My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 214: Parents Raising Kids...Or The Other Way Round

Chapter 214: Parents Raising Kids...Or The Other Way Round

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A maid closed the double doors with a soft, deliberate click that somehow sounded louder than a slam. Mom paced in front of the fireplace, arms still crossed, while Keith leaned against the mantel, watching us with that calm, unreadable look he was so good at.

"Do you two realize," Mom started, her voice tight, "how worried we were? You skip school...no call, no text, no note even and vanish for two days in a snowstorm? We called the school, the police, your friends. Nothing."

I opened my mouth to explain, but she raised a hand to silence me.

"And then we get a repair bill from some mechanic in the middle of nowhere for Adrien’s car? What on earth were you thinking? Did you have any idea how scared we were?!"

Adrien shifted beside me, his jaw tightening as I felt the tension radiating off him.

"Where did you go?" Keith asked, keeping his voice low and even. "And what exactly were you two doing?"

Neither of us answered. My mind raced to come up with a believable excuse, study retreat, last-minute basketball tournament, alien abduction...but everything sounded absurd. Adrien stayed silent too, staring at the carpet as if it might swallow him up.

Mom stopped pacing. She looked at me, disappointment evident in her eyes. "Noah, you’re smarter than this. You’re really responsible. But one word from Adrien and you just... run off? You’re too naive sometimes, honey. Easily influenced."

The words hit hard. Naive. Easily influenced. Like I was just some helpless kid who couldn’t think for himself.

I sat up straighter. "But he didn’t pressure me into anything," I said, sharper than I intended. "I wanted to go. It was my choi–"

Keith turned to Adrien. "And you—dragging him into whatever irresponsible stunt this was. You’re supposed to be the older one here."

Adrien’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing.

"Oh, now you care about responsibility?" he shot back, his voice tinged with years of bitterness for his own father. "Funny. Because most days you two are so caught up in your perfect little remarriage that you barely notice we exist."

"Adrien," Mom warned.

"No," he interrupted, standing up so quickly the couch creaked. "Don’t act like you’re suddenly parent of the year. You," Adrien pointed at Keith—"didn’t give a damn where I went for years as long as I didn’t embarrass the family name. And you,"

His gaze swung to Mom—"married into this ready-made family and decided we were just bonus accessories."

Keith’s face darkened. "Watch your tone. That’s Noah’s mother you’re talking to!"

"Yeah, well, she’s not mine," Adrien snapped, the words raw and jagged. "Being married to you doesn’t magically make her my mom, and it sure doesn’t give her the right to call Noah naive for making his own decisions!"

The room fell silent except for the crackle of the fireplace. Mom looked shocked; Keith’s jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle twitch.

I stood up too, anger boiling hot in my chest.

"You think I’m naive?" I shot at Mom, my voice trembling. "That I can’t think for myself? That I’d just follow Adrien and anyone else anywhere because he snapped his fingers?"

"Noah—" Mom began, reaching out.

I stepped back.

It hurt, her calling me naïve, without even realizing how naïve she was herself!

She had no clue what I’d been through recently! When she was out on some stupid anniversary, I was having another of the worst experiences of my shitty life.

"Save it." The words tasted bitter, but I couldn’t hold them back. "I get that you were scared. I do. But the way you came at us, like we’re stupid kids who can’t be trusted after barely paying attention for months? That’s not fair."

Mom’s eyes glistened, but I was too hurt to soften. Adrien shot me a grateful glance before storming past Keith towards the door.

"I’m fucking done with this," he muttered, disappearing down the hall.

I followed a moment later, ignoring Mom’s quiet "Noah, wait" and Keith’s heavy sigh.

The grand staircase felt endless as I climbed it, anger, guilt, and exhaustion battling in my chest.

So this was how she really saw me. Naive, easily led.

I reached my room, closed the door more gently than I wanted to, and leaned against it, staring at the familiar walls that suddenly felt so foreign.

We’d come home to face the music, alright.

Later that night, the mansion felt like a pressure cooker that was about to blow. Dinner came and went, and neither Adrien nor I showed our faces downstairs.

The maids knocked gently on both our doors, asking if we were going to join the family, but we just murmured some version of "not hungry" through the doors and left it at that.

Thankfully, neither Mom nor Keith came in to check on us, which would’ve turned an already awkward evening into chaos. I figured they were giving us some space, or maybe they were just as keen to avoid more drama as we were.

I wasn’t ready to face them. Not yet. The word "naive" echoed in my mind like an annoying song on repeat, making me angrier each time it played. So, like any teenager with a chip on their shoulder, I locked myself in my room with snacks, pajamas, and Adrien’s laptop, which he had quietly slipped to me through a crack in the door earlier, whispering about a "research party later?"

By nine o’clock, I was curled up on his bed, apparently, we were both on the same rebellious wavelength...surrounded by crumpled chip bags and an empty Coke can that definitely didn’t belong to me.

The room smelled faintly of him, cedar cologne, the winter air still lingering on his coat draped over a chair, and the sharp scent of the energy drink he’d cracked open. The laptop rested on my crossed legs, casting a cool glow on my face as I scrolled through article after article on the Seymour family.

Adrien lounged against the headboard next to me, one arm casually draped along the back of the pillows, the other nursing his own Coke.

Every so often, he’d lean closer to check out the screen, his shoulder brushing against mine, sending little sparks dancing across my skin, even though we were both fully dressed and pretending to focus on our Serious Investigation.

"You’re really diving deep into the Golden Boy’s family tree, huh?" he remarked, his tone lazy and lighthearted as he took a sip. "Starting to think you’ve got a secret scrapbook stashed away somewhere."

I didn’t take my eyes off the screen. "This can’t be a coincidence, Adrien. I can feel it in my gut. Logan Seymour. Ethan Seymour, same last name, same city connections, same timeline. It’s too perfect."

He smirked, setting his can on the nightstand. "So you’re saying your perfect ex’s family are secret murderers? Bold theory, detective."

I rolled my eyes, probably making a show of it. "No, genius. I’m saying there’s a connection here. Obviously."

He chuckled, reaching over to tuck a stray hair behind my ear...casual, but his fingers lingered a second longer than they needed to. "Keep going, Sherlock. I’m very invested now."