His My Stepbrother

My eyes jammed.

That was the only way to describe it.

They refused to blink. Refused to look away. Refused to accept what they were seeing.

It felt like my vision had locked, like some invisible force had grabbed hold of my gaze and refused to let go. My body reacted before my mind could even begin to catch up. Muscles stiffened. Breath stalled halfway in my chest.

The song in my earpiece faded into nothing but static, like my ears had shut down on command. Sound drained from the lecture hall until it felt distant, unreal—like I was underwater, watching the world move without me.

I was aware of movement around me—chairs shifting, someone laughing softly, the faint rustle of pages—but none of it reached me properly. Everything blurred into the background.

He stood there.

It felt too close.

Too real.

Too familiar.

My heart didn’t just skip a beat—it slammed, violently, against my ribs, as if trying to escape. The sensation was almost painful, sharp and overwhelming, spreading heat through my chest and up my throat. My pulse roared in my ears, loud enough that I was sure others could hear it.

Heat rushed to my face, my neck, my ears. My fingers tightened around the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles ached, grounding myself in the solidness of it because everything else felt like it was slipping.

Slowly, painfully, I pulled the earpiece out.

The silence hit harder.

It pressed in on me from all sides, thick and suffocating, as if the room itself had leaned closer to watch my reaction.

He didn’t say my name.

He didn’t need to.

Those eyes—Golden, cold, sharp, unreadable—were locked on mine like I’d been singled out by fate itself. The kind of stare that didn’t rush, didn’t flinch, didn’t apologize.

The kind that assessed. Measured. Judged.

The kind that claimed space.

The room felt smaller.

No—I felt smaller.

Like I’d shrunk beneath the weight of his attention, like I was suddenly aware of every flaw, every weakness, every secret I’d buried.

He straightened, stepping back just enough to put distance between us, but not enough to ease the pressure his presence carried. It followed him, clung to him, filled every corner of the hall.

Even when he wasn’t looking at me anymore, I could still feel him.

Then he turned away.

Just like that.

As if I hadn’t just stopped breathing.

As if my world hadn’t tilted off its axis.

He walked toward the podium, footsteps measured, controlled, each one landing with quiet authority. The murmurs that had filled the lecture hall moments earlier dissolved instantly. Chairs shifted. Spines straightened. Heads lifted.

It was instinctive.

Automatic.

Fear and admiration—thick in the air.

I swallowed, my throat dry.

Aria… Jess murmured cautiously in my head. That’s the Alpha's Son.

I know.

God, I knew.

He placed his briefcase on the podium. The soft click echoed louder than it should have, sharp in the hush that had fallen over the room. He rested his hands there for a moment, surveying the hall with detached calm.

Not rushed.

Not curious.

In control.

“ My name is Professor Kane Crest,” he said at last.

His voice was low. Even. Deceptively calm.

It didn’t rise, didn’t demand attention—yet every single person leaned in.

“I’ll be teaching Psychological Dynamics and Behavioral Control this year.”

A pause.

Heavy.

Long enough for nerves to coil tighter, long enough for anticipation to sink its claws in.

“You’re here because you passed the entrance requirements,” he continued. “That doesn’t mean you belong here.”

A few students shifted uncomfortably.

Someone exhaled sharply.

“I don’t care who your parents are. I don’t care what pack you come from. I don’t care how much money sponsored your seat.”

His eyes swept the room, slow and deliberate, like he was cataloging weaknesses.

Like he was memorizing faces.

“If you waste my time, you’ll leave.”

No threat.

Just fact.

A shiver slid down my spine.

Psychology.

Of course it was psychology.

The study of minds. Power. Control. Dominance. Fear.

Of people.

Of wolves.

He turned and wrote his name on the board.

Crest

Seeing it there made my chest tighten painfully.

That name now belonged to my mother.

That name now hovered over me like a shadow I couldn’t escape.

He faced us again.

“Open your books.”

Pages flipped instantly. No one dared hesitate.

I fumbled with mine, my hands betraying me, fingers trembling as I pulled the textbook from my bag. My glasses slid down my nose; I pushed them back up, desperate for something—anything—to ground me.

I could feel him without looking.

Like gravity.

Like if I tilted even slightly, I’d fall straight into his orbit.

He began the lecture without introduction, without small talk.

“Psychology isn’t about feelings,” he said. “It’s about patterns. Triggers. Control.”

His voice carried effortlessly, cool and precise, slicing through the room with surgical clarity.

“Every being—human or wolf—is driven by three core forces: fear, desire, and dominance.”

My pen hovered above the page.

“Suppress one,” he continued, pacing slowly, “and the others grow distorted.”

He stopped walking.

The silence stretched.

“Miss.”

My stomach dropped.

Cold dread flooded my veins.

I looked up.

He was looking straight at me.

My breath hitched.

“Yes?” I managed.

“What happens when identity is suppressed long-term?”

Every eye in the room snapped to me.

Heat crawled up my spine.

I felt exposed. Naked. Like he’d peeled something open I’d spent years hiding.

My mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Answer, Jess urged softly.

I forced air into my lungs.

“It… it causes internal conflict,” I said. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “Low self-worth. Dissociation. Sometimes self-destructive behavior.”

He watched me for a long second.

Long enough for my pulse to spiral.

Then, a single nod.

“Correct.”

No smile.

No warmth.

He turned away as if I were nothing more than a statistic.

Relief washed through me—sharp, dizzying—but beneath it, something darker stirred.

Because that question hadn’t felt random.

It had felt targeted.

The lecture continued, his words sharp and exact. He spoke of dominance hierarchies, of how power wasn’t always loud—how the most dangerous leaders were the quiet ones.

My chest tightened.

That was him.

Cold.

Controlled.

Respected.

Feared.

Students scribbled furiously, afraid to miss a word. Some stared at him openly, eyes glowing with admiration. Others avoided his gaze entirely.

And me?

I couldn’t decide which was worse.

Every time his eyes passed over me, my body reacted before my mind could stop it—heart racing, breath shallow, wolf restless beneath my skin.

He smells like Vanilla, Jess whispered.

I clenched my jaw.

The lecture ended without ceremony.

“Read chapters one through three,” he said. “Assignment posted online. You’re dismissed.”

Just like that.

Students stood immediately, buzzing with hushed excitement.

“Oh my gosh, he’s terrifying.”

“But did you see him?”

“That aura—”

I stayed seated.

I didn’t trust my legs.

He gathered his things, movements unhurried. As he stepped down from the podium, his gaze flicked toward me—brief, unreadable.

For half a second, something passed between us.

Recognition.

Awareness.

Something dangerous.

Then it was gone.

He walked out.

And only then did I realize—

I’d been holding my breath the entire time.