My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 233: Definitely A Bad Idea

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I leaned into Adrien, my fingers curling tight into the sleeve of his tux jacket. The fine wool still held the warmth of his body, and that faint cedar-and-citrus trace of his cologne cut through the thick haze of champagne, perfume, and cigar smoke hanging over the ballroom. It steadied me just enough to keep my voice from cracking as I tugged him one careful step away from the gleaming bar, stealing a tiny bubble of space amid the glittering, laughing crowd.

"He’s staying here tonight," I whispered, my eyes flicking toward Logan. The man was already turning away from us, shoulders hunched like he was shielding something fragile, staring down into his empty tumbler before muttering low and rough to the bartender for another double.

I dragged my gaze back to Adrien’s face, those sharp green eyes I’d memorized months ago. "Just like the handful of out-of-town guests who don’t keep city apartments. Your dad definitely comped him a suite upstairs."

Adrien’s dark brows knit together; a quick, wary shadow passed behind his eyes. "Yeah. So?"

"So that means his room is upstairs. Right now." The words tumbled out faster than I could catch them, urgent and unsteady. "Adrien...this might be our only real window. If there’s anything left to find...anything at all, we have to look now. While he’s down here drowning in scotch and assuming we’re just two annoying kids who don’t know when to quit."

He stared at me for several long heartbeats, the same searching look he always gave me when he was trying to decide whether I’d finally lost it or was just borrowing insanity for the night. Then he exhaled sharply through his nose.

"No," he said, voice flat and final. "Absolutely not."

My grip tightened until the fabric bunched under my knuckles. "Why not?"

"Because it’s insanely dangerous," he murmured, pitching his voice so low it was barely more than warm breath against my ear. "He already told us—explicitly, to stay the hell out of his business. If he catches us in there..."

"He won’t," I cut in, shaking my head hard enough that a few strands of my dark hair fell across my forehead and stuck there. "He’s distracted. Half-drunk. Surrounded by people who want to shake his hand, clap his back, remind him how important he still is. This is the one moment he isn’t watching every shadow."

Adrien dragged a hand through his carefully styled hair, ruining the perfect sweep in one impatient motion. Dark strands fell messily across his brow, making him look younger, more human, more mine in that second.

"Noah. This isn’t a movie or one of your books. There’s no dramatic slow-motion escape if we get caught. No funny music montage. There are real*consequences. Dad’s hotel. Dad’s security team. Dad’s rules."

I held his gaze, letting him see everything churning behind my eyes: the quiet, bone-deep desperation, the stubborn iron resolve, the sick certainty that walking away now would carve a regret into me I’d carry forever.

"And if we don’t do this," I said, softer now, almost pleading, "we walk away again. We let him keep winning. We let whatever happened to your mom stay buried forever. I don’t think I can live with that—not when we’re finally this close." I swallowed hard.

"I thought you said you’d do anything to find out what really happened to her."

That hit him. I watched it land.

His throat worked. "Anything except let you get hurt in the process."

My chest bloomed with sudden, stupid warmth despite the adrenaline spiking through my veins. I couldn’t help the small, crooked smile that tugged at my mouth. "I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about that... okay? We’ll be careful."

Adrien studied my face another long moment—eyes tracing the stubborn set of my jaw, the determined spark I knew was burning in my own hazel eyes, the way my fingers still hadn’t let go of his sleeve like it was the only thing tethering me to sanity. The tension in his jaw finally eased, just a fraction. He let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-resigned surrender.

"You’re insane," he muttered.

My lips twitched. "You’ve mentioned that. Multiple times."

He shook his head, a reluctant grin cracking through the worry lines around his eyes. "You’re also a reckless, suicidal little hamster."

I huffed a quiet laugh, the sound almost lost under the swelling strings from the dance floor. "Excuse you?"

"All nervous energy and terrible ideas," he went on, leaning in until our foreheads nearly brushed, his voice dropping to something low and intimate that made my pulse stutter. "You just charge straight into danger and pray it works out."

"Come on..." I lifted my chin, defiant even though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "We’re just going to search a drunk man’s bedroom. What could possibly go wrong?"

Adrien sighed—long, fond, exasperated. He glanced around once more, scanning for eyes on us, then jerked his head toward the discreet bank of elevators half-hidden behind a column wrapped in cascading fairy lights. "Fine. But we’re in and out. The second anything feels off, we bail. No arguments. No heroics."

Relief and adrenaline crashed through me like ice water and fire at once. "Okay. Okay."

We slipped through the gala like we belonged there, Adrien’s warm palm settling low on the small of my back, guiding me past clusters of sequined gowns and black tuxedos, past waiters balancing champagne flutes that caught the chandelier light like falling stars. His touch was steady, casual to anyone watching, but I could feel the faint tremor in his fingers that matched the one running under my own skin.

The elevators were behind a velvet rope marked "VIP Access Only." Adrien flashed the room key card he’d quietly lifted from his father’s things during dinner...his movements so smooth and practiced it made my stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with fear. The attendant barely glanced at it before nodding and stepping aside.

The ride up was silent except for the soft mechanical ding of each passing floor. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was sure Adrien could hear it. He kept his hand on my lower back, thumb moving in slow, soothing circles that did almost nothing to calm the storm inside me...but God, I was grateful for the contact anyway.

When the doors slid open on the executive floor, a long hallway stretched ahead of us: thick cream carpet that swallowed our footsteps, wall sconces spilling soft amber pools of light, every door identical, polished, and somehow menacing in the hush.

The silence felt alive, pressing. Every small sound was suddenly too loud, my dress shoes whispering against the carpet, the faint rustle of Adrien’s jacket sleeve, the distant hum of the building’s air system. It was like the entire hotel was holding its breath right along with us.

Adrien double-checked the room number we’d overheard Logan give the concierge earlier, then slid the master key card into the slot. The lock blinked green with a soft click that sounded deafening in the quiet.

We stepped inside.

The suite was pristine to the point of being unsettling. Immaculate. Cold. No personal items scattered on the dresser, no half-read paperback splayed open on the nightstand, no crumpled receipts or coffee sleeves in the bin.

The bed was made with military corners, bathroom towels folded into perfect squares, the desk empty except for one hotel notepad and a single pen aligned exactly parallel to the edge. It looked staged, like no one had ever actually slept here.

I frowned, stepping farther in, scanning every surface. "It doesn’t even look like someone’s staying here." 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Adrien went straight to the desk, opening drawers with quick, practiced movements. "That’s because people like him don’t leave fingerprints on their lives."

We searched in tense silence at first. Luggage...mostly empty except for a few crisp spare shirts and a leather toiletry kit that smelled faintly of expensive aftershave. Nightstand, just a Gideon Bible and a room-service menu. Bathroom cabinets...mini-bar bottles, extra soap, nothing else. With every empty drawer my chest grew heavier, frustration creeping in like cold water seeping through my shirt.

"There’s nothing," I finally whispered, shutting the last drawer with more force than I meant to. The sound cracked in the too-quiet room. "No files. No notes. Nothing about your mom."

Adrien leaned back against the desk, jaw tight. "Which means he planned for this. He never keeps anything important where it can be taken."

The realization settled between us, heavy and final.

"So we risked all this for nothing?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

Before Adrien could answer, the door swung open.

We both froze.

My heart slammed into my throat so hard I tasted copper.

Ethan stood in the doorway, brows knitting together as his gaze flicked from Adrien to me, then to the open drawers, the slightly rumpled bedspread we hadn’t quite smoothed back, the toiletry kit sitting crooked on the luggage rack.

"What," he said slowly, confusion sharpening into something darker, more dangerous, "the hell are you two doing in my uncle’s room?"

Shock punched through me like a fist, white-hot, electric. My mouth went dry. Every rehearsed excuse I’d half-formed in my head evaporated. All I could do was stare at him, pulse roaring in my ears, while the room seemed to shrink around us.