Claimed And Marked By Her Stepbrother Mates - Chapter 82

Chapter 82: 82-The Stepbro I Needed

Helanie:

“They have the best coffee,” Emmet said as he placed an order for both of us. He ordered a variety of dishes, making it clear he was ready to devour them all.

He had casually rolled up his sleeves, even the cuffs of his coat, without a second thought about ruining the sharp creases.

The weather was pleasant. This pack was a small one but I believe they had some affiliation with the rogue king.

“I’m sorry for not accepting that bag. I just don’t want your brothers to think I’m a gold digger,” I said, initiating the topic myself. Sitting across from him made my cheeks flush with heat.

“Why do you care what they think?” he asked, his gaze steady. “You see, they’ve realized that by calling you a gold digger, they can manipulate you. The moment you stop accepting help, they win. Tell me something.”

He leaned back in his seat, awkwardly trying to adjust his legs under the small table without touching mine. The space was cramped, and his tall, broad-shouldered frame made it even more challenging.

“Have you always been this quiet? Always so concerned about what others think of you?” he asked. His question made me nod instinctively, without hesitation. That was exactly how I had lived my life until now.

Every day, I’d feel self-conscious when delivering baked goods to the pack members, overhearing their whispered remarks. If someone commented that my dress looked too tight, I’d starve myself to loosen it because I couldn’t afford to buy new clothes.

It happened often.

I’d even change my hairstyle just to avoid giving the pack members any reason to criticize me.

“And how did that go?” he asked gently. “Did it make you everyone’s favorite?”

Tears pricked my eyes as I shook my head, unable to respond.

“I see. Then why try so hard?” he continued, his voice softer now. “Instead of living to please others, why not just focus on doing the right thing? I’m not asking you to lose your mind or act recklessly, but you don’t need to let your world revolve around what others think of you.”

The more he spoke, the more memories of my time in the pack resurfaced, each word cutting deeper.

“Helanie, let me give you a simple example,” he said, his tone taking on a reflective quality. “Imagine two brothers. One tries desperately to be perfect—always punctual, always doing whatever he thinks will earn him approval from his parents. The other just acts like himself. He works hard, does the right thing, but doesn’t linger around for praise or worry about what people think.”

He paused, his eyes drifting as if lost in thought. Adjusting his collar with long, slender fingers, he continued, “Now, when the first brother—the perfect one—makes even the smallest mistake, everyone pounces on it. They say, ‘Ah! The mask slipped. See, we knew you weren’t so perfect after all.’ But when the other brother, who doesn’t even care about impressing anyone, does the smallest kind gesture, everyone appreciates him. They say, ‘See? We knew he was good at heart.'”

He finished speaking and focused on my face, studying me to see if I understood his point.

“My point is, no matter what you do, people will always find a way to criticize you. If you’re perceived as bad, they’ll constantly remind you that you’re capable of doing good. But if you’re too good or seemingly perfect, they’ll search for flaws in you. So, do things for yourself, not for the approval of others. Don’t be entirely selfish—do good, but not for the reaction it will get.”

He gestured to the bag sitting on the chair beside him. “That’s why I’m telling you this. I bought all this for you as a gift for your first day at the academy, and I want you to keep it.”

I glanced at the bag, then back at him, flashing a small smile. He was so cool.

“You explain things so well,” I complimented him. He shrugged, brushing off the praise as the food arrived.

“Please, help yourself,” he said, pointing at the dishes. Clearly, he had no time for more conversation once the food was in front of him. He began devouring sandwiches one after another. I was astonished to see how a large sandwich disappeared in just two bites.

Well, I should’ve known. For someone his size, food was clearly fuel.

“How can someone be so perfect?” I asked absentmindedly, and he immediately burst into laughter, mouth full. It was the first time I’d seen him laugh so hard.

“See? You’re doing it too,” he said, grinning, which made a frown form on my face.

“I’m not perfect. Helanie, I don’t even care about what people think. But somehow, they still say I’m good and perfect.” He was clever, effortlessly weaving his own advice into the situation.

No wonder he was the best professor at the academy.

After finishing the meal, he paid the bill, and we got back into his car. He handed me the key to the hostel and dropped me off at the main entrance.

“Thank you,” I said, leaning down to speak through the window.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay? And don’t let anyone pick on you. If they do, remind them you’re my stepsister.”

The fact that he didn’t care about the gossip that might follow—about his father’s new wife and my connection to him—showed how confident he was in himself.

I nodded and watched as his car drove away. The bag he’d given me was heavy, but I clutched it tightly and headed inside. Other students were arriving too, dragging their luggage behind them.

My room was on the eighth floor. There were elevators available, but most of the students were taking the stairs. Maybe it was their way of sneaking in a workout, but I wasn’t about to join them. I chose the elevator.

The moment I stepped in, I felt the stares of the others. Their eyes were full of judgment, and for a fleeting second, I considered taking the stairs instead.

Then I remembered Emmet’s words.

Straightening my back, I pressed the button for the eighth floor.

As the elevator ascended, I stared at the glowing red buttons, noticing that the 10th floor indicator kept blinking.

“I didn’t press 10,” I muttered to myself, puzzled.

With that thought nagging me, I pressed the 8th floor button again. Then once more for good measure.

I wasn’t particularly familiar with elevators. I had only used them occasionally—mostly during my hotel stay—and this was one of my first real experiences. But this elevator was unusually large, its walls adorned with intricate patterns that felt oddly out of place.

My breathing quickened unexpectedly as the temperature inside began to drop. Anxiety crept in, tightening its grip on me, and I could feel my nerves stretch taut when I saw the elevator bypass the 8th floor entirely and continue straight to the 10th.

I swallowed hard, feeling an unsettling chill. The elevator seemed to have a mind of its own. *I pressed 8. So why the hell is it stopping on 10?*

And then came the strangest part. As soon as the elevator reached the 10th floor, the doors slid open, and the lights went out.

“Shit! What the heck!” I hissed, staring at the pitch-black hallway before me.

The corridor had windows lining both walls, but the view outside was unnervingly dark. Why is it so dark outside? It was broad daylight—last I checked, anyway. What could have happened?

Curiosity gnawed at me, overpowering my sense of caution. Against my better judgment, I stepped out of the elevator. I shouldn’t have, but something compelled me to.

I approached one of the windows, peering outside to get a better sense of the situation. Maybe a storm had rolled in? That could explain the darkness, right?

But no.

It wasn’t just overcast—it was an abyss of blackness. So profound, I couldn’t see a thing beyond the glass.

“Ahhhh, a rape victim!”

A voice echoed through the hallway, and my heart plummeted into my chest.

“Who’s there?” I shouted, my voice trembling as I stared into the distant darkness.

“Who is it?” I called out again, louder this time, but it only seemed to amplify the eerie silence.

A sinister laugh broke through the void—low, mocking, and chilling.

“Hahahahaha! Where was all this anger when your father was kicking you in that pantry?”

My breath hitched, and tears began to well up in my eyes. My body trembled, paralyzed by fear.

“I—I don’t know who you are,” I stammered, my voice barely audible. “How do you know me?”

My mind spiraled into chaos, grasping for answers. Was this real? Or was I trapped in some kind of nightmare? That had to be it—a dream, a terrible, suffocating dream.

“Just tell me your name,” the voice growled, deep and guttural, like something otherworldly. “And I shall take away your pain.”

I instinctively stepped backward, inching toward the elevator, my feet dragging as if weighed down by invisible chains. Desperation clawed at me as I tried to focus on the voice.

It was heavy—inhuman. A sound that resembled the growl of a phantom, resonating through the darkness.

“Tell me your—,”

As he continued again, I ran back into the elevator and started pressing the button over and over again. The minute I raised my head, fear engulfed me entirely.