All Chapters of Stepdaughter by Day, Wife by Night: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

LENAI thought I’d be relieved when Vivian finally surrendered.Instead, standing there in the villa’s sunlit sitting room, watching her sink into the armchair across from me, I felt hollow.She looked nothing like the woman who had once terrified me. Vivian Wolfe had always carried herself like a queen—impeccable posture, eyes sharp as glass, mouth pressed in a line of disdain. Now, she looked… older. Smaller. As though the war she’d been waging had drained her until there was nothing left but the shell of who she had been.Roman stood at my side, his arm around me, protective as always. Isabella slept upstairs, blissfully unaware of the storm breaking beneath this roof.Vivian smoothed her skirt with trembling fingers before lifting her eyes to mine. They weren’t hard anymore. They were tired. Defeated.“I can’t fight you anymore,” she said, her voice low but steady.My breath caught. For months—no, years—it had felt like she was a shadow at my back, always waiting to strike. To hea

LENAThe note sat hidden in the drawer of my nightstand, folded so tightly the paper was beginning to crease. I hadn’t told Roman about it yet. Not because I didn’t trust him, but because I wanted, just for one day, to live without fear.Just one day where I could think about our future instead of shadows.And today, Roman was making sure of it.When I padded into the terrace that morning, still in my robe with my hair a messy tangle, he was already there with a spread that looked like something out of a magazine—fresh pastries, fruit, coffee, even a vase of white roses in the center of the table. Isabella was in her bassinet beside him, kicking softly, her little fists punching the air.Roman looked up the second he heard me. His smile was soft, and so disarming it made my knees weak.“Good morning, Mrs. Almost Wolfe,” he said, rising to press a kiss to my lips.I laughed against his mouth. “You’ve been up for hours, haven’t you?”“Guilty.” His hand skimmed my waist before he pulled

LENAWhen Roman told me he had “something to show me,” I should have been suspicious.Not because I didn’t trust him—I did, maybe more than I trusted myself—but because surprises with him were never simple. He wasn’t the type of man to bring home a bouquet of flowers and call it a day. Roman Wolfe didn’t do small. He didn’t do ordinary.So when he blindfolded me in the car, his palm warm against mine as the driver steered us somewhere unknown, my heart fluttered with equal parts excitement and dread.“Relax,” he murmured, leaning close so his lips brushed my ear. “You’ll like this.”“I don’t like not knowing,” I muttered, fiddling with the edge of the silk fabric tied around my eyes.“That’s because you’re stubborn,” he teased. “And because you like to be in control.”I scowled, though the corners of my mouth tugged upward. “Look who’s talking.”His laugh was low and deep, vibrating in his chest as he kissed my temple. “Touché.”The car slowed, then stopped. Roman’s hand was immediate

LENAThe morning started like any other. The smell of pancakes and coffee filled the kitchen, sunlight spilling in through the open windows. Isabella was on her playmat, surrounded by a chaotic circle of stuffed animals and colorful blocks that Roman had insisted she “needed for cognitive development.”I stood at the counter, flipping pancakes, humming to myself as I sipped on coffee that had already gone cold.Roman, dressed down in a white shirt and sweatpants, was on the floor with Isabella, trying to get her to stack blocks in a straight line. He was patient but terrible at pretending he didn’t care about winning.“No, no, sweetheart, the red one goes on top,” he said gently, adjusting her chubby little hands.She babbled back something that sounded suspiciously like a no.He froze, eyes wide. “Did she just sass me?”I laughed over my shoulder. “Welcome to fatherhood, Mr. Wolfe. She’s already learning the art of defiance.”Roman looked mock-offended. “She gets that from you.”“I p

LenaThe message from the unknown number had haunted me for days. I told myself not to think about it, not to spiral, not to give it power—but every time Roman’s phone rang, every time he left the room to take a call in private, my chest tightened.I hadn’t brought it up yet. Maybe I was scared of what he’d say—or worse, what he wouldn’t. Instead, I buried myself in the routines that kept me sane: morning walks with Isabella, writing in my blog, working on my baby brand launch.But this morning was different.Something was off from the moment I woke up. The sunlight felt too bright, the air too heavy. I barely made it through brushing my teeth before nausea hit—sharp and unexpected. I gripped the sink, breathing through it, my mind flashing back to another morning like this one.The last time I’d felt this way… I’d been pregnant with Isabella.My heart skipped. No. It couldn’t be. Not now.I splashed cold water on my face and stared into the mirror. My reflection looked pale, uncertai