All Chapters of In love with my step father in law : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Chapter 21: Unraveling DesiresThe apartment was silent. Not the kind of silence that comforted—it was heavy, pulsing, intimate. The type of quiet that whispered against the walls and settled into the bones. Isla stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her skin damp from a long shower, the steam curling around her like invisible fingers. Her reflection stared back with eyes hollowed by grief, haunted by rage, and darkened by desire she hadn't yet dared to name.She traced a finger down the curve of her throat, pausing just above her collarbone where a faint bruise bloomed like a forbidden flower. Christopher's mark. Not from violence, but from a kiss too deep to be restrained. One given in the heat of a moment that both of them had been running from.Outside the bathroom, the air felt colder. She stepped into the bedroom, the soft fabric of her robe brushing against her thighs. Christopher sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, shirtless, head bowed like he was praying to ghosts

Chapter 23: ConfrontationThe screen dimmed, but Isla didn’t blink.The email’s contents were still scorched into her mind. The images. The timestamp. The audio file.And then—his name, tied to her past in ways that made her stomach twist.Christopher had known her before she became Isla—before she changed her name, before she stepped into the nightmare of her late husband’s world. Before the accident that was never truly an accident.He knew.He’d watched from a distance.Waited.And then pretended not to recognize her.She dropped the phone.It hit the marble floor with a shattering crack, but the noise barely registered. She was already halfway out the door.---She didn’t knock when she entered his private suite. The guards didn’t stop her. They never did.Christopher was standing shirtless in front of the large window, the city blazing behind him like a guilty mirror. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the table beside him.“I got your message,” he said without turning.“Did you

Chapter 25: Pressure PointThe city didn’t sleep, but Isla tried to.It was nearly 3:00 a.m. when she awoke in a cold sweat, her skin clammy, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. A nightmare. The same one that had returned for the third time that week—Victor’s hand around her throat, her father’s voice muffled behind glass, the sound of crashing metal and the metallic scent of blood.She sat upright in bed, pressing her palms to her face.The war outside had awakened the war within.Christopher lay beside her, his back to her, one arm stretched over the empty space between them. The distance was intentional. Since the confrontation call with Victor, something had shifted again between them. He’d been gentler, more restrained, as though afraid one wrong move would break the last thread connecting them.And Isla didn’t know how to tell him she felt broken anyway.She rose from the bed quietly and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The lights from the city cast a dim glow throug

Chapter 27: The Ghost FileThe city had changed. Or maybe it was Isla who had.The skyline still clawed at the sky with its glass spires and endless ambition, but the air felt different now—thicker, more watchful. Like the streets remembered her, and were waiting.Christopher drove silently, eyes flicking from the rearview mirror to the road. The tension in the car was a third passenger. The wounded man Vi had captured was sedated in the trunk—zip-tied and gagged, not for cruelty, but survival.Isla pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching her reflection blur in the passing city lights. Her old self would’ve wept at the thought of returning. But now?She was too angry to cry.“Do you know what you’re looking for?” Christopher asked, voice quiet but firm.“No,” she answered. “But I’ll know when I find it.”---The BuildingHer father’s former office stood like a monolith on the edge of the business district—tall, regal, and hollow now. It had been closed down

Chapter 29: The Devil's Chessboard---Victor Kane lit his cigar with the same care a priest might handle communion.The fire danced across the end, glowing crimson in the dim light of the underground chamber. He was alone—except for the cameras. And the girl in the cage.She was no older than seventeen, trembling, barefoot, her wrists raw from the iron cuffs.Victor didn’t look at her. Not yet.He turned to the camera mounted in the corner and spoke slowly.“To those watching... Let this be a reminder. I see everything. I hear everything. And when I move—people disappear.”He puffed once, the smoke curling like a serpent.Then he stepped toward the cage.And smiled.---Meanwhile: Paris.The Widow was seated in the shadows of the Louvre’s underground gallery, dressed in black, her face veiled.No one knew her real name. Not even Victor.She wore gloves not to conceal fingerprints—but sins.Her voice, when she answered the call, was soft. Feminine. Cruel.“He’s becoming impatient,” sh