My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 468

Chapter 468

Dr. Walker stayed silent, that only made me keep talking.

“Whether she’s eaten. Whether she’s upset. Whether somebody said something that hurt her. Whether she’s safe.” I shook my head, annoyed with myself. “I find myself checking the security feeds. Not because I need to. Because I want to know what she’s doing. If she’s studying. If she’s dancing. If she’s smiling.”

I stopped. My pulse hammered. The realization hit me half a second before I could stop it. Because every single example had been about her.

Only her.

Dr. Walker folded his hands, “How long?”

“What?”

“How long has that been happening?”

“A few months,” I muttered.

Dr. Walker folded his hands together, “What changed?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, “There was a moment.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, “What moment?”

I let out a slow breath. The memory arrived instantly like it had been sitting there waiting for me.

“We were studying,” I said. “Well… I was helping her study. She’s dyslexic. Sometimes she gets frustrated with certain things, so I was explaining something to her.”

I frowned, the details were blurry.

“We were just talking. Nothing important. I honestly can’t even remember what the conversation was about.”

That bothered me. I remembered encrypted banking routes from five years ago. I remembered passwords, account numbers, coordinates. Yet somehow I couldn’t remember the actual conversation.

Only her.

“I remember looking at her,” I said quietly. “Her eyes. That stupid shade of green. We’d already crossed lines by that point. We were deep into our benefits arrangement. It wasn’t like physical closeness was some new experience. That’s not what threw me.”

I stared at the floor.

“It was something small. So small it shouldn’t have mattered,”

I remembered her leaning closer, the warmth of her, the smell of her shampoo, the way she’d looked at me.

Then the kiss.

“I should know. I know everything.”

Dr. Walker didn’t answer right away. I was standing in the middle of his living room at nearly three in the morning, exhausted, furious, and one bad sentence away from putting my fist through his wall.

“Say something.”

The therapist leaned back slightly in his chair.

I dragged both hands through my hair, “Give me an answer.”

Dr. Walker studied me for several seconds, “You want certainty.”

“I want facts.”

“You want a diagnosis.”

“I want to know what the hell is wrong with me.”

I immediately hated how desperate they sounded. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t trust my own brain. That realization alone was enough to make me sick.

“I don’t even care about the feeling anymore. I care about understanding it. She’s the first real friend I’ve ever had. I like being around her. I look forward to talking to her. I know when she’s having a bad day before she says anything. I know what foods she likes. I know she pretends she’s fine when she isn’t. None of that information helps me. It’s useless.”