All Chapters of Stepdaughter by Day, Wife by Night: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

LENAWhen I first saw the headline about Vivian’s statement, I thought my chest might never stop aching. She’d painted me as manipulative, selfish, a girl who ruined her own mother’s engagement for attention. She’d called Isabella “a mistake born from betrayal.”I couldn’t eat for two days after that. Every time I looked at Isabella, I wondered if I’d failed her before she could even take her first steps.But Roman didn’t bend. He refused to let Vivian’s version of events be the only one the world heard.“We’re doing this,” he said one morning, his voice sharp but gentle as he slid a laptop in front of me. “A real interview. One that’s not edited into garbage. One where you can tell the truth.”I froze. The idea of sitting in front of a camera, baring my soul to millions of people who already hated me, made my stomach twist violently.“I can

LENAThe island had felt like a dream.Every sunrise spilling pink across the ocean, every evening with Roman’s arms around me as the waves whispered us to sleep—it had been the kind of peace I never thought I would know. Isabella cooed in the mornings, safe in her crib with nothing but palm trees and sea breezes for company.And then Roman’s phone buzzed.I saw his jaw lock, saw the way his body went rigid, and I knew before he even said her name. Vivian.“She knows about the island,” he told me, his voice hard, clipped.For a second, I couldn’t breathe. How? This was supposed to be untouchable, secret, ours.“She won’t leave us alone,” I whispered, hugging Isabella tighter as if my arms could shield her from the entire world. “She won’t stop until she destroys everything.”Roman pulled me close, his lips brushing the top of my hair. “Then she’

LENAThe note Vivian left in Isabella’s crib still sat heavy in my chest, like a shard of glass lodged too deep to remove. I hadn’t told Roman about it yet—not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I knew what he’d do. He’d burn the world down to get to her. And while part of me wanted that, another part worried what kind of destruction it would leave in its wake.But Vivian wasn’t the only ghost clawing at the edges of my peace.It started quietly—a phone call Roman ignored, then another. Legal letters arrived, stamped with a name I hadn’t seen in years but could never forget. My father.Roman didn’t try to hide it from me. One evening, while Isabella dozed against my chest and the sound of the waves rolled through the open balcony doors, he placed the envelope on the table in front of me.My fingers froze on Isabella’s blanket. “What’s this?”“From him,” Roman said flatly. His jaw was hard, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen.I looked down. The paper trembled as I opened it,

LENAThe courthouse steps looked like a battlefield the second we pushed through the double doors.Cameras flashed so bright they stung my eyes, voices rose in a wave, reporters shoved microphones forward like weapons. I froze at the top of the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs.Roman’s arm was immediately around me, his body angled to shield me. “Keep moving,” he murmured. His tone was calm but clipped, the same voice he used when giving orders.I tried. I really did. But the noise swallowed me whole.“Lena, how do you respond to Vivian Carter’s statement?” “Do you feel safe raising a child with Roman Wolfe?” “Are you worried about your father appealing the case?” “Did Roman coerce you into testifying?”Their questions weren’t questions at all. They were accusations, judgments dressed up with polite words.Each one hit me like a blow.I felt my breath shorten, like the air around me had thinned. My hands trembled at my sides, my vision blurred. The flashes from the camera

LENAThe ocean’s lullaby had become the background to every moment on the island. The sound of the waves against the shore slipped through the open windows, softer than a whisper, steadier than my heartbeat.Roman had been right. Here, time slowed. Here, the world couldn’t touch us—at least for a little while.I sat in the nursery, rocking Isabella gently. Her little fists opened and closed, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. Every time I looked at her, my chest tightened with a love that was too big, too heavy, too terrifying.“You’re staring at her again,” Roman’s deep voice teased from the doorway.I turned my head. He leaned against the frame, shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up. Even barefoot, he managed to look untouchable—like the world itself bent for him. But when his gaze fell on our daughter, everything softened.“I can’t help it,” I said. “She doesn’t even know how much she owns me already.”Roman walked in, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the sight o