The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 33: Chapter 33: Priya’s Intervention

The lecture hall emptied around me. I sat in the back row, my notebook open to a page I’d stared at for twenty minutes without writing a word. The renal system blurred into gray lines.

"You’re not even pretending anymore."

I looked up. Priya stood in the aisle, her arms crossed, her lab coat unbuttoned. She’d been sitting three rows ahead. I hadn’t noticed her leave.

"Pretending what?"

She dropped into the seat beside me. Her knee bumped mine. "Arterial blood gas practical. You missed it. Second one this month."

"I was..."

"Sick." She laughed, sharp. "You were sick last Tuesday too. And the Thursday before that." She turned to face me fully. "I’ve been covering for you, Eliora. Telling the lecturer you had family emergencies. She believes me because I don’t lie." Her jaw tightened. "Usually."

My pen clicked. I didn’t realize I’d been doing it.

"Priya..."

"Three texts," she cut in. "I sent you texts before you decided to pick my calls." She leaned closer. "That was three days ago. You didn’t reply. You didn’t even open them."

My thumb pressed into the pen clip. Hard enough to hurt.

"I’ve been busy."

"Busy." She nodded slowly. "Busy with Lucian. Your stepbrother." She said the word flat, testing it. "The one you told me that you’d probably never speak to again."

I pulled my hand back. The pen clattered to the floor.

"Things changed."

"Yeah." She laughed again, but it broke at the end. "I noticed. The blushing in the lab. The way you look at your phone like it might bite you." She grabbed my wrist. Her fingers were cold. "Something’s wrong, Eliora. And I’m done pretending I don’t see it."

I pulled away. Bent to pick up the pen, hair falling across my face. When I sat up, she was still watching. No pity. Just waiting.

"I can’t lie to you anymore," I said. The words came out small. "I’m in love with him, Priya."

The clock ticked. Someone laughed in the corridor outside, distant.

Priya didn’t move. Then she reached out and wiped a tear from my jaw, I hadn’t felt it fall, her thumb rough, clinical.

"Your stepbrother," she said. Not a question.

"Yes."

"The mysterious older stepbrother."

"Yes."

She sat back. Her knee bounced. She pressed her hand against it to stop.

"You told me once," she said slowly, "that your father destroyed your mother. That he made her disappear into herself." She turned to me, her eyes dark. "You remember what I said?"

"I have a type. Broken. Dangerous. Complicated."

"I was trying to warn you."

"I know."

"And now?" She gestured at me, my red eyes, my shaking hands, the notebook I hadn’t touched. "Look at you. Missing classes. Lying to your best friend. Disappearing for days." Her voice rose. "This isn’t love, Eliora. This is you trying to fix someone because you couldn’t fix your mother. Because you couldn’t fix yourself."

I stood. The chair scraped against the floor.

"You don’t know him."

"I know enough." She stood too. Came up behind me at the window. "I know you came back from that family dinner weird. I know you went on a rooftop with him and came back different." She stopped. Her hand found my shoulder, turned me around. "I know you’re my best friend. And I’m watching you disappear into something I don’t understand. Something that scares me."

I shook my head. Tears blurred my vision. "It’s not the same as my mother."

"Then tell me how it’s different."

"Because..." I grabbed her hands. My fingers were ice. Hers were warm. "Because he sees me too. The real me. Not the fixer. Not the good daughter." I laughed, wet and broken. "He saw me when I was an idiot med student who couldn’t stop staring at him. He saw me when I lied to protect him. He sees me when I can’t even admit what I want."

Priya’s grip loosened. Her thumbs traced slow circles on my knuckles.

"And what do you want?"

"I want him." The words came out fierce, certain, terrifying. "I know it’s wrong. I know it’s messy. I know there’s no version of this that ends cleanly." I pulled her closer, my nails digging in. "But I love him. And I don’t think I can stop. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work."

She stared at me. The clock ticked twelve times, marking noon.

"Then don’t stop," she said.

I blinked. "What?"

"Don’t stop." She pulled her hands free and walked to her bag, slung over a chair. She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen, turned it toward me. "But don’t lie to me either. Not anymore."

---

I needed to tell her something. Something important. Something I should have said days ago, before I let my silence put her at risk.

"They might know about you," I said. My voice was flat. "Because of me. Because I dragged you into this when I asked for the footage."

"Footage you never explained. Footage you ran off with while I stood in a hospital hallway wondering if you were alive." She sat beside me, her knee touching mine again. "I’m not asking for the whole story, Eliora. I’m asking for enough to keep us both safe. Because right now? I don’t feel safe. And I don’t think you do either."

I looked at her. At the dark circles under her eyes that matched mine. At the hands that had held cadavers and coffee cups and now held fear for me. She was terrified, but she was still here, still sitting beside me, still choosing to help.

"It’s a debt," I said. The words came out exhausted. "Lucian’s best friend, Noah, he gambled. Put Lucian’s name on the loan without telling him. The men who want the money, they’re not banks. They’re dangerous. They hurt people. They’ve hurt Lucian. More than once."

Priya’s face went pale. "Hurt him how?"

"Bruises. Cuts. Things he hides." I pressed my palms flat against my notebook. The paper crinkled. "He’s been paying for three years. Selling things. Stealing from his father’s company. Protecting a family that doesn’t even know he’s doing it."

"And you?" Her voice dropped. "Where do you fit in?"

I laughed. It sounded wrong. "I fit in because I pulled back a sheet in a pathology lab and thought he was the most beautiful dead man I’d ever seen." I looked at her, my eyes burning. "I fit in because I can’t walk away from someone in pain. Because I love him. Because I’m exactly what you said, broken, dangerous, complicated. And so is he. And somehow, together, we’re..." I trailed off. "I don’t know what we are. But I can’t stop."

Priya was quiet. She picked at a loose thread on her lab coat, winding it around her finger.

"You think they’ll come after me?"

"I think..." I stopped. My throat closed. "I think they use everyone you care about. I think that’s how they work. And I can’t let that happen to you. Not because of me."

She nodded. Slow. Her jaw tightened.

"Then we end it," she said.

"What?"

"We end it." She stood, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Not by paying them. Not by hiding. We end it." She looked down at me, her expression hard, resolved. "You have the footage. I have access to records, to logs, to people who owe me favors." She held out her hand. "Give me what you have. Let me help. Not because I’m nosy. Because you’re my best friend. And I’m done watching you drown alone."

I stared at her hand. Small. Scarred from lab work. Steady.

I pulled the flash drive from my pocket and placed it in her palm.

"Thank you," I whispered.

She closed her fingers around it. "Don’t thank me yet." She turned toward the door, then paused. Looked back. "And Eliora?"

"Yeah?"

"When you see him next? Tell him what this costs. What it’s costing you. What it’s costing us." She tapped the drive against her palm. "Love isn’t just holding on. Sometimes it’s letting someone see the weight they’re adding to your load."

Then she was gone. The door swung shut, the pneumatic hiss echoing.

I sat alone, my notebook still open, my pen on the floor. My phone buzzed.

Mom.

Sweetheart, call me when you can. James and I have news. Something wonderful.

I stared at the screen. Wonderful. The word felt foreign, heavy.

I typed back: I’m in class. Can I call after?

Three dots. Then: Of course. But don’t be long. We want to tell you together.

I set the phone down. The screen went dark. I picked up my pen and clicked it once, twice.

Wonderful news. From my mother. And James.

I should have felt happy. Instead, I felt the familiar tightness in my chest, the sense that another shoe was about to drop. My mother’s voice in my head, always so hopeful, always so eager to please James, always ignoring the cracks beneath the surface.

I gathered my things and walked to the door. Priya’s words echoed.

Tell him what it costs.

I would. Tonight.

If whatever wonderful news my mother had didn’t change everything first.

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