’m thinking we switch out the drapes in the east wing for something lighter—maybe a soft sage to let in more natural—" She paused mid-sentence when she noticed me, her perfectly manicured hand frozen in the air. Her piercing blue eyes narrowed, scanning my face as if she had a built-in radar for emotional crises.

"Noah, sweetheart," she said, stepping away from the group and moving towards me with that concerned tilt of her head she always used when she sensed something was off. "You look absolutely miserable. What’s going on?"

I mustered what I hoped was a tired smile and shrugged, holding onto my backpack strap like it was a lifeline. "Nothing, Mom. Just... really tired. Long day." My voice came out flat and unconvincing, even to my own ears, but I just didn’t have the energy to make it better.

She frowned, clearly not believing a word of it, but before she could start the full lecture—complete with a gentle hand on my forehead and questions about whether I’d had enough protein today—I mumbled a quick goodnight and hurried past her towards my room.

I slipped inside, closed the door with a soft click that felt louder than a slam, and leaned against it for a moment, releasing a shaky breath.

On the other side, I could hear her hesitate, probably staring at the closed door with that little crease between her brows. But Mom was nothing if not persistent; after a beat, her voice picked up again, bright and sure as she resumed directing the crew about upholstery samples and accent walls. Footsteps faded down the hall, and finally, I was alone.

Hours later, after the sun had set and painted my room in soft twilight hues, I sat cross-legged on my bed in my favorite oversized hoodie, staring at the stuffed penguin Ethan had won for me at the carnival on our first date.

Its cheerful little face felt like a personal attack right now. I hugged it to my chest anyway; throwing it across the room felt too dramatic, even for me.

A soft knock at the door made me groan inwardly. Mom was probably back for round two of concerned parenting. I dragged myself off the bed, shuffled over, and opened the door with a resigned "Yeah?"

Except it wasn’t Mom.

Adrien stood there in the hallway light, leaning casually against the frame with his hands in his pockets, dark hair falling just enough into his eyes, wearing that half-smirk that always made him look like he had some secret the rest of us didn’t know.

My stomach did an embarrassing flip-flop, and I quickly turned away, opening the door wider in silent invitation, pretending the heat in my cheeks was just due to the room being too warm.

Shit, he was killing me and not even realizing that!

He stepped in without waiting for me to say anything, closing the door softly behind him. "Wow," he said, taking one look at my face and letting out a low whistle. "You look like someone just announced the end of dessert forever. What’s with the tragic vibe?"

I flopped back onto the bed, pulling the penguin into my lap like a shield. "It’s nothing," I muttered, aiming for grumpy but probably landing more on sulky. "What do you want, Adrien?"

He laughed—that low, warm sound that always made my irritation waver—and settled into the armchair by the window, stretching his long legs out like he owned the place. Technically, he sort of did now, thanks to the whole stepbrother thing, but still.

"Touchy, touchy," he teased, tilting his head. "I actually came with an amazing escape plan. Tomorrow—no school, no responsibilities, just you and me heading out for a spontaneous road trip. We can leave the city and go up to Hayseville before the family drags us there in a couple of days anyway. Think fresh air, terrible diner food, zero parental supervision, and just the open road. You in?"

I stared at him, one eyebrow arching so high it might have vanished into my hairline. "You want me to ditch school and road-trip with you... tomorrow?" I repeated, blinking slowly. "Have you gotten a head injury I wasn’t aware of?"

Adrien rolled his eyes at my response and I almost laughed at his annoyed expression.

I blinked at him, my eyebrow climbing even higher until I was pretty sure it was in danger of merging with my hairline permanently. The stuffed penguin slipped a little in my lap as I shifted to face him fully, trying to process whether I’d heard him correctly or if my post-breakup brain fog had finally shorted out.

"Why?" I asked, drawing the word out like it had three extra syllables. "Why on earth would we skip school tomorrow just to go on some road trip?"

Adrien’s grin widened, that crooked, dangerously charming thing that always made him look like he was one step ahead of everyone else in the room. He leaned forward in the armchair, elbows on his knees, enchanting green eyes that haunted both my daydreams and nightmares sparkling with the kind of mischief that should probably come with a warning label.

"We need to find Rachel, remember?" he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She’s been radio silent whenever I try to call her number on the phone book, her phone’s going straight to voicemail, and I cant find her online at any social media. So we’re driving over to the address in hopes that she’ll still be living there...so what do you say, Hamster—"

"Don’t call me that, Asshole." I interrupted.

He ignored me, "—Are you in or not?"

I stared at him, heart thumping in a way that had nothing to do with penguins or breakups or even Rachel. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air between us charged with the kind of reckless energy that promised trouble and freedom in equal measure.

"Okay," I said.

Anything to get my mind off my self loathing.