My Stepbrother's Forbidden Surveillance

I wore a loose, pretty dress.

All because of Ethan.

Ethan Lowell wasn’t my real brother.

We were a blended family. His family was far worse off than mine. After his father married my mother, he moved into our house with Ethan in tow.

During dinner, I deliberately dropped my fork under the table.

Before I could bend down to pick it up, my mother glared at Ethan and snapped at him with disgust. "Are you a statue? You saw her fork fall, yet you didn’t even bother to pick it up!"

A stepmother meant a stepfather.

And his father had already married above his station.

His father’s face darkened instantly.

Before the man could scold him, Ethan obediently ducked under the table.

I had dropped that fork with precision.

Right between my deliberately spread legs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Ethan crawl under the table like a dog. He kept his head down, avoiding my skirt, and reached for the fork.

I wasn’t about to let him grab it that easily.

With a slight nudge of my foot, I sent the fork skidding farther away.

He froze, then had to crawl deeper under the table to reach for it again.

Still, I denied him. One leg remained spread wide, while the other pinned the fork firmly beneath my foot.

He had no choice but to look up, his eyes pleading for mercy.

But from that angle…

His gaze locked onto me.

Shock. Hunger. A rush of hormones.

My mother grew impatient when he still hadn’t retrieved the fork. "Did you die under there? How hard is it to pick up a damn fork?"

That snapped him out of his daze.

I lifted my foot.

Terrified, he snatched the fork and scrambled out from under the table without another second’s delay.

Then he hurried to the kitchen, fetched a clean fork, and handed it to me properly.

But his face was flushed. His head hung low. His eyes darted away, too afraid to meet mine.

My mother and his father assumed he was just embarrassed from being scolded. They had no idea what had really happened beneath that table.

After dinner, my mother and his father settled on the couch to watch TV, while Ethan, as usual, cleaned up the kitchen.

I had no interest in watching them cuddle and whisper sweet nothings like some nauseating lovebirds.

With a scowl, I retreated to my room.

I took a shower.

Then I lay in bed, idly scrolling through my phone while listening for movement outside.

Soon enough, my mother and his father turned off the TV and rushed to their bedroom.

A little later, Ethan finally returned to his room.

I quickly opened an app on my phone.

Days ago, while he was out, I’d secretly installed a nanny cam in his room.