My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 30

Gianna

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I stood in front of the full-length mirror, my hands shaking so much I had to tuck them under my arms. I was dressed in a white button-down shirt and black slacks.

I spent ten minutes pulling my hair back, brushing it until every stray strand was flattened into a sleek, tight bun at the nape of my neck. I wanted to look sharp. I wanted to look like the kind of girl who never made a mistake, someone who saw the world in perfect, straight lines.

But my world wasn't straight lines. It was a jumble.

I looked down at the thick leather folder on my bed. Inside were my documents, my official transcripts and my resume. Every time I looked at the letters on the page, they started to dance. "Data" looked like "Date." "Linear" looked like "Learner."

I thought about my mom. I thought about the way she bragged at breakfast, her eyes shining with pride. Top of her class. A genius. A 4.0 student. Every word she had said felt like a heavy stone being added to my pockets. I had lied to her for years. I wasn't a genius. I was just someone who worked ten times harder than everyone else because my brain didn't work the right way. I spent my nights staring at screens until my eyes bled, using every trick and software and hack I could find to hide my dyslexia and dysgraphia.

I wasn't brilliant, I was just a really good actress.

And now, I was going to perform for the scariest audience in the world.

Raphael.

The thought made my stomach do a violent, sick flip. I grabbed the folder, my fingers digging into the leather. I could almost hear his voice already, mocking me, calling me out in front of everyone.

I took a deep breath, trying to push the sick feeling down. I checked my reflection one last time.

"Fake it until you make it," I whispered to the empty room.

But the more I stared, the worse it got. I couldn't tell if they had spelled it right. To anyone else, it was just a list. To me, it was a moving puzzle I couldn't solve.

"Can I help you, miss?"

I jumped, turning to see a receptionist behind a long desk. She looked perfect, not a hair out of place.

"I... I'm here for the eight o'clock," I said, my voice sounding tight.

She checked her computer, "Ms. Toricelli? Mr. Capone is waiting for you in the main room. Through those doors and to the left."

I nodded and walked toward the heavy glass doors. My heels clicked loudly on the floor. I pushed the doors open and stepped into a room that was almost entirely windows.