My Stepbrother Waited Three Years For Me

Like so many campus-crush stories, Alonso Hunter was the golden senior everyone worshipped. I'd read every paper he ever wrote, stealing glimpses of him from hidden corners of the library and study halls.

Back then, I was insecure, timid—the kind of girl who blended into the background. Even after I somehow landed a spot in his research group, I never could stand beside him the way Colette Gray did. She was the campus darling, moving in effortless sync with him, while I was reduced to the note-taker, the one stuck with all the grunt work.

Everything flipped the day my mom called, practically buzzing with excitement, announcing she'd found the love of her life and was getting remarried.

At that family dinner, I found myself staring across the table at Alonso, who sat there stone-faced.

Life really had a twisted sense of humor. I couldn't treat him as my brother—not just because of the pure disdain in his eyes, but because saying that word out loud would mean slamming the door on any hope of ever standing beside him as something more.

Though Alonso mostly treated me with cold indifference, over time, he let tiny slivers of warmth slip through.

On nights when I was buried in crunching numbers, he'd leave a cup of coffee on my desk without a word. When I made actual breakthroughs in my research, he'd offer the faintest hint of a smile. Just one glance from him was enough to send a young girl's heart racing, keeping me awake and buzzing all night.

I once told myself maybe this arrangement wasn't so awful. At least I got to live under the same roof as him. At least we gazed up at the same star-filled sky.

But then came the call from the police, informing me about the accident that stole my mom and her husband.

Standing over their bodies, covered by two stark white sheets, officers murmured their condolences. Overnight, Alonso and I became each other's only family.

Once the most promising chief engineer, Alonso was forced to leave behind the simulation labs and squeeze into a ill-fitted suit as the company's reluctant CEO.

One night, after we'd both had way too much to drink, I found myself clinging to him, laughing through tears, making wild promises. "Alonso, I'll work my ass off to become a top-tier engineer. I'll make sure LaunchTech cars drive down every single highway in this country."

His eyes lit up then, and he smiled that rare smile, agreeing softly.

Things unfolded naturally after that. The only real catch was waking up before him—always hyperaware of his mild obsession with cleanliness, and the unspoken rule that no one stayed in his bed. I'd carefully slip back to my own room, still feeling the soreness in my body.

The next day, he was already dressed, his expression carefully neutral.

He said, "I have zero intentions of dating or marrying anyone. Yesterday was just… an accident."

My smile froze, but I pulled myself together, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Don't sweat it. We're both adults. Just scratching an itch, right?"

He paused, caught off guard, then nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Right, that makes sense. We do get along pretty well, actually. If you're okay with it, maybe we could be… what's that term… friends with benefits?"

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I slapped on the brightest smile I could muster. "Sure."

At twenty-two, I had nothing but a heart that was far too sincere. I was so desperately in love with him that I clung to that pathetic little title, practically worshipping the ground he walked on.

From that day forward, by day, he was the head of LaunchTech, battling a board of directors crawling with hidden agendas. I was a diligent programmer, grinding away on the algorithms team.

By night, we poured all our pent-up passion into each other, and when dawn broke, I'd silently tiptoe back to my own room.

This arrangement was fine, I kept lying to myself. It was companionship, wasn't it?

That is until that day three years ago.

Exhaustion had hit us both like a freight train.

When I woke up to bright morning light, I was still tangled in his sheets. Alonso's arm was draped heavily across my waist, pulling me tight as if lost in some sweet dream.

In his sleep, he murmured, "Don't move, Catalina."

Fueled by a reckless mix of hope and courage, I finally worked up the nerve to call him that afternoon.

I asked, voice trembling, if there was any chance we could be something real—if he felt even a flicker of something for me.

But instead of Alonso's voice, Colette's giggle chimed through the line, light and cruel. "What? Alonso's in a meeting. Is this… Cecelia?"

I hung up. My heart stopped dead.

The next day, at the performance evaluation meeting, it came down to Colette versus me. The winner would become the chief engineer at LaunchTech.

I'd bled and sweated for three long years for this moment.

Yet, in the break room, I heard Colette sweetly thanking Alonso for his support, for locking in the deciding vote.

By a single vote, I lost everything. I filed my resignation in record time. As the plane lifted into the clouds, I whispered to myself, "Goodbye."

My memories were cut short by my phone buzzing.

Ian Guzman's annoyingly cheerful voice filled my ear.

"You're not flying home just yet, Cecelia. We've got a collab project with LaunchTech—and it's all yours to handle."