My Stepbrother Wants Me-Chapter 190: Bad Timing

Catherine’s POV

I stood between him and Julian, my heart hammer-knocking against my ribs. Julian’s words—"I’m the one who will open the door for you"—rang in my head. He wasn’t just stepping aside; he was fueling Ethan’s rage.

"We are not doing this right now," I said, my voice low but sharp. I grabbed Ethan’s arm, ignoring the way his muscles were bunched tight like iron cables. "Ethan, look at me. The doctor said zero conflict. If you go there and start a war, and it gets back to her while she’s lying in that bed, you could kill the baby yourself. Is that what you want?"

Ethan’s chest was heaving, his breath coming in jagged hitches. He looked over my head at Julian, then down at me. The mention of the baby seemed to pull him back from the edge just an inch.

"She needs to go home," I said, sensing the slight shift in his energy. "Tessa can’t stay here. We discharge her now, we take her to your place, and then—and only then—do we deal with Lucy."

Julian checked his watch, his expression unreadable. "I’ll handle the paperwork. I’ll make sure the record is flagged as a private consultation so it stays off the main grid."

He walked toward the administrative desk without waiting for a reply. Ethan didn’t move for a long time. He just stood there.

"If she loses that baby, Catherine," Ethan whispered, and the sheer coldness in his voice made me shiver, "I swear it, no security in the world would keep me away from Lucy."

It took another hour to get everything sorted. We moved Tessa to the car in a wheelchair, and wrapped her with Julian’s jacket. She looked fragile, her hand squeezed into Ethan’s as he lifted her into the backseat.

The drive to Ethan’s apartment was the quietest I’ve ever experienced. No one spoke. Even Julian’s driving had changed; he was more careful, avoiding every bump and pothole.

Once we reached the apartment, Ethan carried her up the stairs. I spent twenty minutes getting her settled, tucked into bed with a glass of water.

"Stay with her for a minute," I told Ethan as I stepped back into the small living room.

Julian was standing by the window, staring out at the street. I walked up to him, my voice a mere breath. "Are you really going to let him into the house?"

"I’m going to do more than let him in," he replied, not looking at me. "I’m going to watch."

"You are not serious. Are you aware that this could create so many—"

Ethan appeared before I could finish talking. "She’s asleep. Let’s go."

"Ethan, remember what I said," I tried again to warn him, even though we were already heading back to the car. "We have to be smart about this. If you explode, Lucy plays the victim, Richard protects her, and we lose."

"I told you I do not care," Ethan muttered.

It was time to shut my mouth. They weren’t listening to me and it didn’t seem like they would.

We pulled through the gates of the mansion and climbed the front steps, Julian led the way. He pushed the doors open with a bang.

We marched toward the main lounge. My palms were sweating, and my throat felt tight. I could feel Ethan right behind me, raging with anger.

We rounded the corner into the lounge, and there she was. Lucy was perched on the edge of the sofa, a fashion magazine in her lap and a glass of water on the table. She looked perfectly calm, exactly like a female devil, not worried about orchestrating an assault on a girl over a little fight.

Just as Ethan was about to attack her, Richard appeared.

He had a glass of scotch in his hand, and he looked at the three of us with an expression of mild curiosity that quickly sharpened as he took in our appearance.

"Ethan?" Richard called, his voice smooth and commanding. "What a surprise. It’s been quite some time since I saw you at our place. Have you been that busy?"

Ethan stopped dead. The sudden appearance of Richard was like hitting a brick wall. I could see him struggling, his jaw working as he tried to swallow the bile and the accusations. He looked like he was about to vomit the truth all over the Persian rug; the attack, the pregnancy, everything.

"Are you quite alright?" Richard asked, stepping forward, his eyes narrowed as he studied Ethan’s bloodshot eyes and the heat pouring down his forehead. "You look as though you’ve had a significant physical altercation."

Ethan opened his mouth. His fists were clenched so hard they were shaking. "Richard, your daughter-in-law—"

"He’s just had a very rough evening!" I interrupted, stepping forward and grabbing Ethan’s arm, digging my nails in to get his attention. "Please, excuse his looks. Ethan is... he’s in shock."

Richard arched an eyebrow, looking from me to Julian, who was standing back with a dark, expectant look on his face. "In shock? Hmm... over what, exactly?"

My mind raced, searching for a lie that would explain the rage and the state of him without touching the truth. "He just lost his pet. His golden retriever. The one he’s had since he was a child... it was hit by a car. He was a wreck and didn’t want to be alone, so he came to find Julian."

Beside me, I felt Ethan’s arm jerk. He looked at me like I was insane. But Richard’s expression softened into what resembled pity.

"A dog," Richard said, taking a sip of his scotch. "I see. A tragedy, I suppose. Loss of a loyal companion is never easy for a young man. My condolences."

"It wasn’t just a dog," Ethan hissed, his voice vibrating with a fury that Richard mistook for grief.

"Of course not," Richard said dismissively. "But perhaps a drink will help settle your nerves. Julian, see to it."

At that moment, Lucy stood up. She smoothed her skirt, a fake, sugary smile spreading across her face. She walked toward us, her eyes dancing with a malicious delight as she realized she was safe. She knew we couldn’t say a word in front of Richard.

"Oh, Ethan," Lucy cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "How absolutely tragic. I have never really had pets, so I do not know how sensitive you are about your... dog but please do accept my condolences. It’s lovely to see you after a long time, even if you do look like you’ve been crawling through the mud."

She stopped right in front of him and looked him dead in the eye, her smile widening. She was yet to realize that he was here to gauge her eyes out and twist that neck of hers.

"Hello, Lucy," Ethan said. The name sounded like it was being dragged over shards of glass.

"Well," Richard said, turning back toward his study. "Do have a drink, Ethan. Son, take care of him. I have work to attend to."