The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 19: Chapter 19: Amara’s Eyes

The elevator doors opened, and the girl inside was already crying.

Not quiet tears. The kind that wreck your whole body, shoulders shaking, breath coming in jagged gasps, dark hair tangled across her face. She stumbled out, and the second she saw Lucian, she launched herself at him.

He caught her like he’d been bracing for it.

Her arms locked around his neck, her face buried in his chest. The sound that tore out of her was raw enough to make my throat tighten. Lucian’s hands found her waist automatically, his chin dropping to the top of her head, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Three weeks," she sobbed into his shirt. "You haven’t come by in three weeks, Lucian. Three weeks."

"I know," he murmured, his voice rough. "I’m sorry."

"Mom asks about you every day." She pulled back, her fists clutching his collar. "’Where’s Lucian? Did he eat? Is he okay?’ You always fix the sink. You always bring her those almond cookies from the bakery on Fourth. And now you just... vanished."

Her voice cracked.

"And Noah... God, Lucian, Noah’s missing again. He’s been gone for three weeks. You know how he is. Reckless. Gambling. God knows where his life has gotten him this time."

I stood frozen by the wall, watching a stranger weep in my stepbrother’s arms, and a horrible, petty heat crawled up my throat.

Who was she?

Why did she know about his almond cookies and his visits to her mother’s sink? Why did her hands fist in his shirt like she had every right to touch him, to know him, to demand his presence?

"Mara," Lucian said, cupping her face. His thumbs brushed her tears with a tenderness that stung. "Listen to me. Noah is alive. I swear to you, he’s alive. He’s going through something, but he still loves you. He calls sometimes, right? Just to let you know he’s out there?"

"He hasn’t called this time," she whispered. "Three weeks. Not a word. Not a text. Nothing."

She shoved at his chest, fierce and small.

"He’s irresponsible. He’s reckless. He could be in a ditch somewhere. He could be dead, and you’re just standing here..."

"Don’t." Lucian’s voice cracked. He pressed his forehead to hers, his shoulders shaking. "Don’t say that. I won’t believe it. I can’t."

I shifted against the wall.

My shoe scuffed the carpet.

The girl’s head snapped toward me. Her eyes, dark, sharp, achingly familiar, narrowed with immediate suspicion. She pulled back from Lucian, her arms wrapping around herself like armor.

"Who are you?" she asked.

Not rude. Territorial.

Lucian looked at me, then. His face was still wrecked, but he straightened.

"This is Eliora," he said quietly. "My stepsister."

The girl blinked.

"Stepsister?"

"Ariana’s daughter," Lucian added. "We told you about the wedding. Remember?"

"Oh."

The tension drained from her posture. She wiped her face with the heel of her hand, smearing mascara across her cheek.

"Oh my god. The wedding. I’m so sorry... I had my biochemistry finals that week and was practically living in the library. My mom sent me photos. You looked beautiful."

She glanced at Lucian, a watery, teasing smile pulling at her mouth.

"I thought she was your girlfriend. You’re really beautiful."

The hallway went silent.

Lucian’s eyes found mine.

The air between us thickened, charged with every secret we’d ever shared, the rooftop, the cabin, the bathroom stall, his mouth on mine in the dark. For one fraction of a second, neither of us knew what face to wear.

"Thank you," I managed, my voice too thin.

"I’m Amara," she said, extending a trembling hand. "Noah’s sister. Lucian’s... well, he’s basically family. Has been since we were kids."

I shook her hand.

Her grip was cold and strong.

Then her gaze dropped to Lucian’s wrist.

She grabbed it, pushing up his sleeve before he could stop her. Her breath caught at the bruise blooming purple beneath his watch strap.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Lucian said, pulling his arm back.

"That’s not nothing."

She stepped closer, her eyes scanning his face, too thin, too pale, the shadows under his eyes like bruises of their own.

"You’re selling things. Mom saw your Rolex at the pawn shop on Fourth. You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating. You’re acting like a man who’s waiting for a bomb to go off."

Her voice dropped.

"Ever since Noah disappeared three years ago, you’ve been different. But these past few weeks? It’s worse. You’re hiding something, Lucian. I know you are."

"Amara..."

"Don’t."

She shoved him, both hands flat against his chest.

"I want my brother back. But I want you alive too. And whatever you’re carrying? It smells like guilt. I know because Noah wears the same cologne."

Lucian went very still.

His jaw tightened until I could see the muscle jump.

Amara stepped back, her chest heaving. She looked at me, her expression almost pleading.

"Make him tell you the truth. He won’t tell me. But maybe he’ll tell you."

She turned back to Lucian, her voice softening.

"Please bring my brother back to me. You’re the only one he ever listened to. The only one who ever loved him enough to tell him no."

She walked to the elevator and jabbed the button. When the doors opened, she turned back.

"Find him," she said quietly. "Please."

The doors slid shut.

The silence she left behind was heavier than her presence had been.

I turned to Lucian.

He was staring at the closed elevator doors, his face carved from stone, his hands trembling at his sides.

"Who is Noah?" I asked. "Really?"

Lucian was quiet for a long time.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"The Carter family took me in when I was nine," he said. "After my mother died. Noah found me eating alone in the school library and sat down across from me. He said, ’You’re my brother now.’ Just like that. No questions. No pity."

He laughed, but it was wet, broken.

"His dad taught me to fish. His mom saved me a plate at dinner for ten years. And Noah..."

He swallowed hard.

"He was my brother. Not by blood. By choice. Then three years ago, he disappeared. Left a note. Said he was in trouble. Said not to look for him."

He looked at me, his eyes red rimmed, devastated.

"But I never stopped looking," he whispered. "And now he’s really gone. And I don’t know if I’m looking for him to save him... or to tell him I’m sorry."

My chest ached.

I reached for his hand.

His phone buzzed.

The sound was sharp. Wrong.

He pulled it out. The screen lit his face in pale blue. His jaw tightened. His eyes went dark.

"Eliora," he said, his voice flat and strange. "I have to go."

"Lucian..."

He kissed my forehead, hard and brief.

"Go home. Please. I’ll call you tonight."

He walked away before I could answer, his shoes striking the carpet like a countdown, leaving me alone in the hallway with the smell of someone else’s tears and the growing certainty that the man I loved was drowning in an ocean I hadn’t even been allowed to see.

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