Semua Bab Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother : Bab 121 - Bab 130

Clara's POV But in the ruins, our hands found each other, a promise that we'd rebuild—together, no matter the cost. The staircase creaked under our footsteps as we ascended, each step feeling like a mile in the oppressive silence of the mansion. My cheek still throbbed from Mom's slap, the skin hot and tender, a pulsing reminder of the chasm that had just opened between us. Nolan's hand was warm in mine, his fingers interlaced tightly, but I could feel the tension radiating from him—the way his palm was slick with sweat, his grip just a fraction too tight, like he was holding on for dear life. His own cheek bore the faint outline of her handprint, a red welt that made my stomach twist with guilt and fury. We didn't speak until we reached the upstairs hallway, the thick carpet muffling our movements, but the air hummed with unspoken words, thick as fog. Once inside my room—our makeshift sanctuary for the past few months, with its posters of abstract art I'd painted and the faint sc

Clara's POV Dad's words hung in the air like a guillotine blade, sharp and final, slicing through the fragile bubble Nolan and I had built in this rundown apartment. The bedroom felt even smaller now, the walls closing in, the rumpled sheets behind me a mocking reminder of the passion we'd shared just hours ago—Nolan's body over mine, his whispers of forever echoing in my ears. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched the panic rising in my throat. Disown him? Ruin his life? The thought twisted like a knife in my gut, visions flashing: Nolan broke and jobless, his dreams crushed because of me, because of us. I loved him—God, I loved him more than anything—but was that love worth destroying him?I stared at Dad—Nolan's father, my stepfather—his steel-gray eyes unyielding, the same eyes that had looked at me with a mix of pride and stern guidance since he married my mom years ago. Now they were cold, calculating, a stepfather's desperation turned weapon. Mom—my

Clara's POV “I’m leaving,” I said, the words tumbling out flat and final, devoid of the emotion churning inside me. Silence. The kind that roars, sucking the oxygen from the room. He stared at me, processing, his blue eyes widening slightly as the meaning sank in. “Leaving… like—tonight? What are you talking about? Clara, if this is about the neighbors complaining again or the shower crapping out, we can fix it. Hell, with this new job, we can start looking for a better place. Something with actual hot water and walls that don't broadcast our... activities.” He tried for a joke, a weak smile tugging at his lips, but it died when he saw my face—unyielding, tears already pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I’m going to Italy.” The words tasted foreign, rehearsed, like lines from a script I never wanted to read. “Florence. The Accademia di Belle Arti. A full scholarship. Room, board, everything covered. It's... it's the opportunity of a lifetime.” His face drained of color, the he

Clara’s POVGoodbye.The word didn’t sound real when it left his mouth.It didn’t land. It didn’t echo.It haunted.It followed Nolan out the door like a ghost with unfinished business, clinging to the walls, the air, the cracked floorboards of the apartment we’d called home for less than a year and somehow forever. The door closed softly behind him—no slam this time, no rage. Just finality.The lock clicked.That sound broke something in me.I stood there long after his footsteps faded down the hall, arms wrapped tightly around myself, fingers digging into my sleeves as if I could physically hold my heart in place. My chest burned, hollow and tight at the same time, like something vital had been ripped out but left bleeding.“Don’t,” I whispered to no one.Don’t leave like that.Don’t mean it.But he already had.The apartment felt wrong without him. Too quiet. Too still. The refrigerator hummed loudly, obnoxiously, like it didn’t understand what had just happened. Nolan’s jacket sti

Clara’s POVI sank onto the edge of the bed, the mattress sighing under my weight like it already knew my secrets—thin and slightly lumpy, with springs that creaked faintly, protesting the intrusion of a new body into its space. The sheets were crisp and starched, smelling faintly of industrial detergent that stung my nostrils, nothing like the soft, worn cotton back home that carried the mingled scents of Nolan's skin and my lavender body wash. My fingers curled into the blanket, gripping it as if it could tether me to something solid, something familiar amid the vertigo of displacement. The wool scratched against my palms, rough and grounding, but it wasn't enough to stop the room from spinning in my mind. It felt too quiet—an unfamiliar, echoing silence that pressed against my ears like cotton wool, broken only by the distant murmur of voices from the courtyard below and the occasional honk of a scooter on the narrow cobblestone street outside. Back home, silence had never lasted.