My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 229: Rich People Are Annoying

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I slipped through the grand double doors just as another group of photographers surged towards the entrance, their flashes going off like misfired fireworks.

The doorman discreetly nodded at me—thank goodness for little mercies and I blended into the crowd inside the ballroom before anyone could shout my name again. My heart was pounding against the sapphire silk of my gown, but at least the worst of the red-carpet ordeal was behind me.

From the inside, the Grand Aurum Ballroom was even more breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers dripped light like melted sugar, casting rainbows across the polished marble floors that mirrored every movement.

Waiters in crisp white jackets worked between clusters of guests, balancing trays of champagne flutes and delicate canapés that looked way too pretty to eat.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, cigar smoke wafting in from the terrace, and the faint metallic tang of money exchanging hands under polite masks.

Everyone here seemed to know exactly where they fit in; I felt like I’d been tossed into the middle of an art piece while the paint was still wet.

I grabbed a glass of something golden (god, please let it be apple juice), mostly to have something to do with my hands, and spent the next ten minutes trying to appear like I belonged. Strangers approached with the same curious and slightly condescending smiles.

"You’re the Valentine girl, right?" one woman asked, diamonds glimmering around her neck like captured stars. "How utterly fascinating. From... what was it? A little apartment in the city? And now, look at you. Quite the Cinderella story."

I managed a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Something like that."

An older man, with a voice like aged bourbon, leaned in closer. "Do they still have those charming little coin-operated laundry machines where you grew up? I read about them once."

What the actual fuck? I almost burst into laughter in their faces, they had to be kidding!

I opened my mouth, closed it, then finally said, "They’re very...efficient."

He laughed as if I’d told a great joke and wandered away, leaving me clutching my drink like it was a lifeline.

I was seriously thinking about hiding behind one of the gigantic floral arrangements when a familiar voice cut through the crowd’s murmur.

"There you are. I was starting to think you’d sprinted for the nearest exit."

Adrien appeared at my side as if he’d materialized from the light of the chandelier itself. His dark hair was pulled back in that effortless half-up, half-down style he sometimes chose when he wanted to look both regal and a bit rebellious, some strands falling loose to frame his face.

The black suit fit him like it was custom-made, but it was the deep red gemstones, tiny rubies and garnets—scattered across the lapels and cuffs that made him look like he’d stepped out of a medieval painting.

Like the prince who’d wandered into the wrong century and decided to stick around for the free champagne.

His green eyes met mine, warm and amused, and my cheeks betrayed me, flushing bright. And I wasn’t the only one staring; I noticed at least three women nearby giving him that slow, appreciative once-over, their faces showing everything from sheer hunger to polite envy to the fact I had a silver of his attention.

One even whispered something to her friend that sent them both into giggles.

Adrien either didn’t notice or just chose to ignore it. He leaned in close enough for me to catch the cedar and spice of his cologne.

"You look like you’re about to hurl on that dress," he murmured. "Just breathe. And maybe smile so you don’t look so... uncomfortable."

I shot him a look. "Thanks. That’s just the boost I needed."

He grinned unapologetically. "Anytime. Now, stay right here. No sneaking off to check out the dessert table or hiding in the coat check. We’re in this together, remember? Just stick close to me and smile like you mean it. Or at least like you’ve practiced in front of a mirror."

"Wow. How helpful if you, asshole."

"Anytime, Hamster." He offered his arm with exaggerated flair. "Shall we?"

I slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow, grateful for his solid warmth beside me. Moving through the crowd together made the stares feel less like spotlights and more like background noise. He kept up a steady stream of commentary in my ear, half encouragement, half observations about the absurdity around us.

"See that guy with the bow tie the size of a dinner plate? He’s definitely wearing his half-dead grandfather’s cufflinks and pretending they’re vintage on purpose."

"That woman in the gold dress keeps checking her reflection in every shiny surface. I swear she’s worried the chandelier or literally anything else will outshine her."

"Relax your shoulders. You’re holding them like you’re about to bench-press the entire orchestra."

I couldn’t help but huff a laugh. "You’re awful."

"I’m actually being really helpful right now. There’s a difference."

We circled the room slowly, scanning faces, looking for the one person we hoped to find without drawing too much attention, Logan.

His name had been echoing in my mind for days since our late-night research sessions had turned up photo after photo of him: sharp jaw, sharper suits, always smiling like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

And then we spotted him.

He stood near the dance floor’s edge, half-turned towards a small group, laughing at something one of them had said. The black tuxedo was flawless, the kind of tailoring that probably cost more than everything I owned back at my old home.

Keith, his ever-present shadow—was right next to him, whispering something in his ear. Logan nodded, still smiling that practiced, easy smile.

My stomach dropped.

Because Logan wasn’t alone.

Just behind him, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, was Ethan.

My Ethan.

His messy blond hair was slicked back for once, though a few rebellious strands still wouldn’t behave. The blue eyes that usually sparkled with mischief seemed dull and unhappy, darting around the room like he was looking for an escape.

He was wearing a tuxedo that fit well enough, but it seemed like a costume he hadn’t chosen...shoulders hunched, hands shoved into pockets, tie already loosened by half an inch.

Our eyes locked across the sea of glittering people.

For one frozen moment, neither of us moved.

Then his expression shifted, shock, guilt, maybe even an apology before he quickly looked away, pretending to be captivated by the pattern on the nearest marble column.

Adrien tightened his grip on my arm just enough for me to feel it.

"Holy shit," he breathed. "Is that—"

"Yeah," I whispered back, my voice barely audible over the string quartet. "That’s him."

We exchanged a glance that likely conveyed an entire paragraph in less than a heartbeat.

Our supposed inside source, the one person we thought might actually help us figure out what the hell was going on, was standing in the lion’s den, looking like he’d been dragged there against his will.

Adrien was the first to recover, forcing a casual smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Okay, new plan...we stay calm. We don’t stare and we act like we haven’t noticed anything unusual. And then we figure out how to get him alone without anyone noticing."

I nodded, though my heart was racing in my ears. "Right...casual. Totally normal. Just two people who definitely aren’t freaking out inside."

He squeezed my hand briefly, reassuringly. "Exactly. Smile, Prince. We’ve got this."

I forced a smile, hoping it looked acceptable, and let him lead me toward the nearest waiter with a tray of something sparkling and hopefully non-alcoholic.

Because if tonight was going to get any more complicated, I was definitely going to need another drink.