My Forbidden Stepbrother

Florian's POV

“No matter what happens tonight, don’t be so quick to start a conflict with anyone, all right?” Claire was warning me for the third time already.

Ancient trees lined both sides of Whitmore Manor. I pulled my gaze back from the window and curled my lips into a smile. “Mother. What exactly do you think I’m going to do? Throw red wine in someone’s face, or curse them out in front of everyone?”

Claire shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you keep implying it.”

Claire tightened her grip on her handbag and, unlike usual, didn’t smile and argue back. “I just hope tonight goes a little more smoothly.”

Claire and Richard had been seeing each other for quite a while. Over the past few months, Mother had said they were getting along well, but I had never met Richard.

I had always thought tonight was nothing more than a somewhat formal family dinner.

It wasn’t until the car passed through the second iron gate that I realized I had been wrong.

Through the tall windows of the manor’s main house, I saw people moving slowly beneath chandeliers. Staff in uniform opened the car door for us.

I lowered my voice. “Mother, are you sure we’re just here for dinner?”

Claire reached out and straightened my collar. “Of course. Florian, relax.”

“Everyone here tonight is a friend of Richard’s. You don’t need to make any special effort.”

I followed Mother into the hall, stepping onto a Persian carpet and looking up at the dazzling crystal chandelier on the ceiling.

Richard was not in the hall for the moment. Mother was stopped by a woman, and the two exchanged a few pleasantries. I didn’t want to stand there listening to them talk about jewelry and charity galas, so I used finding the restroom as an excuse to leave.

I passed a closed study and a row of framed paintings, then finally stopped in front of an enormous seascape.

It drew me more than the refined decorations in the hall did.

I leaned closer, trying to make out the small brass plaque beneath the canvas.

“Does my father know you’re so eager to squeeze your way in here?”

A low voice came from behind me. I turned around.

The man standing in the corridor looked about my age, maybe a little older. He had a pair of pale gray eyes, strikingly clear, and short gray-brown hair that curled slightly over his forehead.

“You’re the young painter my father invited?” He stood by the staircase, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand.

“What?” I frowned and stared at him in confusion.

His gray eyes were almost transparent in the dim light. “Or were you sent by some gallery? Hoping to use tonight as a chance to get acquainted with my father?”

I finally understood.

In his eyes, I didn’t even count as an ordinary guest, just someone who had appeared from nowhere and was trying to attach himself to the Cole family.

“Are you always like this?” I glared at him. “You see someone you don’t recognize, and you invent his background and motives before anything else?”

He let out a cold laugh. “Then what are you wandering around here for?”

I shot back, “Are these paintings only for you to look at?”

He walked straight up to me and said each word like a warning, “I don’t know what my father promised you, and I don’t care what method you plan to use to make him like you.”

“But if you’re trying to use this chance to meet some useful people, at least figure out where you ought to stand first.”

I gave a cold snort and paused on purpose. “Some people should also figure out where they ought to stand.”

“Instead of rushing to put on the master of the house act before they’ve even figured out who the guest is.”

His gaze turned completely cold. I thought he would call the guards to deal with me on the spot. But he only stepped forward, leaned close to my ear, and lowered his voice. “While I’m still willing to speak nicely, get the hell out on your own.”

I froze for a second, then laughed out loud.

His whole face was drawn tight in a frightening way. He demanded, “What are you laughing at?”

“I’m thinking, do you have to look in the mirror every morning first, just to confirm that you’re the most important person in the world?”

He stared straight at me, as if judging whether I was provoking him on purpose. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not interested in introducing myself to you.” I rolled my eyes at him.

As I brushed past him, he spoke coldly. “Then you’d better remember this—this is not a place where you can do whatever you want.”

I strode quickly out of the corridor. No footsteps followed behind me, but I could feel his gaze nailed to my back the whole time.

Dinner had not even begun, and the manor had already produced the person who least welcomed me. And I didn’t even know his name.

I didn’t care how this rich boy chose to guess at me.

But I still had an unpleasant feeling—as if that brief little episode just now was going to make the rest of the dinner unbelievably awful.

By dinner, that feeling only grew stronger.

I sat beside Claire and tried my best not to look at the bastard sitting across from me.

It was only when Richard raised his glass to a guest that I learned that person’s name.

“Torin, pass me the wine.”

Torin Cole.

Richard’s son.

Torin handed the wine to his father, looking perfectly natural, as if the person who had argued with me in the corridor just now had never been him.

Torin did not even glance at me.

I suddenly felt irritated.

He really was good at switching faces in front of different people.

“You two... have you met before?” Richard noticed that something between us was off.

“We happened to chat for a bit just now.” Torin passed the wine over.

I nearly choked on my juice. Tightening my grip on the glass, I added with a smile, “We had a very pleasant chat.”

Torin finally lifted his eyes to me, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. “Yes. Especially because it made me realize that some people are very good at wrapping curiosity up as interest.”

Someone at the table laughed softly.

I set down my fork. The anger that had not faded flared up again. “At least I admit I’m interested in paintings. As for some people, they always think anyone who gets close to something in their house must have ulterior motives.”

Torin wiped his fingers with his napkin, his calm tone even more infuriating. “That harbor painting is not a decoration. It belongs to my mother.”

Torin had not said anything obviously rude. But I could hear it. He wanted to embarrass me.

The conversations around us gradually quieted down. Under the table, Claire’s hand lightly touched my knee, reminding me to rein myself in. I bit down on my back teeth and forced myself to swallow the next sarcastic remark.

Halfway through dinner, I used feeling unwell as an excuse, grabbed my coat, and stood up to leave.

Claire caught my sleeve, a trace of pleading in her eyes. “Stay a little longer, all right?”

Just then, Richard rose from the head of the table. “Everyone, forgive the interruption.”

Richard reached out and took Mother’s hand. “Thank you all for coming tonight. I know you’ve all been wondering why I hosted this dinner, but it’s actually very simple—Ms. Claire and I have decided to get married.”

Mother smiled and nodded, her eyes a little damp as well. Richard lowered his head and kissed the back of her hand.

For a moment, applause and congratulations broke out around the table.

I went rigid in my seat. Married?

I knew they were together, and I knew Richard treated Mother well. But I had never heard that a wedding date had already been decided.

Richard glanced at me. “After the wedding, Claire and Florian will move in. From then on, this will be Florian’s home too.”