The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 13: Chapter 13: Priya’s Warning

I cracked the cadaver sternum open.

I braced my foot against the steel table and pulled the rib spreader, listening to the wet pop of cartilage. The anatomy lab smelled of formaldehyde and old secrets, a scent that used to make me gag but now grounded me. Death, at least, was honest.

"Partners," Dr. Simon called out, snapping off her gloves. "Pick someone you trust. You’ll be sharing a body for the next six weeks."

A murmur rippled through the room. I didn’t look up. I was tracing the ascending aorta with my probe, trying not to think about dark eyes and rooftop wine.

A shadow fell across my tray.

"Well?" Priya dropped her bag onto the counter. The impact rattled the hemostats. "Are you going to ask me, or should I stand here looking pathetic while you fondle a dead man’s heart?"

I smiled despite myself. "Want to be my corpse wife?"

"Romantic." She pulled up a stool. "I’ve been calling you for two days. Three texts. Two voicemails. One very threatening GIF of a cat knocking a glass off a table."

"I know." I kept my eyes on the cadaver, but my cheeks were already warming. "I’m sorry. I was... out."

"Out."

"Mm."

"Out where?"

I reached for a scalpel. My fingers slipped. The blade rang against the tray, too loud in the quiet lab.

"With Lucian," I said.

The silence that followed was heavier than the formaldehyde. Priya didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

"The stepbrother," she said slowly.

"He invited me to a rooftop," I rushed on. "His father’s building. He said he wanted somewhere we could just... be. Without the family. Without the labels." I could feel the stupid, undeniable smile stretching across my face. "It was awkward, honestly. Just dinner. An opportunity to get to know him better."

Priya leaned back. "You went on a date. With Lucian Smith. Your stepbrother."

"It wasn’t a date." My voice came out too high. "It was dinner. I’m trying to get to know him, Priya. He’s part of my family now."

"Uh huh." She crossed her arms. "And did you spend time with him before or after you made out in the garden?"

My scalpel pierced the wrong layer. I hissed, pulling back.

"You think I don’t see it?" Priya said, her voice dropping. "You’re blushing, El. Right now, in a room full of dead people. You look like a girl who got kissed stupid and is hoping to get kissed stupid again."

I pressed my gloved hands to my cheeks. They were burning. "I’m not..."

"Are you in love with him?"

The question landed like a slap.

My hands dropped. "What?"

"Don’t make me say it again." Priya stood up and stepped around the table until she was in my space. "Tell me you’re not in love with your stepbrother. Look me in the eye and tell me that."

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

"Oh, God." Priya stepped back, pressing her palm to her forehead. "Oh, God, Eliora. This is all shades of wrong. You know that, right?"

"What?" I stood up too fast, my stool scraping against the floor. "What is it, Priya? Wrong? Forbidden? Tell me something I don’t know."

"After Ezra," she said, her voice cracking. "After everything with that manipulative, blackmailing piece of garbage, do you ever learn? You have a type, El. Broken. Dangerous. Complicated. You collect them like trophies because fixing them makes you feel less broken yourself."

My chest tightened. "Lucian is not Ezra."

"Lucian is worse. Ezra had naked pictures. Lucian has secrets. He has a father who’s already suspicious, a family that just blended with yours, and a past he won’t even tell you about." She grabbed my shoulders. "At least Ezra was honest about being garbage."

I shook her off. "You don’t know him."

"I know enough."

"You know nothing." The words came out sharper than I intended. I took a breath, forcing my voice lower. "He sees me, Priya. Not the girl who survived her father. Not the med student who fixes things. Me." I paused. "And what if I did feel something for him? It’s not that wrong. We’re not related. We didn’t grow up together."

Priya stared at me like she’d never seen me before.

"Yes," she whispered. "It will destroy your mother. It will destroy whatever fragile peace your family just built. And it will destroy you, because men who need to be hidden on rooftops don’t get happy endings. They get blood on their hands, and they hand the stain to whoever loves them."

I turned away, facing the row of cadaver trolleys. White sheets. Silent forms.

"He invited me to the Hendricks gala," I said to the sheets. "Friday. He wants me there."

A beat of silence.

"And you’re going," Priya said.

"I’m going."

"Even though it’s dangerous."

I finally looked at her. "It’s just a gala, Priya."

"It’s a lit match in a room full of gasoline, and you know it." She yanked her bag off the counter. "Fine. Go. Wear something nice. Smile for the cameras. Pretend you’re not playing a very dangerous game with a man who’s already losing."

She walked toward the door, then stopped. She didn’t turn around.

"But when it blows up in your face, and it will, El, because it always does, don’t call me crying about how you didn’t see it coming. I’m warning you right now. I see it. I see all of it."

The door swung shut behind her with a pneumatic hiss.

I stood alone in the buzzing quiet, my heart hammering against my ribs. I peeled off my gloves, tossed them in the biohazard bin, and reached for my phone.

One text from Lucian, sent an hour ago.

Lucian: "Im sending you a blue dress wear it on Friday I can’t stop thinking about you."

My thumb hovered. I should text Priya. Apologize. Promise to be careful.

Instead, I typed:

Eliora: "I’m down for whatever happens."

I hit send before I could take it back.

The locker room was cold, the fluorescent lights flickering as I changed out of my scrubs. I pulled on my jeans and sweater, the fabric rough against my overheated skin. I was ready. I would perish in this fire if it meant feeling alive for even one more minute.

I grabbed my bag and pushed through the lab doors into the empty corridor.

The hallway stretched long and silent, lit by the same sickly fluorescents. My sneakers squeaked on the linoleum, too loud. I walked faster, Priya’s words echoing in my skull.

Dangerous game.

Lit match.

Gasoline.

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