Puck Me Harder: A Stepbrother Romance [BL]

Micah’s POV

I flinched under the crushing weight of their icy glares. The air in the room instantly turned thick and toxic with silent resentment. My heart hammered against my ribs as I lowered my eyes, my shoes clicking awkwardly against the polished floor as I tried to hurry past them as fast as my legs could carry me.

Why did they hate me so much? Was it because I was new? Was it because I didn’t fit into their world? Or was it because I was immediately given access to elite VIP clients like George Jenson without having to climb up from the bottom like they did?

Or maybe... maybe it was simply because I stood out. Unlike them, I wasn’t wearing caked-on foundation, dramatic fake eyelashes, or heavy lipstick. I didn’t even know the first thing about applying makeup.

Just ignore them, Micah, I screamed at myself internally, feeling a burning blush of embarrassment hot on my face as I realized how foolishly I had been staring at them. You’re only here for the money. You don’t need their approval.

I rushed down the long corridor, practically fleeing from the shared dressing room, and followed the exact same winding path I had walked yesterday. The familiar, massive double doors of the main VIP lounge loomed ahead at the end of the hallway.

I placed my trembling hands against the cool metal handles and shoved the heavy doors open.

The sheer intensity of the room hit me like a physical blow.

Dazzling, blinding laser lights cut through the dim room, while bass-heavy, thumping music vibrated so violently through the floorboards. The sensory overload was so overwhelming that every instinct in my body screamed at me to turn right back around and run for the exit.

Standing near the luxurious velvet couches in the center of the lounge were three other hosts.

My eyes instantly landed on Camille. He looked breathtakingly gorgeous, draped in heavy, dramatic makeup that made his sharp eyes pop under the flashing neon lights. He was wearing the exact same sleek, figure-hugging dress style that I had worn yesterday, but he had paired it with thigh-high leather boots to expertly conceal his masculine legs. His long hair had been straightened to perfection, cascading down his back like a waterfall of silk.

The two other hosts standing beside him were equally stunning, looking like high-fashion models pulled straight off a magazine cover.

I felt completely dwarfed, plain, and terribly out of place standing near them in my dress and fur shawl.

Shrinking into myself, I tiptoed over to the very far end of the lineup, putting as much distance between Camille and myself as humanly possible.

I swallowed hard, trying to be polite despite my overwhelming anxiety. "H-hi..." I murmured softly, my voice barely audible over the thumping bass as I brushed past them.

Silence.

Neither of the two hosts beside Camille even bothered to glance in my direction. They completely ignored my existence, keeping their posture rigid and their eyes fixed forward, refusing to acknowledge me as part of their group. The cold shoulder hurt more than I wanted to admit. I bit my lower lip, staring down at my shoes, feeling more isolated than ever.

Suddenly, Camille let out an annoyed huff.

SNAP!

Camille snapped his fingers sharply in the air, glaring at the two hosts positioned between us. "Switch," he commanded, his voice sharp and utterly uncompromising.

Without a single word of protest, the two hosts instantly moved, stepping sideways to position themselves on the far side of Camille. In a split second, the lineup was completely altered, leaving me standing directly next to Camille as the closest person to his right side.

I blinked in complete confusion, staring at him. "What are you doing?"

Camille tilted his chin up arrogantly, adjusting the fur trim on his outfit with a sneer. "Isn’t it obvious? I want Sir Jenson and his friends to be able to compare the two of us side by side the second they walk through that door. I want everyone in this room to see us together so they can realize without a shadow of a doubt that I am the superior choice."

My jaw practically dropped. Was he seriously this obsessed with competing against me?

I opened my mouth, wanting to tell him how completely ridiculous and petty he was being, but before I could get a single word out, the heavy double doors of the VIP lounge were suddenly thrown wide open with a loud, echoey bang.

A massive crowd of loud, well-dressed men flooded straight into the room.

My heart instantly slammed into my throat.

Fuck.

Just how many of them were there?! Six? Eight? Ten?!

They moved like a pack of wolves, radiating overwhelming wealth, power, and dangerous confidence. The quiet room was instantly shattered by the loud noise of their booming laughter and arrogant chatter as they poured toward the central seating area.

I immediately dropped my head, staring intently at the floorboards, my body freezing completely as my hands clutched the edges of my fur shawl in sheer terror. I could feel the heavy, oppressive atmosphere shifting rapidly as the men fanned out across the lounge.

Slowly, the sound of heavy, expensive dress shoes clicking against the floor grew louder, stopping directly in front of me.

A pair of polished black leather shoes came into my line of sight.

Even without lifting my head to look at his face, the suffocating, heavy scent of expensive cologne and vintage whiskey made my stomach turn into a tight knot. I knew exactly who it was.

George Jenson.

A dark, terrifying chill ran down my spine as he leaned in close to my ear.

"I’m glad you didn’t run away tonight, Roxie," Jenson muttered, his deep voice dripping with smooth amusement that made the tiny hairs on my neck stand up. "After all... tonight is going to be so much fun."

He let out a low chuckle and stepped past me, sweeping toward the main leather couch.

Right beside me, I could hear Camille grinding his teeth so hard it sounded like bone snapping. He was practically vibrating with pure, furious rage, his fingers digging violently into his own palms as he glared at Jenson’s back for ignoring him.

I didn’t care about Camille’s anger. I didn’t care about the petty rivalry.

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath as my heart hammered wildly against my ribs, silently wishing with every fiber of my soul that this nightmare of a night would just hurry up and end.