Chapter 5

Julian had done many stupid things in his life. He once tried to wax his own legs after watching a beauty influencer do it on YouTube. Another time, he drunkenly confessed his love to a guy who turned out to be married to a woman named Barbara with three kids and a Labradoodle. But returning to the wedding after that dance floor disaster? That was a new level of humiliation he hadn't unlocked before.

And yet, he did it.

With his pride in shreds and one shoe on, Julian had stood outside the venue for a full fifteen minutes, trying to decide whether to run or to walk back in and pretend he hadn’t just stormed out in the middle of a cheering crowd like a Disney villain. He could still hear the echo of their applause in his head, still see Alexander, shirtless and smug, basking in the spotlight like some sort of Greek god with a petty streak.

But pride wasn’t going to get him a ride home.

So Julian took a breath, fixed his face into something resembling indifference, and marched back into the reception hall. The moment he stepped through the doors, he could feel eyes turning. He ignored them, walked briskly past the dance floor, and made a beeline for one of the catering staff near the back.

“Is there still a driver around?” he asked, voice flat. “I need a ride.”

The woman blinked, probably recognizing him as the guy who had tried to take down the groom’s son with water and bad dancing.

“Uh… I think one of the chauffeurs is still outside,” she said, clearly unsure if she should help or call security.

Julian didn’t wait. He headed for the exit, passing a waiter balancing a tray of whiskey. Without breaking stride, he snatched a bottle and kept walking.

The car ride was silent. The driver didn’t ask questions, and Julian didn’t offer explanations. He just sat in the backseat, clutching the bottle, gulping the whiskey like it was medicine and hoping it would burn away the shame settling in his chest.

He didn’t remember getting into bed. He barely remembered taking off the other shoe. All he remembered was the whiskey and the way Alexander had looked at him like he was both a joke and a challenge. Somewhere along the way, Julian had pulled out his phone. He remembered the rage. The sting. The need to say something, anything, that would cut as deep as Alexander’s smirk.

So he had texted.

A lot.

He had called Alexander names. Some crude, some creative. At one point, he was pretty sure he wrote, “You preening, spotlight-sucking vampire with delusions of grandeur and a jawline that’s clearly cursed.” There may have been other things. Many other things. Things he would regret the moment he woke up.

Which was now.

The sun stabbed through the blinds like an interrogation light. His head was pounding. His tongue felt like sandpaper. He rolled over, groaned, and immediately reached for his phone with a kind of slow-motion dread.

He opened his messages.

His mouth dropped open.

The drunken texts were there.

All of them.

Each insult, each bitter word, each embarrassing attempt at cleverness. He scrolled faster, hoping maybe he hallucinated it all, but no. There they were. At least a hundred messages sent to Alexander between ten PM and four AM in the morning.

But something was off.

Alexander’s message, the one Julian knew he had sent first, was gone.

Completely gone.

No smug taunt. No proof. Nothing.

Julian sat up, his heart pounding harder than before. He didn’t delete it. He wouldn’t have. That message was the whole reason he exploded.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs, and before he could think of a plan, his mother barged into the room.

“Julian,” she said, voice firm. “Oh great, you are finally awake. Come downstairs. Now.”

He blinked. “What? Why?”

She gave him a look that could turn milk sour. “I saw the texts you sent Alexander. How dare you speak to your stepbrother that way after everything he’s done for this family.”

Julian stared at her, stunned. Then he laughed. Bitter, humorless. “What has he done, exactly? Charm you into thinking he’s the second coming? Steal attention at every turn? Humiliate me in front of everyone? Because if that’s your idea of ‘doing something for the family,’ then sure. He’s a saint.”

His mother’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “He’s trying. At least he acts like he wants to be part of this family. Unlike you.”

Julian felt the air leave his lungs, but he didn’t let it show. “Acting is all he’s good at.”

She didn’t blink. “You’re going to apologize. Whether you like it or not. End of discussion.”

That got him moving.

Not because he had agreed, God no, but because he knew that look. The finality in her voice, the iron behind her soft words. Arguing with her now would only dig his grave deeper, and he’d already spent the morning crawling out of one shame spiral. He trudged toward the sitting room like a man walking the plank, hair still a mess from sleep and soul bruised from a hangover that refused to let go.

Alexander was already there, lounging in Julian's favorite armchair like he owned the place. Freshly showered, annoyingly perfect, a mug of tea in hand like he hadn’t spent the night as the villain in Julian’s waking nightmares. When Julian walked in, Alexander looked up, his face immediately shifting into that wounded, saintly expression that made Julian want to put his fist through a wall.

“Oh,” Alexander said softly, as if surprised to see him. “Julian. I didn’t think you’d… come.”

Julian’s jaw clenched. His mother stepped in behind him like a silent bodyguard.

“Well?” she asked. “Go on.”

Julian took a deep breath. He would’ve rather chewed glass. “I’m sorry.”

Alexander blinked, all wide eyes and fake humility. “For?”

Julian hesitated. His mother’s hand rested lightly on his back, urging him to continue. He clenched his jaw. “For the texts. For calling you… names.”

Alexander gave a little sniffle. A sniffle. “It really hurt, you know,” he said. “I’ve only ever tried to welcome you. To be a brother. And you… lashed out. Publicly. Privately. Repeatedly.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. This was Oscar-worthy.

Alexander stood slowly and stepped forward, towering just a little too close. Then, with all the drama of a martyr, he placed a hand on Julian’s shoulder and squeezed.

Hard.

Julian winced and shoved it off. “Don’t touch me.”

“Julian!” his mother snapped.

Alexander stepped back like he’d been slapped. “I forgive you,” he said, voice soft but eyes gleaming. “Of course I do. We're family.”

Julian’s stomach turned.

“That’s enough,” his mother said. “You’re grounded. No phone. No going out. Up until you get your shit together and accept that Tom and Alexander are now part of this family, whether you like it or not.”

Julian opened his mouth, but the look she gave him shut it fast. He stormed out instead, heading back to his room, every step echoing with humiliation and fury.

From behind him, he could hear Alexander’s voice again, low and innocent. “I hope he can learn to control those moods. They really worry me sometimes.”

Julian slammed his door shut and screamed into his pillow.

He hated him. God, he hated him so much.

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