The Stepbrother

IMOGEN'S POV

I stepped outside the hotel a complete mess. I wasn't even sure how I made it to the first floor and pushed the doors leading to the outside world open.

My legs faltered as the reporters stalking outside slowly noticed me thanks to the bright red dress that I was put in. They immediately started to whisper amongst themselves.

"Is that not... That is her. She is the bride," one of them said.

The rest of them must have heard it too because immediately those words were spoken, I was flooded with camera lights and shutters as the reporters shoved microphones and recorders in my face, asking what I had to say about the horrible deed my husband had done to me.

"What do you have to say to the people who will watch this? To the women who are going through the hell you had to endure?"

My heart raced and a wave of panic washed over me because I struggled to find my voice. My head had been so clear when I left my room. I would tell a convenient lie and ensure that I detached myself from the situation. I was talking to strangers after all. It couldn't be that hard. The words stuck in my throat, and I felt a lump forming while I tried to process the barrage of questions that were thrown at me.

How did it come to this? Just hours ago, I was standing at the altar, exchanging vows with the man I thought I knew, the man I thought loved me.

But now, everything had changed. The man I married had been exposed as a fraud, a liar, and a cheat. Not just in front of me. But for the whole world as well. And here I was, thrust into the spotlight, forced to confront the painful truth in front of a sea of strangers hungry for scandal and sensation all while I fed them a lie.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I searched for the right words to say. But before I could speak, a surge of anger rose within me. Anger at my husband for betraying me, anger at my mother-in-law for enabling him, anger at the reporters for invading my privacy, and anger at myself for choosing to do this instead of what my heart truly wanted.

"I have nothing to say," I finally manage to say, my voice trembling with emotion. "While my marriage is a private matter, I will tell you there is nothing for me to say because whatever is in the article or newspaper that a lot of you read is a lie spun by nefarious individuals to either damage my husband or my marriage."

There were whispers after I said my piece.

"She has a point. Wasn't the Portland informant the first newspaper to publish the piece? It belongs to the Rossi bastard. Does it not?"

Others agreed too. I had heard it all. Was Elijah's half-brother responsible for publishing the piece? I had never met the man. It was clear that he wasn't close to the Rossi family because I had never once seen him in the family house and he had chosen to ignore the invitation that the family sent out too.

Somehow that made me even angrier. Was this public scrutiny a result of some familial grudge?

"Is that so?" One of the men in front of me chuckled. He looked like a reporter. His slick and gelled hair hinted at him being a corporate worker. But unlike the lot of them, he wasn't holding a microphone or a recorder in my face. He was just there, hands in his pants as he talked. "If what the papers said are lies spun to shatter your marriage or your husband. Tell us why you are here in a hotel instead of your home with your husband?"

Suddenly, the reporters agreed. They pushed harder, asking more invasive questions, and probing for details that I was not ready to share. I feel exposed, and vulnerable, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"I–" I finally summoned the courage to talk to the curious man, I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turn to see Elijah Rossi in the fucking flesh standing beside me, his expression and stance that of a doting husband.

"Are you alright, love?" He asked, guiding my face towards him.

It felt like I was dreaming. It felt strange the way he was looking at me with love in his eyes when he had looked utterly repulsed the night before.

This couldn't be real. But his touch was and the constant flashing of cameras reminded me that this couldn't be a dream.

"Elijah?" I hated how calm I sounded. It made it feel like I was pleasantly surprised.

"Don't worry. I'm here now." He promised and I felt my skin erupt in goosebumps. But I didn't test his hands off me or physically cringe because of the reporters in front of us who were hungry for a scoop. Any body language that made it seem like I remotely felt repulsed by his touch or his words would be documented and more scandals would follow.

I was learning fast like the dutiful wife that I was.

Elijah then turned to the reporters and spoke. "My marriage is not an open book." He began. "My marriage is my business and mine alone. But after being targeted by heinous newspapers and tabloids who published pieces with nothing but lies just to sell some paper and do damage to the Rossi name, I am forced to be here, talking to strangers about the intricacies of my marriage which is only a day old with my wife. If the public must know, I spent the night with my beautiful wife. We spent a night at this hotel because she told me she was scared of a big and sudden change like moving into a new home. The women watching this would understand. My wife wasn't born affluent. So change is a big thing for her. The photos you see are merely manipulated to seek a story too. I dropped my wife off in front of the hotel and parked at the designated parking lot. If the stalker watching me and my wife had taken a moment, they would know that."

Elijah paused, gauging the effect his word had on the listening reporters. They were all buying it. All except the man with the gelled hair.

"I left for work early this morning because I have to provide for my new family. Only to wake up and find my wife is on the news and making headlines in my brother's newspaper."

I noticed Elijah's eyes were fixed on the man who asked me the question before.

"We are family Isaac. If you have a problem with me, take it out on me. Not my wife."

There was no time to physically cringe at how weirdly talented my husband was at spinning the truth to fit his narrative. Because I was starting to realize that the man with the gelled hair and three-piece suit, the man who stood out among the reporters, not just for his probing questions but also for his striking attractiveness comprised of his chiselled face and piercing gaze was Isaac Rossi, Elijah's stepbrother.

I also couldn't help but notice the intensity in the man's eyes, as if he were analyzing every word, every gesture.

"Isaac, I hope your newspaper will issue an apology for spreading misinformation. Regardless of our family ties, it's the least your organization can do to rectify the harm caused to my wife. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to pursue legal action."

I watched his jaw tense. He wasn't pleased with the casual threat gang Elijah had thrown. Elijah's stepbrother gave me a look that I couldn't quite decipher.

But I knew what I felt in that moment when his eyes bored into mine. Rage that rivalled my own. Hate far more insidious than the one I cradled currently in my heart.