My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 232: Something’s Off

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The bar area was a quieter escape from the lively ballroom, tucked away from the main dance floor where the orchestra was currently playing a slow, graceful waltz. Dark wood was shining softly under amber pendant lights, with bottles neatly arranged behind the bartender, their labels glowing in warm golden tones.

The leather stools had high backs that made you feel like you were sinking into a fancy couch, and the air carried the faint scent of aged scotch, citrus zest, and the lingering fragrances of the crowd that had drifted off to dance.

Logan sat on one of those stools like he wanted to fade into his drink, his tie loose, silver hair falling into his eyes as he waved his empty glass at the bartender, impatiently flicking his wrist as if he were accustomed to getting what he wanted right away.

"Another," he commanded, his voice slurring a bit, making the word drag out. "And make it quick this time; I’m not paying for slow service." 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

The bartender’s jaw tightened briefly, but he just poured Logan another drink, sliding it across the polished surface. Logan grabbed it and gulped down half in one go before setting it down with a loud clink that echoed too much in the semi-quiet.

Adrien and I approached from the side, moving in sync as if we had rehearsed. My gown rustled softly with each step, beads catching the light and sending tiny sparks across the bar. Adrien brushed my hand quickly...just a reassuring touch, before stepping forward, his shoulders squared.

"Logan Seymour," he said, his tone low but authoritative, cutting through the soft background music. "We need to talk."

Logan turned his bleary gaze toward us, his eyes narrowing as he finally registered who we were. For a moment, he almost looked like he might chuckle, but instead, he snorted derisively.

"Keith’s kid and the charity case," he muttered, dismissively turning back to his drink. "What’s the matter? You two lost? The kiddie table’s over there with the mocktails."

I felt a sting at the "charity case" comment; it hit me unexpectedly. Adrien’s jaw tightened, his muscle was clearly showing under the skin...but he stayed composed, his voice steady.

"You were my mom’s lawyer before she passed away, right?" he asked, leaning slightly closer to the bar, his hand resting on it as if claiming his ground.

Logan’s glass halted halfway to his mouth. He stared at Adrien for a long moment, then let out a heavy, theatrical sigh, setting down the scotch as if it took great effort.

"Joanne," he said, rolling the name off his tongue with a tone of practiced sympathy, his voice dropping into that mournful tone people use at funerals. "What a woman. Sharp, beautiful, kind in a way that’s rare nowadays. Her passing was tragic. Truly tragic."

Adrien didn’t blink. "Yeah. It was."

A thick silence hung between them.

Then Adrien leaned in a bit more, his voice casual, almost like he was making small talk. "I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that, right?"

The bluntness of his question nearly made me gasp out loud. I glanced at Adrien...he looked calm, even bored, like he was discussing the weather, but I could sense the underlying steel, the quiet anger building in him.

Logan’s glass stopped in mid-air. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and a harsh, bitter laugh burst from him, too loud and too sharp, enough to make the bartender glance over nervously before looking away.

"You’ve got guts coming at me like this, kid," he said, his voice now low and menacing, any trace of slurring gone.

"You think you can waltz in here, throw around accusations, and I’ll just spill my guts? I’ve been in rooms with more dangerous people than you."

He took a swig, looking at me with blatant contempt. "And you...new money princess. You think wearing that last name gets you into the club? Sit down before you embarrass yourself."

My cheeks flushed with anger, but instead of backing down, I moved closer, raising my chin defiantly.

"We’re not playing around," I said, striving to keep my voice steady even though my heart was pounding. "We’re asking about Joanne. Her journal mentions you...secret meetings, guilt. And then she ends up dead in a ’crash.’ You were her lawyer. You’d know if something didn’t add up."

Logan’s glass paused again, midway to his mouth. His eyes darted between us, suddenly much sharper despite the alcohol, like a predator realizing it was in danger.

"You’ve been reading her diary?" he said, letting mock amusement seep into his tone. "Cute. Real cute. You know what happens when kids play detective? They stumble onto things they shouldn’t, and then bad things happen. You understand?"

The heck did he mean by that?

Adrien moved in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Is that a threat?"

Logan chuckled again, but it sounded forced this time, fragile and thin.

"Threat? Kid, I don’t need to threaten you. Your father’s a nice guy, wouldn’t ever dream of hurting his snotty kids. Joanne was... complicated. She wanted things she couldn’t have. I tried to advise her. She didn’t listen. End of story."

I pressed on, refusing to let him deflect. "She wrote that you were helping her move assets. To protect her inheritance. Then she’s dead, and suddenly you’re running the Seymour empire? The timing seems a bit too convenient."

Logan’s smile faded completely. He leaned in, whispering harshly, the faint scent of scotch wafting from him.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t kill her, kid. But I didn’t save her either. Sometimes... you have to decide who you protect. And I made my choice."

Adrien narrowed his eyes. "Choice? What does that even mean?"

I wondered the same thing, my heart racing. This man...this rude, entitled, drunken man had to have something to do with this. If I could prove it... if we could prove it... we’d be doing the world a favor. We’d be taking down someone who had harmed others and gotten away with it for too long.

Logan froze. His grip on the glass tightened so much his knuckles turned white. Then he forced another laugh, too loud and brittle, cracking at the edges.

"You’ve got nothing," he retorted, his voice trembling just enough to betray him. "Just rumors and a grudge. Your mother was paranoid. Everyone knew that. She thought a bunch of people were after her. Turns out she was right—just not in the way she thought. Accidents happen, brake lines fail. People drink and drive. Life’s messy."

He finished his drink in one gulp, slammed the glass on the bar hard enough to rattle the ice, and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"Tell your father I said hi," he said, his voice slurred with alcohol and something darker, fear, perhaps, or anger. "And stay out of my business damn business if you know what’s good for you kids."

He staggered off towards the exit, shoulders hunched and weaving slightly as he disappeared into the throng.

Adrien and I stood frozen for a moment, staring after him.

I breathed out shakily, turning to him. "Well... that was something."

Adrien’s expression was thunderous, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Logan had been. "He’s scared. He knows more than he’s letting on. But he’s not the one who pulled the trigger...he’s covering for someone."

I nodded slowly, adrenaline still buzzing through me. "Yeah. But who?"

Adrien glanced at my phone, still clutched in my hand. "Maybe it’s the person who lent him money. Either way... we just made him anxious. That’s progress."

We exchanged a look filled with excitement, fear, and a shared determination that felt like a promise. The gala went on around us, unaware—laughter ringing, glasses clinking, music swelling, but the air between us felt electric, like the first domino had fallen.

Then an idea popped into my head, bold and reckless. A smile began to spread on my lips before I could stop it.

Adrien turned to me, an eyebrow raised. "What’s that look?"

I leaned in closer, speaking quietly. "I have an idea. But you probably won’t like it."

His expression narrowed, but I could see a flicker of curiosity. "Try me."