My Stepbrother Vowed To Destroy Me

LORIAH

Zakari Von Hale hates me.

I see it in the way his eyes darken with fury and disgust whenever I’m in the vicinity, like I am not worthy to breathe the same precious air he does.

To this day, I am yet to understand the reason behind such… powerful hatred.

I am the daughter of the maid his father brought to London, and he’s the heir to the Von Hale multi-billion dollar biotech empire. Our worlds are so far apart, nothing about me should concern him.

But Zakari goes out of his way almost every day to demonstrate just how much he despises my very existence.

Exactly ten minutes ago, I received a call from his personal assistant, and it went;

“Deliver the young master’s Macallan Whiskey to his villa in the next ten minutes. You know the consequences of being late.”

There were no greetings. No explanations. And I was expected to do his every bidding without complaint.

For a moment, I considered disobeying. After all, I was not obligated to serve Zakari. I was not his maid. But Mama had begged me to go.

“Zakari’s father was kind enough to let us stay here.” She’d said. “Don’t act stubborn now.”

Glancing at my watch, I note the time with a heavy sigh of relief. It’s midnight. I'm sweaty and out of breath, but I managed to make it on time, the gods be praised.

Taking a deep breath, I give the humongous villa a quick glance. The three storey mansion was designed specially for Zakari to host his expensive parties. I swear, rich people always find the most obnoxious excuses to spend a shit ton of money.

As usual, this party was thrown for the elites of Winter Bridge College. For the rich kids who can afford to vacation at the Hamptons four times a year and employ fancy butlers and chauffeurs.

Definitely not for people like me. I do not belong here.

Outside Zakari’s private room, two guards are stationed. One of them steps forward when I arrive:

“The boss sent me,” I blurt, lifting the briefcase that contain the bottles.

“Hold on, I will inform him.”

He disappears into the room and returns a while later, stepping aside for me to enter.

My heart thunders with suspicion as I slowly approach the open doors.

Zakari tends to avoid me like the plague. Why would he insist that I meet him in his private room tonight?

I receive the answer to that question the moment I walk into the semi-darkness.

“Unhh, Zack, right there! That feels so good!”

For a moment, I freeze, my eyes widening with shock.

Was that a… moan?

I remain rooted to the spot as I search out the moving bodies on the bed.

Is Zakari here with a girl? Why would he invite me in if he was having sex?

A painful, choking sensation burns in my throat as the girl's moans seem to grow louder.

My brain screams at me to turn around and get the fuck out of here, but my legs refuse to comply.

Before I can recover enough to make a conscious decision, blinding white lights suddenly flood the room, and I’m laid bare like a thief at the Christmas market.

My gaze falls on the king size bed, my chest tightening as I take in their naked, sweaty bodies.

A girl I recognize as Bethany from college is spread eagle on the white sheets, her legs wrapped around Zakari’s head while he works passionately between her thighs.

It takes a full second for me to realize that she’s caught in the throes of an orgasm. Her cheeks are the colour of ripened tomatoes. Her eyes are clenched shut and she’s trembling like she’s been electrocuted.

The painful sensation in my chest turns darker, twisting in my guts like a knife.

Good lord, am I… jealous?

No. That is absolutely ridiculous. I hate Zakari’s guts as much as he hates mine. Why the hell would I be jealous that he has his mouth all over another girl’s pussy?

I’m not sure how long I stand there, frozen and fuming, but Bethany finally releases Zakari’s head and he slowly swaggers to his feet.

Like a moth to flame, my eyes are involuntarily drawn to the mouth-watering muscles of his bare, powerful back.

Zakari Von Hale is not just an annoying motherfucker. He’s a gorgeous one too.

His chest tapers off into a waist so narrow, it should be illegal. His thick curly hair, the colour of midnight, brushes against his neck, teasing his fallen angel tattoo.

It’s hard to keep my hate burning when he looks like he belongs on the front cover of Vogue’s Most Sexy.

Just then, his low, steely voice plucks me from my fantasy with ice cold hands. As usual, his tone is laced with snobbish disgust;

“I hope you enjoyed the show. If you’re done watching, leave the whiskey and get the fuck out.”

Humiliation blooms in my chest like a bruise.

I abandoned my truckload of assignments to deliver his stupid whiskey and he still has the nerve to treat me like trash.

“What the fuck are you still waiting for?!” Bethany’s voice snaps into the silence. “You heard him, servant girl. Drop the bottles and leave!”

The mockery in her tone has my blood boiling.

A million and one curse words spiral in my brain, but in the end, I drop the briefcase a bit too harshly on the Roche Bobois sofa and stomp towards the door.

I will not stand here and tolerate another second of this bullshit.

My hand is almost on the brass handle when Zakari’s voice cuts through the tense atmosphere;

“Loriah.”

I freeze.

“Since you’re already here, it’ll be a waste if I don’t put you to work. The vanity looks a bit dusty. Attend to it.”

For a moment silence reigns in the room, hot and thick.

Anger crackles through my veins like a bolt of forbidden lightening.

“What did you just say to me?” I whisper, my voice coated in a thick layer of fury.

“Have you suddenly gone deaf?” Bethany snarls, “aren’t you the servant? Pick up your little rag and do as you’re told!”

I wait for Zakari to say something, but he remains silent.

Those piercing grey eyes have darkened with hatred, taunting me… fucking mocking me.

If Mama were here, she would tell me to suck it up and let it go. After all, rich kids could get a little bratty sometimes.

But how long will I continue to let this disrespect slide?

How long will I continue to let Zakari think he can walk all over me?

Throwing all caution and common sense to the wind, I spin on my heel and stomp towards them, eyes blazing with rage.

“Let me make something very clear to you, Zakari Von Hale,” I spit, “I am not your maid, neither am I obligated to clean up after you and your little hookups.

I have no idea why you hate me so much, but I would appreciate it if you shove those little boy feelings up your ass and start treating me like I’m an actual human being!”

When I’m done, my chest is heaving like I just ran a marathon. And my impromptu, rage-fueled speech is met with dead silence.

Bethany’s eyes are wide with surprise, her lips forming a small “o.”

And Zakari? Aside from the tiny tick in his jaw, he doesn’t say a word. It’s like talking to a stone wall.

Say something, goddamnit! What are you thinking?!

I open my mouth to speak but just then, my ringtone pierces the air.

It’s my sister. I answer immediately.

“Lola? Are you okay?”

“Loriah, you need to come home right now.”

A bolt of panic seizes my heart at the raw distress in her voice;

“What’s going on? Why are you whispering? Are you running a fever again?”

Lola was diagnosed with aplastic anemia at the age of nine. Everyday, I live in fear, praying her situation does not worsen.

“I can’t talk right now. Come home, Loriah. Please. I don’t understand anything.”

The desperation in her voice has my body moving before my mind can form a thought.

I tear through the doors like the devil is hot on my heels, Zakari and his little girlfriend already forgotten.

I don’t stop running until I’m bursting through the front doors of the Von Hale mansion.

Two steps inside the luxurious foyer and I pause, my eyes narrowed in confusion as I take in the scene before me.

Wait. what in the name of Cheese crackers…?

“Mama? What is going on?”

Sebastian Von Hale, Zakari’s father, has his arms wrapped around my mother’s waist while she clings to him like a lifeline.

Mama looks… unrecognizable.

Gone are the old, shabby maid’s dresses. Her elegant green dress moulds her curves with perfection. It’s definitely from a designer brand.

But since when can we afford luxury brands?

Also, is that… red lipstick?

The woman in Sebastian’s arms looks nothing like my mama. She resembles a billionaire’s spoiled, trophy wife.

My fears are confirmed when Mama says excitedly;

“Loriah! Thank heavens you’re here. I have such happy news! Sebastian asked me to be his wife, and I said yes…!!”