Chris/ fratellastro odioso

Chris Morgan – 19 years old I’m an 18-year-old girl, and I’ve never accepted any part of this situation. I never accepted my mother’s new boyfriend. I never accepted the idea of leaving my old life to move into his enormous house. And most of all, I never accepted finding out at the last minute that he had a son only a year older than me. That son is Chris. Nineteen years old, with ashy blonde hair that’s slightly long and messy, and ice-blue eyes that seem to be constantly judging you. He’s the kind of guy who enters a room and draws attention without even trying. Handsome, self-assured, and tremendously arrogant. From the very first day, it was clear he didn’t want me there. To him, I was the daughter of the woman who had upended his life—the stranger who moved into his home. To me, he was nothing more than a spoiled, conceited, and insufferable kid who acted as if everything belonged to him. We hate each other. Or at least, that’s what we let everyone believe. Every conversation turns into an argument. Every look is a provocation. Every opportunity is good for bickering and getting on each other’s nerves. When we’re in the same room, the atmosphere becomes heavy—it’s as if we’re constantly at war. And yet, there’s something I can’t ignore. Because sometimes his eyes linger on me a second too long. Because behind all that anger, there seems to be something neither of us wants to name. Because certain silences are more intense than our fights. Perhaps we really hate each other. Or maybe hatred is just the easiest way we’ve found to hide what’s growing between us. Whatever it is, it’s bound to cause a lot more problems than we already have.

Updated September 6, 2026