The stepbrother I ran from is my new professor. のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

Chapter Fifty— you're different ⚔Daemon's POV⚔ I arrived at the theater twenty minutes early. Pathetic. I was being pathetic. But I couldn't help it. The thought of seeing Maliya again, of spending more time with her outside the careful boundaries of coffee shop conversations, had me restless in a way I hadn't felt in years. I parked and checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. Dark jeans, black henley, leather jacket. Casual but put together. Not trying too hard. Except I was trying. That was the problem. My phone buzzed with a text from Victor. Victor: Please tell me you're not actually going on a date with Hayes's stepsister. Me: It's a movie. Not a date. Victor: You're delusional. And this is going to blow up in your face. I didn't respond. Just pocketed the phone and got out of the car. The theater lobby was crowded with the usual Wednesday night crowd—couples, groups of teenagers, families with kids hyped up on candy. Normal people doing normal thi

Chapter Fifty-Two— Daemon fucking blackwood ☆Micaiah's POV☆ I drove. No destination. Just drove through Phoenix at midnight with my hands clenched around the steering wheel and rage burning through my veins like acid. She'd gone on a date with Daemon. My Mali. With Daemon fucking Blackwood. The man who wanted me dead. Who'd killed my operations. Who was circling closer every day, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And she'd smiled at him. Laughed with him. Let him buy her dinner. Trusted him. I wanted to put my fist through something. Preferably Daemon's face. But more than that, I wanted to rewind the clock. Go back to the moment Mali had walked through that door smiling—actually smiling, the first real smile I'd seen on her face in weeks—and not ruin it with my jealousy. Except I couldn't. Because she needed to know Daemon was dangerous. Needed to understand that whatever he was doing, whatever game he was playing, she was the pawn. And I couldn't te

Chapter Fifty-Four— Hate ☆Micaiah's POV☆ She tasted like anger. Like frustration and hurt and all the things she'd been holding back for weeks. Her nails dug into my shoulders through my shirt, not quite breaking skin but close. Good. I wanted her mark on me. Wanted proof that she was here, in my arms, choosing this even while she hated me for it. "This doesn't fix anything," she said against my mouth. "I know." "I'm still angry." "I know that too." "And I'm still seeing Daemon—" I bit down on her bottom lip. Hard enough to sting. "Don't." "Don't what? Tell you the truth?" "Don't say his name. Not now. Not while I'm touching you." Her laugh was bitter. "Jealous?" "Furious." I backed her against the kitchen island, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. "You let him take you to dinner. Let him sit across from you and pretend he's a good guy when he's—" "When he's what?" She pushed at my chest, but there was no real force behind it. "You

Chapter Fifty-Five— Him Maliya's POV I told him to shut up and kiss me, my voice a breathless command laced with the frustration and desire that had been building inside me like a storm. Micaiah's eyes darkened, that stormy blue turning almost black with hunger, and he didn't hesitate. His mouth crashed down on mine, hard and possessive, his hands framing my face as if he feared I'd vanish. The room spun around us—the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows on the walls, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the musk of our arousal—but none of it mattered. It was just him, his lips devouring mine, tongue thrusting in to claim every inch, tasting like sin and redemption all at once. I moaned into his kiss, my fingers clawing at his shirt, yanking it up to feel the heat of his skin. He was rock-hard everywhere—chest, abs, the bulge pressing insistently against my thigh. "Fuck, Maliya," he growled against my lips, breaking away just enough to nip at my jaw, his breath

Chapter Fifty-Seven— regret this ★Maliya's POV★ I texted my professors from Micaiah's kitchen while he made breakfast. Me to Professor Rivera: Hi, I'm not feeling well today. Can I get notes from someone? Me to Professor Hayes: Not coming to Ethics today. See you next class. The second one felt pointed. Petty, even. But watching Micaiah move around the kitchen—comfortable, domestic, making pancakes like we did this every morning—made something warm settle in my chest. This was what I'd wanted. What I'd been craving without knowing how to ask for it. Not the sex, though that had been... intense. But this. The morning after. The casualness of him making breakfast while I sat at the island in his t-shirt. The way he'd kissed my forehead when he set coffee in front of me. Normal. Easy. Like we were an actual couple instead of two people who couldn't stop making terrible decisions. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, flipping a pancake. "Nothing." "Liar. You h