All Chapters of A Night With My Stepbrother : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The storm had passed, but Alessandro’s penthouse still felt dark. He sat alone in the cavernous office, city lights flickering like dying embers through the rain-slicked windows. The espresso he had made earlier sat untouched beside him, cold and bitter. The sharp aroma of roasted beans only heightened his nausea. It was quiet now. A hollow, loaded quiet. The kind that filled a room when you knew something had already gone wrong—and the worst part was yet to come. The call to his private investigator was done. The wheels were in motion. But now came the part he loathed: the waiting. Alessandro leaned forward and tapped the tablet with a single finger. The tabloid article glared back at him like an accusation. Pregnant. With his child. That truth still churned in him like oil and fire. It didn’t matter that Isabel had screamed it in his face, trembling, vulnerable. That moment was burned into him—but so were the photos. The leaks. The betrayal. He opened the email again—the fi

Rain drummed a hollow rhythm against the roof of the Craftsman house, a sound as constant as the dread in Isabel’s bones. Weeks had bled into one another, into another and into another since Sicily, since Alessandro, since her world fractured into jagged pieces. Her old room, once a sanctuary of textbooks and thrifted sweaters, felt like a museum exhibit of a life she no longer recognized. The scent of damp plaster and mothballs clung stubbornly to the air, thick and suffocating. Outside, the Pacific Northwest storm painted the world in shades of bruised grey. Isabel sat hunched on the edge of her childhood bed, tracing the familiar pattern of a water stain on the ceiling. “Italy,” her traitorous mind whispered. “Sicily. Him.” She clenched her fists, nails digging half-moons into her palms. The nausea wasn’t just a morning visitor anymore; it was a constant, gnawing companion, a physical manifestation of the secret growing inside her. Her reflection in the dusty vanity mirror wa

"Seriously, Izzy, spill!" Jenna chirped, leaning forward on the kitchen stool, her manicured fingers tapping the countertop with faux impatience. Her eyes, that unsettlingly bright blue, were fixed on Isabel with laser focus, missing nothing. "You look like you haven't slept in weeks, you're jumping at shadows, and you barely touched your dad's pasta. This isn't just 'family drama'. What's really going on in that head of yours?" The false sweetness in her voice was layered thick over the probing demand. Isabel clutched the counter behind her, the cool laminate a flimsy anchor. The daffodils Jenna brought mocked her from their vase, their cheerful yellow a grotesque contrast to the cold dread coiling in her stomach. The phantom sensation of Jenna's hand brushing her belly, the fumbled bouquet... it hadn't been an accident. She knows what she’s doing. Quiet Jenna. My dad doesn’t know yet. "Just... everything, Jen," Isabel forced out, turning slightly to fill a glass with water, need

The "Quiet Corner Cafe" lived up to its name. Tucked away from the main street bustle, it was all soft lamplight, exposed brick walls, and the comforting aroma of roasting coffee beans and baked bread. Ferns hung in macrame planters, and the gentle hum of conversation was a low murmur. Isabel sat tucked into a corner booth, hands wrapped tightly around a steaming mug of chamomile tea she hadn’t touched. Rain streaked the window beside her, blurring the outside world into a watercolor smear of grey and green. She felt like that blur – undefined, fragile, dissolving. She spotted Jenna the moment she pushed through the door, shaking rain from a stylish umbrella. She looked effortlessly chic in tailored trousers and a soft cashmere sweater, a beacon of normalcy that made Isabel’s own rumpled sweater and anxious pallor feel even more pronounced. Jenna’s smile was immediate, warm, and tinged with concern as she hurried over, sliding into the booth opposite Isabel. "Izz! Oh, sweetie

The fragile calm Jenna’s visit had woven around Isabel lay in tatters. The relentless online storm raged – notifications buzzing like angry hornets she’d silenced but couldn’t escape. Headlines mutated, grew uglier: “De Luca Lovechild Scandal Deepens!”, “Blackmail Plot Thickens: Baby Mama Demanded Millions!”. Comments sections were cesspools of vitriol. Her blurred image was mud. Alessandro’s silence was a roaring void, confirming her worst fears: he believed it all. She sat curled on the worn living room sofa in her father’s house, a blanket pulled tight around her shoulders despite the mild afternoon. Albert was gone, seeking solace or answers she couldn’t provide. The ultrasound picture lay on the coffee table, the tiny flicker a beacon of hope in a world turned hostile. She traced the outline with a trembling finger, whispering promises she wasn’t sure she could keep. “I’ll protect you. We’ll fight this. Jenna’s helping…” The thought of Jenna, her fierce ally, was the only