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Chapter 41
publish date:
2026-04-15 18:09:25
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Faking It With My stepbrother Chapter 47: The Graduation Cap Decorating
Lila’s POVThe floor of the art studio looked like a glitter bomb had gone off in a craft store. There were tubes of acrylic paint oozing onto the hardwood, stray sequins stuck to the bottom of my feet, and a bottle of high-gloss varnish that was dangerously close to tipping over.I sat cross-legged in the center of the chaos, staring at the blank, matte-black square of my graduation cap. It was supposed to be a symbol of completion—the final dot at the end of a very long, very messy sentence. Instead, it felt like a target."You're doing it wrong," Asher grunted. He was leaning against my drafting table, looking entirely out of place surrounded by pastel pinks and iridescent glitter. He was currently flicking a silver paint pen between his fingers like it was a switchblade."There is no 'wrong' in art, Asher," I said, not looking up as I carefully dabbed a sponge into a puddle of deep violet. "That’s the whole point. It’s expression. It’s soul.""It’s a hat, Monroe," he countered, t
Faking It With My stepbrother Chapter 46: The Last Biker Run
Asher’s POVThe wind wasn't just cold; it was a physical weight, screaming past my helmet as we cleared the Silvercrest city limits. I could feel Lila’s fingernails digging into the leather of my jacket, her chest pressed so tight against my back that our heartbeats were fighting for the same rhythm.I didn't tell her where we were going. I didn't have to. After the disaster with the board and whatever hell Jax had put her through with that photo, she didn't need a conversation—she needed a goddamn escape. I pushed the Triumph harder, the speedometer climbing until the world became a blur of dark trees and streaking headlights.We hit the coast road forty minutes later. The salt air cut through the scent of gasoline, sharp and biting. I throttled down as we reached a jagged cliffside path I’d known since I was a kid—the kind of place where the "Private Property" signs were just suggestions.I killed the engine. The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the rhythmic, viol
Faking It With My stepbrother Chapter 45
Jax povThe morning air in the Harrington administrative wing smelled like floor wax and old, expensive secrets. I stood in front of the heavy oak doors of the Board Room, my fingers digging into the straps of my portfolio bag. Usually, I felt like a whimsical outsider in these halls, but today, I felt like a gladiator heading into a lion’s den—mostly because I knew the lion had a blonde blowout and a trust fund named Sloane Van Doren.I didn’t have to wait for the summons. The doors swung open, and the silence that greeted me was thick enough to choke on.Six board members sat behind a long mahogany table. At the center was Principal Higgins, looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon, and to his left sat Mrs. Gable, the head of Admissions for NYU Tisch, who was visiting to "verify" the integrity of my scholarship.And there, leaning against the far wall with a look of feigned concern, was Sloane. She smoothed her skirt, her eyes tracking me with a glint of pure, unadulterated malice.
Faking It With My stepbrother Chapter 44: The Yale Legacy Visit
Jax’s POVThe air in the Sterling’s private club in New Haven didn't smell like the future; it smelled like cedarwood, old money, and the suffocating weight of a thousand expectations.I adjusted my tie in the gilded mirror of the foyer, my fingers feeling like lead. I was wearing the Sterling blue—the navy blazer that signaled I was part of the tribe. My father stood behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder. It wasn't a gesture of affection; it was a grip, a reminder that I was an extension of his own ambition."Smile, Jax," he murmured, his voice as smooth as the single-malt scotch he was already holding. "These are the families that will fund your first firm. These are the people who matter.""Right," I muttered, my jaw tight. "The people who matter."We stepped into the main hall, a sea of mahogany and brass. The "Yale Legacy Mixer" was exactly what I feared: a room full of people talking about hedge funds and offshore accounts while pretend-caring about "intellectual rigor." E
Faking It With My stepbrother Chapter 43: The Remedial Tutor
Asher’s POVI hate books…really.The scent of old paper and dust usually made me want to crawl out of my skin, but tonight, the library felt like the center of the damn universe.I stared at the open textbook on the floor, the words blurring into a mess of black ink that looked more like oil spills than actual sentences. History. European History. Apparently, I needed to know the exact date some royal idiot signed a treaty if I wanted to walk across that stage and keep the state investigators off Lila’s back.If I failed my finals, I was out. No diploma, no legal standing, and no way to stay in Silvercrest while the "Princess" drama turned Lila’s life into a target range."Focus, Asher. Who led the unification of Germany?"Lila was sitting cross-legged on the rug opposite me. She’d ditched the "Princess" panic for a few hours, wearing an oversized sweater that swallowed her frame and a pair of reading glasses she usually only wore when she was doing fine-detail sketches. She looked so
Faking It With My stepbrother Chapter 42: The Early Decision Envelope
Lila’s POVThe envelope was heavy. Not just physically, with its high-gsm paper and embossed NYU seal, but heavy with the kind of life-altering weight that made my hands go numb. I sat on the floor of my new art studio—the one I’d technically bought along with the rest of the school—surrounded by the smell of linseed oil and the ghost of the revelation from the basement.I didn't open it for twenty minutes. I just sat there, staring at the purple torch logo of NYU Tisch. This was the dream. The one I’d scribbled in the margins of my notebooks since I was ten years old. Manhattan. The Village. A place where my "whimsical" style wouldn't be a scholarship curiosity, but a voice.Finally, I slid my finger under the flap.Dear Lila Monroe, It is with great pleasure...I stopped reading. My heart didn't do a happy dance; it hit a wall. I was in. I was officially a New Yorker. But as I looked around the studio, the victory felt hollow. Three months. That was the countdown. In ninety days, th
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