All Chapters of My Swimmer Stepbrother's Forbidden Claim: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The next morning, the HPM office felt like a cage of glass and ringing phones. Tanya arrived with her armor on straight—a cream silk blouse and trousers that cost more than a month’s rent—but the dark circles under her eyes were a banger of a giveaway. She hadn’t slept a wink. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw black fur and golden, feral eyes. Linda was already at Tanya’s desk, tapping a thick stack of paperwork against her palm. She looked like she’d had three espressos too many. "Tanya! You’re a miracle worker. The Armani camp called. They aren't pulling the plug after the... incident. In fact, they signed the full package." Linda dropped the heavy folder onto the desk with a thud. "It’s binding. You’re on him 24/7. Weekly features, a full documentary, and you travel to every competition. You’re practically his shadow now." Tanya flipped through the pages, her heart hammering. It wasn't just an assignment; it was her entire life. Every training session, every meal, every hea

The pool facility was cold and empty at 4:47 in the morning, the kind of empty that echoed. Tanya had learned to arrive before anyone else, before the smell of chlorine had a chance to feel familiar, before she had to compose herself into someone professional. She sat on the observation bench with her camera open and yesterday's footage on the screen. Her lens had caught something she hadn't meant to catch: the way Samuel's left arm dropped slightly on the recovery phase, the small hip adjustment he made to compensate. She had watched the clip four times already. Coach Bryne walked in while she was still watching. He stopped when he saw her, then made his way to the thermos he kept near the door and poured two cups without asking. She accepted hers. They sat without talking for a while. The pool was still dark, the water perfectly flat. "Four years you've been with him," she said. "Four years." Bryne held the cup in both hands. "Max hired me when the episodes started getting bad.

The media center had the cheerful chaos of a room full of journalists who had not yet had enough coffee. Tanya moved through it on automatic: credentials out, seat at the back left where she could see both the room and the exits, recorder on the table beside her notepad. She was there for a national swimming federation briefing. Standard assignment. She was reviewing her questions when the room's screens switched over to a live feed. HADES PACK SPORTS DIVISION. LIVE PRESS CONFERENCE. She looked up. Nova stood at the podium the way he had been born to stand at podiums, which was, she supposed, literally true. He was polished in the specific way of people whose image has been professionally managed since adolescence: every angle considered, every gesture slightly too fluent. Beside him, his media team arranged themselves at a practiced distance. He was announcing his entry into the Dream Cup qualifying rounds. The journalists in the room shifted forward in that collective, instinc

The network office was a hive of synthetic light and the low hum of productivity. It should have felt safe. It should have been the one place where the chaos of the swimming facility couldn't reach her. Tanya found the envelope resting on her keyboard. No postage. No return address. It was a heavy, cream-colored stock that felt expensive and cold against her fingertips. Someone had walked past the security desk, through the glass partitions, and placed this exactly where she would find it. Inside was a single photograph. Tanya’s breath hitched. It was her cottage bedroom, taken from the garden at night. The angle was precise—likely a drone or a very patient observer tucked into the treeline. The resolution was hauntingly clear. She could see her laptop on the desk, her discarded jacket, and the corner of her unmade bed. And there, visible in the shadows beneath the bed frame, was the small, unassuming shape of the plush doll. She flipped the photo over. The handwriting was done

The holding room smelled like disinfectant and old coffee.Samuel sat in a metal chair, his hands cuffed to the table in front of him. Blood from Nova's nose had splattered across his knuckles, already drying into dark stains. He didn't bother trying to wipe it off.Across from him, two federation officials whispered to each other, stealing glances at him like he was some kind of wild animal they weren't sure how to handle."Mr. Armani," the older one finally said, adjusting his glasses. "Do you understand the severity of what you've done?"Samuel didn't answer. His mind was still back on the pool deck, replaying the moment he saw Nova grab Isis's hair. The sound she made. The way her whole body had flinched."Mr. Armani!""Yeah," Samuel said flatly. "I understand.""You assaulted a sitting prince in front of hundreds of witnesses and live cameras. The Hades pack is demanding your immediate arrest. The sponsors are threatening to pull funding. Do you have anything to say for yourself?