All Chapters of All That Glitters Is My StepDad.: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Cierra's POVThe doorbell rang again, longer this time, more impatient. Whoever was outside was not planning to leave.My stomach twisted violently, my hands trembling as I slowly approached the door. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the floor itself resisted me.I paused for a moment with my hand on the handle, my mind screaming at me to stop, to hide somewhere, to pretend the ringing wasn’t happening. But my body had already begun moving.I opened the door. It wasn’t Diego.Relief surged for a split second, and then it vanished entirely when I saw him. The man standing in the doorway was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit.He stood straight, calm, composed in a way that made my chest tighten immediately. His face gave away nothing, but there was a presence about him that made me instinctively tense.“Ms. Monroe,” he said, polite but firm.Hearing that name...'Monroe' spoken with such calm authority sent a shiver down my spine. My pulse r

Cierra's POV I froze.The phone felt heavier than it should have in my hand, like it was made of lead instead of glass and metal.The screen was still glowing with the frozen frame of us: my back arched against the wall, legs wrapped around Dominic’s waist, his mouth on my throat, my fingers digging into his shoulders like I was afraid he’d disappear if I let go.The timestamp in the corner read barely twenty minutes ago. My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might be sick right there on the carpet.He’d recorded everything.Not just the bed. Not just the wall. The hallway footage he’d mentioned earlier must have been only the beginning.This clip was raw...unfiltered audio of my own voice begging, moaning his name, calling him Daddy while he fucked me like he was punishing me for every year I’d spent away from him.Dominic stood a few feet away now, completely calm.He’d already tucked himself back into his trousers and was buttoning the last two buttons of his dark shirt with

Cierra's POV The bedroom felt heavy and quiet after everything we had done, the air thick with the lingering scent of sweat, sex, and his cologne.My body still ached in places I didn’t want to think about..places he had touched, claimed, reminded me belonged to him..but my mind refused to stay silent, spinning with questions I was almost too afraid to voice.I turned my head slowly toward him.Dominic was standing at the foot of the bed, buttoning his black shirt with careful, deliberate movements, the fabric sliding over the muscles of his shoulders like it had been made to fit him perfectly.“Where is Greg? and where is George...” I asked quietly, my voice barely breaking the stillness.He paused mid-button, his fingers freezing for just a heartbeat. Then he turned fully to face me, grey eyes finding mine in the dim glow of the lamp.“Greg is safe,” he said softly, the words calm and measured.I pushed myself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping down to my waist. “You said he was h

Cierra's POV The gunshot still rang in my ears long after it faded, a sharp crack that seemed to split the air inside the penthouse and echo inside my skull.I sat huddled on the wet bathroom floor, knees drawn tight to my chest, cold water pouring over my shoulders in relentless sheets.The small cut I had made below my breast stung with every breath, a thin line of blood mixing with the spray and running down my stomach in pale pink trails that swirled toward the drain.The knife lay on the marble just inches from my fingers, blade shining under the overhead light, waiting for me to decide what came next.I had pressed it to my skin only moments ago, ready to end everything before the police could drag me away, before Dominic’s world could swallow me completely or spit me back out broken.But the moment the shot rang out, the knife had slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. Now it stared up at me like a question I couldn’t answer.Outside the locked bathroom door, the pen

Diego's POV I woke up to the sharp sting of fluorescent lights and the steady beep of machines that felt like they were counting down the seconds until my head split open.My forehead throbbed under the thick bandage, and when I tried to sit up, the room tilted like the car crash was still happening. I blinked hard, focusing on the white ceiling tiles, then slowly turned my head.A nurse stood beside my bed, checking the IV drip, her scrubs pale blue and her smile gentle but tired.On the other side of the curtain, Mallory lay sleeping in the next bed...her left wrist in a brace, lip swollen and stitched, breathing slow and even under the thin hospital blanket.I asked, voice rough from the tube they’d had down my throat earlier, “How long have I been out?”The nurse answered calmly, setting the clipboard down, “About four hours, Mr. Diego. You have a mild concussion and eight stitches above your eyebrow. You’re stable, but we need to keep you overnight for observation.”I pushed the