My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 240: The Lovely Seymour Family

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I slipped into the backseat of Ethan’s sleek black SUV, feeling like I was about to dive into the world’s most awkward group therapy session, only this one was disguised as a stakeout. The leather felt cool against my thighs, even through my jeans, but the vibe inside the car was anything but comfortable.

It was thick, charged, and predictably tense, almost as if it had been scripted for a bad sitcom. Adrien immediately called dibs on the front seat the moment we parked, slamming the door hard enough to make the whole vehicle shudder.

I suspected he just did that stop me from sitting too close to Ethan.

Then he crossed his arms and shot a glare at the windshield, like the road itself had personally offended him. Ethan slid behind the wheel in silence, his jaw clenched and knuckles turning white on the steering wheel, while I settled uncomfortably in the middle of the backseat, feeling like an unwilling referee stuck between two guys who’d rather die than admit they were breathing the same air.

For the first solid five minutes, no one said a word. The only sounds were the gentle hum of the engine, the occasional click of the turn signal when Ethan switched lanes, and the faint, rhythmic thump of Adrien’s foot tapping against the floor mat, like he was trying to Morse-code his annoyance right into the chassis.

I found myself staring at the back of their heads, Adrien’s dark hair a bit tousled from earlier, Ethan’s blond waves catching the flickering streetlights and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, wedged between two guys I was hopelessly in love with, both of whom cared for me in their complicated ways but hated each other with a passion usually reserved for sports rivalries or family feuds.

It would’ve been hilarious if it didn’t feel so draining.

Eventually, Adrien broke the silence—of course he would.

"Could you drive any faster?" he asked, his voice oozing with sarcastic patience. "My dead grandma could get us there quicker, and she’s been in the fucking ground since I was five."

Ethan shot a glance in the rearview mirror, his expression cold enough to curdle milk. "Not everyone drives like they’re auditioning for a Fast and Furious movie, Fell. Some of us actually prefer to arrive alive instead of in pieces."

Adrien snorted. "Alive is overrated when you’re going at the pace of continental drift, shitstain."

I let out a long, dramatic sigh, sinking deeper into my seat. "Here we go again."

And sure enough, the bickering began—starting small with complaints about traffic and lane etiquette, but quickly escalating into a full-blown debate.

They interrupted each other nonstop, talked over one another, and somehow turned a simple discussion about Logan’s travel schedule into a heated argument about whether reckless driving was a character flaw or a lifestyle choice.

I found myself playing mediator more than once, tossing out reminders like "guys, focus" and "can we not do this right now," but it felt like herding cats with a laser pointer, it was hopeless, yet somehow amusing if I ignored the urge to bang my head against the window.

Despite all the chaos, there was an unspoken understanding: neither of them was ready to bail. They could’ve walked away, told the other to shove it, but they stayed. For me. That small, begrudging tolerance felt like the closest thing to progress we’d seen in weeks.

When they finally circled back to Logan, Ethan’s tone changed, becoming skeptical, guarded, almost pained.

"Look, I understand why you two are convinced," he said, eyes glued to the road. "My uncle is an ass. But jumping straight to murder? That’s a huge leap. Sure, he’s a control freak. Manipulative and cruel at times. But actually killing someone? And covering it up for years? That’s next-level evil, even for him."

Adrien turned in his seat to glare at him. "Are you serious? Just because you think you know someone doesn’t mean they can’t do awful things. We aren’t accusing him out of nowhere, we’ve got reasons to believe he was involved. It all adds up."

Ethan tightened his grip on the wheel until I thought the leather would rip. For a second, I seriously worried he might pull over and clock Adrien right there on the side of the road.

"Don’t call me stupid, stupid," he said through clenched teeth. "I lived with the guy. I know exactly what he’s capable of. But he’s careful. Paranoid. If he did this, he obviously wouldn’t have left a trail anyone could follow."

I leaned forward between the seats, gently placing a hand on each of their shoulders, hoping to hold the peace together.

"Both of you breathe. We’re not here to fight. We need answers. Let’s just get to the house and see what we can find."

They both sighed, grudgingly and at the same time and the car fell back into a tense silence, which felt less like a truce and more like a temporary ceasefire.

By the time we arrived at Logan’s house that evening, the sun had slipped below the horizon, leaving the massive estate illuminated by the cold blue of security lights.

Thankfully, Logan was still away in Hayselville, and the place looked just as imposing and unwelcoming as I remembered. The long driveway snaked through impeccably maintained lawns that retained their beauty even in late fall. The house itself was a sprawling structure of glass, steel, and pale stone that managed to look both luxurious and utterly lifeless.

Every window was dark except for the motion-sensor ones that flickered on as we got closer, giving the eerie impression that the building was keeping tabs on us. Inside, the air smelled faintly of lemon polish, with no lingering scents of cooking or laundry, no trace of actual human life or an actual family occupying it.

Every surface gleamed with an almost obsessive perfection: marble counters gleaming like mirrors, furniture arranged at precise angles, and books on the shelves neatly organized and color-coded as if they were mere props.

It wasn’t a home; it was a creepy showroom. Cold and controlled.

No wonder Ethan spent little time here. He’d rather practice at the gym, cram for tests in the library, hang out with friends, or back when things were simpler, sneak off with me somewhere quiet. Anything was better than wandering around in this echoing mausoleum pretending to be a family home. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

We moved through the rooms quietly, keeping flashlights low, our footsteps muffled by thick rugs. In the formal living room, I paused in front of a framed family photo on the mantel, Ethan, probably twelve, standing stiffly between his younger brother and their parents, all four dressed in resort casual like they’d just been posed for a catalog shoot.

The smiles were perfect, practiced, empty. It was clear his parents chose to globe-trot through early retirement rather than stick around to raise their boys, and this photo captured their absence better than any words could.

Ethan appeared next to me, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the same picture with a look that was half nostalgic and half resigned.

"First time meeting my parents, huh?" he said, trying to keep it light but edged with something deeper. "You nervous?"

I managed a small, sad smile. "Yeah. They seem... nice. Have you heard from them recently?"

He shrugged, casual but the gesture felt forced. "Got a text from Mom a few days ago. A picture of them in Siberia, bundled up like polar explorers, wishing me ’best of luck with everything.’ That’s about as involved as they ever get these days."

I turned to him, my heart aching. "Oh."

He flashed that charming, lopsided smile, the one that used to make my heart race and still did, if I was being honest.

"Don’t worry about it, Noah. I don’t need them anymore." His voice softened, eyes locking onto mine. "Not when I’ve got you. Even if we’re... on pause right now."

My chest swelled with a mix of guilt, adoration, and longing. I opened my mouth to say something, anything...but before I could, Adrien cleared his throat loudly from the doorway, arms crossed, expression a mix of jealousy and annoyance.

"Let’s get on with it," he said, his tone clipped. "We’re not here for a family reunion or some shit."

Ethan rolled his eyes, and I was surprised they didn’t fall right out of his head, then tilted his chin toward the hallway. "The study’s this way, asshole. That’s where he keeps all the old lawyer stuff, his files, hard drives, whatever he didn’t trust to the cloud."