The Stepbrother’s Wager Chapter 01

The Stepbrother’s Wager Chapter 01

My mother had been Mr. Whitmore Sr.’s secret mistress, kept hidden from the public. After she died of an illness, the Whitmores took me in.

My brother, Dylan Whitmore, hated me. He forced me to kneel outside the house.

“You’re nothing but a mistress’s daughter. Sooner or later, I’m going to throw you out.”

After that, he cut up my school uniform, threw away my mother’s belongings, and locked me in the basement.

He did not ease up until his archrival, Ethan Hawthorne, started pursuing me.

“With me around, no one will dare bully you anymore.”

I thought I had finally found someone who would save me.

On my eighteenth birthday, I gave him my virginity.

But the next day, I overheard him and Dylan laughing together.

Dylan scoffed, “Having to sleep with someone that filthy must’ve made you sick. You got the video, right?”

Ethan flicked the ash from his cigarette.

“Every sound was recorded. I felt filthy even touching a mistress’s daughter like her.”

I stood outside the door, my hands and feet turning to ice.

Every bit of tenderness he had shown me had been part of a setup from the very beginning.

I stared at the acceptance letter from the conservation institute in Helsinki and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes.

This time, I would not look back.

The door to a private room at the club had been left slightly ajar.

I stood in the hallway, still holding the hangover remedy I had bought for Ethan. He had said his stomach hurt the night before, and I had kept thinking about it all night.

Then I heard Dylan’s voice.

“Didn’t screwing her make you sick?”

The room went silent for a moment before Ethan gave a lazy laugh.

“It was fine. Once the lights are off, they all feel the same.”

Someone nearby let out a lewd chuckle.

Dylan asked, “What about the video?”

Ethan tossed his phone onto the table.

“I filmed it. It’s full HD and completely uncensored. She’d had a few drinks and just lay there like a dead fish. It was boring as hell.”

***

My fingers went slack, and the box of medicine crashed to the floor.

It felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over me from head to toe.

That was not what Ethan had said while holding me the night before.

He had kissed away the tears at the corners of my eyes and said over and over, “Ivy, I love you.”

I had believed him with everything I had.

After my mother died, I had never truly trusted anyone again.

Then Ethan came into my life.

He was heir to the Hawthorne fortune and the person Dylan despised most. The more Dylan hated him, the more Ethan went out of his way to get close to me.

He treated me so well that I forgot people like me were never loved without an ulterior motive.

Dylan’s voice came through the door again.

“What will you do if she comes crying and begs you?”

Ethan laughed.

“Then let her beg. I’ve had my fun with her anyway.”

I bent down and picked up the box of medicine.

My nails dug into my palm until it went numb with pain.

My phone vibrated. It was an email from the conservation institute in Helsinki.

Two months earlier, my adviser had urged me to apply. He said I had real talent for rare-book and manuscript conservation and told me about a fully funded, three-year residential fellowship overseas.

I would not be able to come home during the program.

At the time, I had hesitated because Ethan said he wanted a future with me.

The thought seemed ridiculous now.

I tossed the box of medicine into the trash and replied to my adviser’s email.

[I’ve decided to accept the fellowship.]

By the time I walked back to the Whitmore estate alone, I was soaked through.

Rain streamed from my hair and into my eyes, making them sting.

Dylan happened to be coming home. The moment he saw me, he frowned.

“Who are you putting on this pathetic act for?”

I looked up at him.

I used to believe that if I behaved well enough, Dylan would eventually accept me as his sister.

Now I understood that he did not hate me because of anything I had done wrong.

He simply needed someone to bear the brunt of his hatred.

I said nothing and went straight upstairs.

I was leaving soon. There was no point in saying anything more.