All Chapters of Stealing My Sister's Fiancee: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

A few hours and one lightning-fast shower later, I was standing in Aaric’s kitchen. My hair was tied up high, I wore his oversized T-shirt that almost reached my knees, and my bare feet were on the cold marble floor.The skillet on the stove was sizzling—scrambled eggs, chopped mushrooms, leftover cream from the fridge. Aaric sat on a kitchen stool like a VIP spectator—shirtless, still half-asleep, his hair barely touched by a comb, and with a dumbfounded look that said: I can’t believe this is real.“Stop looking at me like a cat that just got tuna,” I muttered without turning around.“I’m just trying to make sure you’re actually real,” he said, his voice still raspy from sleep. “Or maybe I just woke up from a hot dream and you’re the best part of it.”I hissed. “Save the poetry. I need salt. Where do you hide the salt, Aaric?”“Second drawer. But pretty sure you don’t need salt. You’re salty enough as it is.”I turned and threw the spatula at him. He laughed—low and lazy—but got up

I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror in Aaric’s flat, toothpaste still foaming in my mouth, when my phone lit up like a digital fireworks show. Again. Group chat from campus, Instagram DMs, emails—even a message from my professor.All about the same thing.The photo.I hadn’t clicked the link yet, but I already knew. It was from that skincare photoshoot Margo recommended—one I thought would end up in some local catalog or maybe an Instagram campaign.But now?My face was on their homepage. On a digital billboard in SoHo. On one of the banners of a fashion website.With the title: The New Face of Radiant Rebellion.Ridiculous. Dramatic. But—I had to admit—it kind of fit.Margo really knew how to sell “me.”I walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying my face, only to be greeted by that look from Aaric—the kind a puppy gives when it sees its owner get walked by someone else.He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt rumpled, hair a mess like he’d just wrestled with a pillow.

We had dinner at a small restaurant tucked against the stone walls of Vicenza’s old town. Our table was on a second-floor balcony, overlooking a narrow canal that flowed quietly below, reflecting the golden glow of the streetlamps. The spring breeze kissed my skin, carrying the scent of pasta and wine from the open kitchen I could glimpse through the vines crawling along the balcony rail.Aaric sat across from me, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the tendons in his forearms flexing every time he lifted his fork. His face was calm, lips curled ever so slightly—like the world belonged to him, and this night was made just for the two of us.“If I didn’t have graduation plans, I’d ask you to stay here,” he said, slowly swirling his wine. “I think life would feel a lot easier without deadlines and ambition trying to kill us.”I smiled. “You? Bernardi? A life without ambition?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’d be bored to death in a week.”He chuckled softly. “Maybe you’re right.” His eyes n

Night fell slowly, like a velvet curtain being drawn across the Italian sky, wrapping everything in a soft blackness scattered with trembling stars. On the balcony of his family’s old villa, I sat cross-legged on a rattan chair, wearing Aaric’s oversized gray sweater. The sleeves bunched up at my wrists, and the fabric still held the faint warmth of his scent—sandalwood, bitter coffee, and a hint of tobacco from the cigarettes he tried to hide from me but I’d known about for a long time.In front of me, the olive fields stretched as far as the eye could see, bathed faintly in the light of a nearly full moon. The night breeze carried the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. Everything felt so peaceful, so still—it almost didn’t feel real.Aaric stood behind me, leaning quietly against the doorway. I could feel his gaze on my back, but he didn’t speak. It had been hours since we came back from the old building. Since that embrace. And somehow, not a single word had pas

His words are still spinning in my head, even though it’s been two hours.We're having lunch at the main house. My parents want to meet you.Just two sentences. But the impact hit like a tiny bomb going off in my chest.I’m sitting at the antique vanity in the guest room, staring at my reflection with wide, panicked eyes. There’s a round brush in my hand, but I haven’t moved in ten minutes. My hair is still half-damp, frizzy and wild, and I haven’t even touched my makeup. On the bed behind me, four dresses lay like fallen soldiers—each one tried on, rejected, and discarded.“Why does this feel like I’m about to be executed?” I mutter to myself.That morning, Aaric had walked into my room without knocking—like he always did—but this time he was wearing a neat black t-shirt tucked into light gray linen pants. His leather shoes were polished, and his hair was slicked back like he’d actually tried. His face radiated a calm that made me want to throw something at him.“I talked to Mom and