The knot in my stomach tightened as he made his way toward me, weaving through the small crowd gathered at the reception. I braced myself, clenching the glass in my hand a little too tightly. When he finally stood in front of me, his familiar smirk already in place, I almost rolled my eyes.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said, keeping my voice as neutral as I could. It felt like the right thing to say, even though the words tasted bitter in my mouth.
His eyes narrowed, dark and sharp as ever. He tilted his head slightly, studying me for a moment before his lips curled into that familiar smirk—the one that always made me want to throw something at him.
"I bet you are," he said, voice low, dripping with sarcasm. "Even sorrier to see me."
I sucked in a sharp breath, my chest tightening with anger. *Typical.* He hadn't even been here five minutes, and already he was picking a fight. My heart raced, a mixture of frustration and something I didn't want to name.
"Trust me, you're not that special," I shot back, my words coming out before I could stop them. "Though, I guess some things never change—still as full of yourself as ever."
His smirk only widened, his eyes glinting with amusement. It was infuriating how easily he got under my skin, how effortlessly he dragged me into this old, worn-out battle we'd been fighting since we were kids. It was like no time had passed at all.
"Guess some things *don't* change," he replied smoothly, stepping closer, his voice lowering just enough for only me to hear. "You still haven't figured out how to stay out of my way."
I opened my mouth to snap back, but before the words could leave my lips, I heard a familiar voice—calm but firm, cutting through the tension between us like a knife.
"That's enough."
I turned, surprised, to see my father standing a few feet away. His eyes moved between the two of us, the familiar look of quiet disappointment settling on his face. It was a look I had seen too many times growing up, especially after one of our blowouts.
"Leave it," he said, his tone soft but commanding. "For today."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. He was right. Today wasn't the day for this. Not here, not now.
My stepbrother glanced at my father, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he let out a breath and nodded. "Fine," he said, his voice more controlled. "I'll leave it." He shot me one last look, one that I couldn't quite decipher—something between frustration and something else, something deeper—before turning on his heel.
As he walked away, I watched him go, my heart still pounding in my chest. He made his way toward his mother, who stood by the far side of the room, her face brightening as he approached her. They hugged, the warmth between them palpable, a stark contrast to the cold tension that lingered between us.
My father placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, pulling my attention back to him. "Let it go, sweetheart," he said softly, his eyes kind, though weary. "Not today."
I forced a small nod, though the tightness in my chest remained. I hated how easily he could rile me up, how he made me feel like a teenager again, small and furious and helpless.
But as I watched him across the room, laughing softly with his mother, I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that something had changed. We had changed.
And no matter how much I tried to deny it, I couldn't ignore the strange pull I felt, tugging at me from across the crowded room.
YOU ARE READING
The hate between us
Roman d'amourElla and Caleb have spent their entire lives in a complicated relationship, caught between rivalry and unspoken feelings. Growing up as step-siblings, their bond has always been one of friction, but as they reach their twenties, the line between hat...
