All Chapters of The Stripper Toy for My Hot Stepbrothers: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

LYRA'S POVThe walk back to the mansion was a blur of cold air and hot shame. Raphael’s jacket was heavy on my shoulders, but it didn’t warm the ice in my chest. He tried to talk to me in the car, his voice low.“They’re nothing. Vicious little girls playing at being queens. I’ll deal with them. You have my word.”I stared out the window at the passing trees. “Don’t.”“Why not?” He sounded confused. Angry. “They can’t treat you like that.”“Because they’re right,” I said, the words flat and dead. “Everything they said. It’s all true.”“Lyra—”“I am a stripper. I do live in your house for free. My mother did have an affair with a married man. What part of that is a lie, Raphael? Tell me.”He was silent for the rest of the drive. The silence was worse. It confirmed everything. He had no argument because there wasn’t one. They’d just stated the facts of my sad, messy life. Facts I couldn’t fight. How do you fight the truth?The car rolled through the iron gates. The mansion loomed, beauti

CASPIAN’S POVThe brick path was too quiet. That was my first thought as I turned the corner, the usual student chatter absent. Then I saw the crowd, and the quiet made sense. They were all watching something. No, not something. Someone.My heart gave a single, hard thud against my ribs.Lyra.She was in the middle of the path, surrounded. Three guys, two girls I vaguely recognized from some society or another, formed the inner circle. A ring of other students pressed in behind them, phones out, faces hungry. And Lyra… she was on the ground. Not sitting. She’d fallen. Or been pushed. Her books were scattered around her. She was curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees, her head down. But I could see the shake in her shoulders. I could feel the fear rolling off her in cold, sour waves. It hit my senses like a physical blow.A red-hot rage, immediate and absolute, flooded my veins. It burned away every cool, analytical thought. My vision narrowed to the scene. The sneer on th

LYRA’S POVThe cab ride back to the mansion was a blur of streetlights and my own ragged reflection in the window. My cheek still burned where I’d touched it after hitting Jeremy. My palm still stung. But deeper than that was a hollow, aching cold. I was so tired. Tired of the push and pull. Tired of wanting something from them—safety, understanding, even just respect—and getting only possession and blame in return.They don’t see me. They see a thing to be managed. A problem to be solved or a toy to be played with.I paid the driver and slipped through the front door like a ghost. The grand foyer was dark, silent. No Raphael waiting. No Caspian brooding. No Silas appearing from the shadows. For once, I was grateful. I didn’t have the energy for another confrontation, another set of intense eyes dissecting my every flaw.I went straight to my room, the door clicking shut behind me with a sound of finality. I leaned against it, closing my eyes. The silence was a relief. But it didn’t l

LYRA’S POVThe days blurred into a rhythm of early alarms, stiff office clothes, and the quiet hum of Blackwood Capital. I didn’t go back to Onyx. I was too tired, my mind too full of spreadsheets and meeting notes and the careful, distant politeness of my new colleagues. But a part of me missed it. Missed the loud music, the anonymity of the stage, the simple transaction of a look for a tip. Here, every glance felt loaded. Every word felt like a test.It was late, past ten. I’d been in my room, trying to read a textbook for a class I was already falling behind in. My eyes kept closing. I gave up, deciding to go to the kitchen for some tea, something to settle the restless, empty feeling in my chest.The hallway was dark, thick carpet swallowing the sound of my steps. As I neared the closed door of Silas’s study, I heard it. Raised voices. Angry, sharp words bleeding through the heavy wood.I froze. I shouldn’t listen. I knew I shouldn’t. But my feet were nailed to the floor.“—a risk

LYRA’S POVI woke to the low sound of voices. My head throbbed. My arms ached. Something cool and firm circled my wrists. Memory crashed back in a sickening wave. The run. The capture. The cuffs.My eyes flew open.I was in my bed, the blankets pulled up to my chest. And they were all there. All six of them. Sitting in chairs they’d dragged in from who-knows-where, forming a silent half-circle around my bed. The morning light cut through the gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across their serious faces.Jeremy was closest, elbows on his knees, head bowed. Silas sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable. Raphael looked tired, his usual wild energy subdued. Orion watched me with quiet intensity. Rowan’s gaze was full of a pain I didn’t understand. Caspian just looked… resigned.The room was still a wreck. Shards of the vase glinted on the floor. The broken lamp lay on its side. And my wrists were bound by soft leather cuffs, connected by a short chain.A hot, sour rage bubbled