Lahat ng Kabanata ng STEP-DADDY'S SIN : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Alexander’s POV7:00 PM – The Meeting PointA cold, empty warehouse on the edge of the city. My kind of venue.No cameras. No exits. No witnesses.I don’t bother dressing up. Black shirt. Rolled sleeves. Leather gloves. Gun holstered at my waist. I’m not here to talk peace. I’m here to see who has the balls to stand in front of me after putting their filthy fucking hands on my woman.Jace stands beside me, silent but watchful. Two of my best men flank the entrance, armed and ready. The whole place smells of rust and sawdust—memories of every other “meeting” that ended with someone’s body in a bag.At exactly 7:03, the bastards arrive.Nico Alvarez walks in first—cocky little shit, thinks the world owes him blood. His brother Renzo trails behind him, taller, heavier, not as loud but just as lethal. I clock the bulge at his side. Gun. Same model I trained with twenty years ago. Cute.They try to posture, to size me up like I’m still the man I used to be.Fools.“You’re looking well, Ale

I stare at him. My ears are ringing.“I’m sorry,” he says, voice low. “You lost the baby.”I blink. Once. Twice.No sound comes out of me.Just that sharp, clean snap of something breaking open inside my chest.I turn slowly, looking back at Ivy. She still hasn’t moved.Her skin is still pale. She doesn’t even know.I walk to her bedside, like I’m on fucking autopilot. Sit down. Stare at the curve of her cheek, the lashes that lie too still against her bruised skin.I place a hand on her stomach again. But this time, there’s nothing underneath.No flutter. No flicker. Just silence.I swallow back the roar rising in my throat. A primal, shattering sound that wants to tear out of me and level this whole fucking building.I close my eyes and press my forehead to her stomach. Again. One last time.“Fuck,” I whisper. My voice shakes. “I’m sorry, baby. I couldn’t protect you. I—”The door creaks again.Jess. She doesn’t say anything this time. She just stands there and watches me.And I kno

Ivy’s POV(Two Months Later – Private Ceremony, Late Afternoon)The air is thick with heat and hunger—not from the weather, but from him.From us.There’s no church bells, no cathedral ceilings, no sweeping orchestras. No smiling relatives or clinking glasses. Just the soft rustle of fabric, the scent of lilies curling through the air, and the low thrum of tension that vibrates between our bodies like a second heartbeat.This isn’t a wedding. This is a reckoning.It’s been two months since the attack. Since we buried the version of ourselves that believed peace was simple. Since the miscarriage nearly gutted me and nearly broke him. We never truly healed—we just got sharper. Meaner. Closer.Now here we are.Standing in front of one another, dressed in white. Of course we are. My dress is silk and sin, molded to every curve, the neckline scandalously low because I like how it makes him look at me. His suit is custom—jet black, sharp, almost cruel in its cut—and yet, somehow, he looks l

Alexander’s POVThe second the door shuts behind us, I lock it. Not because I think someone’s coming in.But because the part of me that’s still fucking feral from almost losing her—wants the whole goddamn world out.She turns to me, all soft silk and flushed cheeks, and my body aches. My knuckles flex like they’re ready to break something if I don’t touch her soon.I reach behind me, pull my tie loose, and toss it to the floor. “Strip,” I say, voice low.Her breath catches. I watch her eyes dilate. Pupils blown wide with heat.She licks her lips. “Right here?” she whispers.I close the distance between us in two steps, grab her chin between my thumb and forefinger.“Where else, Mrs. Wolfe?” I murmur. “You belong to me now. That dress is just in my fucking way.”She shivers. And then— slowly, like she wants to drive me insane— she peels the straps off her shoulders, one at a time. The white silk pools around her feet, leaving her in nothing but heels and the thin lace I bought to go

Ivy’s POVTwo months after the weddingI stare at the stick in my hand like it might explode.No—scratch that. I’m staring at it like it already has. Like it's detonated my heart, flipped my soul inside out, and left me standing in the master bathroom of Alexander’s mansion, barefoot, with my fingers trembling and my lungs refusing to breathe.Two lines. Bold. Unapologetic.Pregnant.I swallow hard, my other hand gripping the edge of the marble sink. My knees feel like they might give out, and for a second I wonder if I should sit down—but I can’t. My body’s frozen. My mind is racing. My stomach twists in slow, hot spirals of fear and joy and memory.The last time...I press a hand against my stomach, instinctively. There’s nothing yet. No bump. Just the tiniest bloom of something new. Something terrifying. Something hopeful.And this time, it feels different.This time, my body doesn’t feel broken. It feels... ready. Like my heart knew before my brain did.A quiet knock at the bathro