My Stepbrother's Secret Baby

Claire's POV

My stepbrother has always been strict with me. Ever since Mom remarried into the Langford family, Julian's been controlling every part of my life. Chasing off my boyfriends. Dancing with me at graduation like some kind of guardian. I thought he was just being responsible.

But tonight feels different. Tonight he showed up at nine, said he was passing through to grab files, figured he'd stop by for my birthday. The house is empty. My Mom flew to Europe days ago. It's just the two of us.

Julian is sitting next to me on the couch, a white pill dissolving on his tongue. He washes it down with water and leans back, eyes already half-closed.

The living room light catches his face. Sharp jawline, that furrow between his brows, lips slightly parted. We haven't spent much time together, but there's no denying it. My stepbrother is ridiculously good-looking. My heart won't stop hammering.

Now he's slouched beside me, whatever he just took already pulling him under.

He asks about college plans. His voice gets lower with each word, eyelids drooping.

"You tired?" I ask.

"Yeah." He leans back, eyes shut.

The silence stretches between us. I can't stop staring.

"Let me help you to your room," I say, standing up.

His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. "Don't go."

His voice comes out rough and low, almost slurred. His eyes are barely open, unfocused.

"Julian?"

No answer. He just won't let go. Instead, he pulls me down next to him.

I land beside him on the couch, every muscle locked tight. His arm comes around me, holding me close. I can hear my own breathing. Shallow. Fast.

"Are you asleep?" I whisper.

Nothing. He leans into my shoulder, his breath hot against my neck. I look up and meet his eyes. Half-open, glazed over.

I don't even stop to think about what kind of sleeping pill he took. I bite my lip. My heart is hammering so hard I'm sure he can hear it.

This is my only chance.

I lean up and kiss him.

He freezes for a second. Then he kisses me back.

Everything after that feels like a dream. I'm shaking the whole time. Nerves, fear, adrenaline, all of it mixed together. Julian is somewhere between asleep and awake, mumbling things I can't make out. I grip the sheets beneath me, biting my lip to stay quiet.

Terrified he'll suddenly wake up. Terrified he'll realize it's me. Terrified of what he'll do when morning comes.

By the time the sky starts turning gray, he's finally out cold. I force my trembling legs to work, throw my clothes on, and bolt back to my room. I shut the door and collapse against it, legs still shaking.

The next morning, I wake up at ten. I sprint to Julian's room.

He's gone. The bed is made, sheets tucked in perfectly. Like nothing happened.

There's a credit card on the pillow with a note underneath.

"Forgot to get you a present. Happy birthday. Buy yourself whatever you want."

I stare at the note, my mind racing. Does he remember? Does he know it was me?

Three days pass. Julian doesn't come back. Doesn't call. I'm living in limbo, checking my phone the second I wake up every morning. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

On the third night, my best friend calls.

"Claire, have you seen Julian lately?"

My stomach drops. "No. Why?"

"He's been asking me all these questions. Like, if you've made any new friends. Who came to the house on your birthday." Her voice drops lower. "He's digging for something. Claire, did something happen that night?"

"No," I say quickly. "Nothing happened."

I hang up and stare at the ceiling. My chest feels tight.

He knows. He knows someone did something to him.

A week later, Julian comes home. I hear his car in the driveway and immediately lock myself in my room. His footsteps echo up the stairs. They stop right outside my door.

A knock.

"Claire. Open the door."

I take a breath and unlock it. He's standing there, staring at me.

He walks in and sits on my bed. "The night of your birthday," he says, voice completely calm. "Did anyone come to the house?"

I shake my head. "No."

Julian keeps staring. The silence stretches too long.

"If someone did something to you," he says slowly, deliberately, "you need to tell me. Understand?"

I can hear the threat underneath his words. With his resources, his connections, whoever crossed him is finished. Prison would be lucky.

If he finds out it was me...

I swallow hard. "No one came."

He looks at me for another long moment, then stands. "Good. Remember that. Anyone."

The second he leaves, I apply to schools in California. Three days later, I'm gone.

Five years later, I'm back. My Mom's death dragged me here. The lawyer said I had to show up in person to sign documents.

Church bells ring overhead. I carry Mia inside and slide into the back row. She keeps rubbing her eyes.

"Mommy, the glasses hurt."

"Leave them on," I say, holding her hand down.

She doesn't listen. She rips the sunglasses off.

Someone in the front row turns around.

Julian.

Five years and he looks exactly the same. Same cold expression. Same eyes that see right through everything.

His gaze lands on Mia's face. And stops.

I know what he's seeing. Mia's eyes are just like his. One pale gray, one deep blue.

Before he can get a better look, I scoop her up and turn away.

After the service, Julian walks over. "Come with me."

He leads us to a side room and crouches down to Mia's level. "How old are you?"

"Four," Mia says, staring at him with wide eyes.

Julian looks at her eyes for a long time without saying anything. I pick her up.

"She's tired."

He stands. "Let's go."

The car stops in front of the family estate. A housekeeper takes Mia upstairs. Julian tells me to stay.

It's just the two of us in the living room now.

"Five years and you finally show up?" he says. "If it wasn't for the funeral, I wouldn't even know you'd been out there making such a mess of things."

He pauses. "So tell me. What exactly have you been doing?"

I take a breath. "School. Got married. Had Mia. Got divorced."

"What's his name? Your ex-husband."

I make up a name. "James Anderson."

Julian stands and grabs my bag. He pulls out my phone, opens my contacts, scrolls to the ex-husband entry. Dials it.

The number doesn't exist. Of course it goes straight to voicemail.

He tosses the phone back onto my lap. "Move back in tomorrow. The estate isn't settled yet. You're not leaving."

He gives me a long, pointed look before turning and heading upstairs.