The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 40: Chapter 40: The Picture She Never Took

"I never wanted to take it."

I said slowly, almost crying. Lucian was sitting on the edge of the bed, the phone still in his hand, Ezra’s threat glowing on the screen. He looked up at me, his expression careful, the way he always looked when he thought I might break.

"Eliora..."

"He asked," I continued, my voice trembling. "And I said no. And he asked again. And again. And he made it sound like..." I stopped, my throat closing around the memory. "...like if I loved him, I would. Like every girl did this. Like I was weird for saying no. Like I didn’t trust him."

I pulled my knees to my chest. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator, the distant traffic.

"My father had just gone to prison," I said, quieter now. "My mother was finally free, but she was broken. Barely present. I was desperate for someone to see me. To want me." I laughed, broken. "And Ezra knew. He knew exactly what I needed."

Lucian set the phone down. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, letting me talk.

"After we broke up, he kept the picture." My voice felt hollow, distant. "He would text me out of nowhere. ’Hey, remember this?’ And there it was. My face. My body. Everything I never wanted anyone to see."

I looked at Lucian. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark, but he still didn’t interrupt.

"At first, I panicked. I begged him to delete it. He said he would, if I did things for him. Favors. Money. Time." I swallowed hard. "He would show up at my apartment, drunk, asking for cash. And if I said no, he’d pull out his phone. ’You sure? Because this could go to your mom. Your professors. Everyone.’"

I paused, my fingers digging into my knees. "It went on for months. I paid him. I did what he asked. I became numb to it, Lucian. Numb. It was just background noise. Another thing to manage. That’s the reason why I was so angry when you paid that time, because he won’t stop at anything now."

Then, without warning, I broke.

The tears came hot and fast, streaming down my face before I could stop them. I was shaking, my ribs hurting, my breath coming in gasps. I was sixteen again, standing in Ezra’s bathroom, holding his phone, hearing his voice telling me this was love.

I wiped my face with the back of my wrist. Almost laughed. The sound came out broken, hysterical.

"Why am I even crying?" I said, my voice thick. "I’m a strong girl. I don’t cry. I handle things. So why..." My voice cracked. "...why am I crying over a picture?"

Lucian reached for me. I let him. His arms came around me, warm and solid, and I buried my face in his chest, sobbing until my throat was raw.

"He manipulated me," I whispered against his shirt. "He knew I was desperate for validation. For someone to make me feel like I mattered. And he used that. He used me."

Lucian’s hand stroked my hair, slow and steady. He didn’t speak. He just held me.

"What about your father?" he asked quietly.

I stiffened. Pulled back. "I don’t want to talk about him today." My voice was sharp, final. "This isn’t about him. This is about Ezra. About what he did. About what he’s still doing."

Lucian nodded, accepting the boundary. "Okay."

I wiped my face again, the tears slowing. "Even after we broke up, he never stopped. The threats. The demands. It wasn’t always intense, sometimes he would just appear, asking for money, acting like we were still friends. Like he was doing me a favor by keeping the picture ’safe.’" I laughed, bitter. "I paid him because I was afraid. Because I thought if I just gave him what he wanted, he would eventually go away. But he never did. He just kept coming back."

"Because he’s a gambler," Lucian said. Not a question.

I looked at him, surprised. "How did you..."

"I know the type." His voice was flat. "They always need money. And they always find ways to get it."

"Yes." I nodded, my throat tight. "That’s exactly what he is. He gambles. He loses. He panics. And then he comes to me because he knows I have something to lose. Something he can use."

I reached for Lucian’s hand, lacing our fingers together. "That’s why I was so angry when I found out you paid him. Not because you helped me, I wanted help. But because you fed him. You proved his system worked. You proved that if he kept the picture long enough, someone would always pay."

Lucian was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing slow circles on my palm. "I didn’t know."

"I know." I squeezed his hand. "I know you didn’t know. That’s not why I’m telling you. I’m telling you because Ezra will keep coming back. Not because he’s powerful. Because he’s desperate. And desperate people are dangerous in ways you can’t predict."

Lucian looked at me, his eyes steady and clear. "He’s a rat. A small, desperate rat. And I’ve dealt with much worse than rats."

"Lucian..."

"Don’t worry about him." His voice was firm, final. "Don’t think about him. Don’t let him live in your head for one more second. Go to school. Study. Just be you. Let me handle this."

"How?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up, walked to his dresser, and pulled out a fresh shirt. "Send me everything," he said, his back to me. "Every threat. Every message. Every screenshot. Every time he contacted you, every thing he asked for, every word he used. I want it all. Compiled. Organized. Everything."

"Why?"

He turned to face me, buttoning his shirt. "Because small rats become big problems when you let them keep chewing. And I’m done letting him chew."

I stared at him, trying to read what was behind his eyes. But Lucian had rebuilt his walls, not the ones that kept me out, but the ones that kept the world at bay. He was planning something.

"Okay," I said quietly.

---

I spent the next twenty minutes scrolling through my phone, screenshotting months of texts, emails, threats. Ezra asking for money. Ezra sending the photo. Ezra promising to delete it if I just did this one thing. Ezra laughing when I cried. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra, a ghost I thought I’d buried, now resurrected and hungrier than before.

I sent everything to Lucian in a zip file. Forty-seven screenshots. Twelve emails. Three voice notes I’d never listened to twice.

Lucian received them without comment. He just nodded, his eyes scanning the first few images.

"Come on," he said, pocketing his phone. "I’ll take you to school."

The drive was quiet. Lucian’s hand rested on my thigh, warm and steady.

"Are you going to tell me what you’re planning?" I asked as he pulled up to the hospital.

"No." He leaned over, kissed my forehead. "But I promise you this, he will never bother you again."

I wanted to push. But something in his voice, something final and absolute, made me stop.

"Okay," I whispered.

I got out of the car. Walked toward the hospital entrance. Turned back once, just in time to see Lucian’s car disappear into traffic.

---

The rest of my day was a blur. Lectures. Labs. Rounds. I moved through them like a ghost, my body present, my mind elsewhere. Priya noticed, she always noticed, but I waved her off.

"Just tired," I said. "Long night."

She didn’t believe me. But she let it go.

All the while, I thought about Lucian. About what he was doing. About what he was planning.

He had said Ezra was a rat. A small rat compared to what he’d already faced.

But Lucian had also said he was done letting him chew.

And I knew, I knew with a certainty that settled in my bones, that Lucian wasn’t planning to pay him again.

---

Lucian sat in his car, two blocks from the hospital, the zip file open on his phone. He scrolled through the screenshots slowly, methodically.

Forty-seven threats. Twelve emails. Three voice notes of a girl crying.

Ezra had made Eliora cry. Had made her beg. Had made her feel small and powerless.

Lucian knew what that felt like. He knew what it tasted like. And he would not let Ezra keep feeding on her.

Paying him hadn’t worked. Threatening him hadn’t worked. The only thing that worked with men like Ezra was removing their power entirely.

Lucian opened his contacts. Scrolled to a name he hadn’t called in months. A detective he’d met during one of his father’s charity events, a man who’d made it clear he wasn’t on the syndicate’s payroll.

He typed a message.

I have evidence of blackmail, extortion, and harassment. Forty-seven documented threats. Victim is willing to testify. Are you interested?

He hit send.

Then he leaned back in his seat and waited.

Ezra thought he was playing a game. Thought he was clever. Thought he was untouchable.

He was wrong.

And we were done letting rats chew.

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