Todos os capítulos de Faking It With My stepbrother : Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 47

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

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

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