All Chapters of Stealing My Sister's Fiancee: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The room was spacious. Dark wood panels lined the walls, streaked with shiny gold accents, and the floor was covered in thick cream-colored carpet—too soft for shoes to tread on. Sheer white linen curtains danced in the ocean breeze, revealing an endless blue beyond the private balcony.I should have been grateful to be here.But all my body wanted to do was collapse.Ever since we boarded the yacht this afternoon, I hadn’t had a single second to just sit still without someone approaching me—family, guests, or people Mom had invited solely because their last names carried weight.“Maya! I’m a huge fan of Helena!”“You still look as gorgeous as ever. Are you filming something new?”“Is it true you and Marcus are still friends? You two are just perfect together.”All of it with wide smiles. All of them with eyes waiting for a slip. A crack. A weakness.And me?I smiled. I nodded. I recited the answers I’d memorized. “Thank you. Yes, we’re still close. Filming starts again next month.”T

I didn’t know why I agreed. Maybe because I was too tired to say no, or maybe because Marcus said it so casually—like he was inviting me to watch the sunrise. Not like he was asking me to walk to the quieter part of the ship and watch a theater rehearsal up close.“We’ll just take a quick look,” he’d said, like fifteen minutes could erase all the tension from the dinner we’d just survived.The back deck of the ship felt like another world. No elegant dining tables here, no classical piano music, and most importantly—no Mellan and no Aaric. Just a small, semi-permanent stage with rows of stage lights hanging above like manmade stars. Around it, the crew and cast moved in rehearsal clothes—some in dance shoes, others in loose shorts and tight black tees.Marcus stood beside me, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the stage like a man who genuinely appreciated art. I, on the other hand, stood with my arms crossed, trying to calm the heartbeat that hadn’t settled since dinner.“You know w

The morning on this ship felt different.The salty air from the open sea brushed against my face, blending with the rich scent of fresh coffee steaming from the cup in my hand. A pale blue sky stretched endlessly above, decorated only by wisps of thin clouds, while below, the deep blue ocean rolled in gentle waves.This ship—The White Siren—had set sail from Marina del Rey just last night.I still remembered pulling away from the dock, the city lights twinkling in the distance, skyscrapers waving us off lazily in the dark.Now, all that was left was the endless sea and the occasional cry of seabirds.I sat in a white rattan chair on the main deck, under the shade of a large umbrella.Across from me, Marcus sat with his laptop open, headset on, speaking into it in a rapid, technical business language I couldn’t even begin to follow.He leaned into the screen, occasionally scribbling something in a small notebook, his face focused. His fingers tapped away at the keyboard while his coffe

That morning smelled like burnt toast, overly floral Elle perfume, and clothes that hadn’t fully dried. I was tying my Converse—one lace always faded, the other somehow always tighter—when Joy popped out of the kitchen doorway with a smile no human should be capable of without ulterior motives.“Oh honey,” she sang, voice full of fake innocence. “She’s wearing lip balm. You know she’s seeing him today.”Elle followed right after, holding a coffee mug way too big for her body and wearing a look of pure conspiracy. “She even ironed her own shirt, Joy. Not the emergency steamer that sounds like it’s about to explode. This is real.”“I can hear you guys, you know,” I muttered, standing up and adjusting the collar of my denim jacket.They both stared at me with that reality-show kind of gaze—judgy, loving, and drama-hungry.And right then, the doorbell rang.I almost stepped forward, but Joy raised a hand like a goalie. “Nope. We’re answering it. If you open the door, it’s too... serious.

“I said I was just going to the bookstore!” I shouted, dropping my tote bag onto the couch with the dramatic flair of a noir hero freshly betrayed.Aaric was sitting on a kitchen stool in his oversized hoodie, legs crossed, a steaming bowl of corn chowder in his hands. His eyes flicked up to me lazily, like an overfed cat too full to be mad.“And you were gone for three hours without answering a single message,” he said, voice calm like someone who just woke up. “I thought you’d been kidnapped by the Brooklyn mafia. Or joined some existentialist literature cult.”I rolled my eyes. “God, Aaric. I just—I just needed to be alone for a bit. I needed space. You know, like a regular human being?”Instead of responding, he took a spoonful of soup and blew on it gently. “Open your mouth.”I narrowed my eyes. “I’m being serious.”“So am I. You need food.” He brought the spoon toward my lips. The smell of corn, cream, and a hint of pepper hit my nose. Damn it. He knew my weaknesses.I let the s