All Chapters of SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The crash echoed through my apartment like a gunshot, splintering wood and jolting me upright in bed. It was barely dawn, the kind of gray December morning where the world outside my window looked frozen and unforgiving. My heart slammed against my ribs as I scrambled for my robe, but before I could even tie the sash, they were inside.Two men, built like refrigerators with faces scarred from too many bad decisions, stood in my living room. The door hung off its hinges behind them, snowflakes swirling in from the hallway. One of them, the shorter one with a tattoo creeping up his neck like a venomous vine, held a crowbar loosely in his gloved hand. The other, taller and meaner-looking, cracked his knuckles and scanned the room as if appraising what he could smash next.“Where’s the money, sweetheart?” the tattooed one growled, his breath fogging the air. He had an accent, thick and Eastern European, the kind that made every word sound like a threat.I froze in the bedroom doorway, clu

Cassian didn’t repeat himself. He simply waited, patient as winter, camera dangling from his neck like it belonged there. When I didn’t move, he reached past me, unbuttoned my coat himself, and slid it off my shoulders. His fingers brushed the bare skin at my throat (just a graze), but it burned like a brand. He hung the coat on a hook by the door, the same hook that used to hold my pink puffy jacket when I was twelve, and then he turned.“Come,” he said. “I’ll show you what’s changed.”He didn’t wait for an answer. He just started walking, expecting me to follow.And God help me, I did.The lake house I remembered had been warm, cluttered with Mom’s throw pillows and my old crayon drawings taped to the fridge. This version felt like a gallery designed by someone who hated softness. The walls were bare except for enormous black-and-white photographs in severe black frames. A woman’s spine arched over a leather bench. A man’s hand wrapped around a slender throat. A close-up of lips par

I took the stairs down to the basement slowly, each step feeling like a countdown to something I wasn’t ready for. The studio door was cracked open, a slice of warm light spilling onto the dark wood floor. I pushed it wider and stopped dead on the threshold.I had expected cameras and lights and maybe a backdrop. What I got was a full-blown erotic film set hidden under a billionaire’s lake house.Black walls absorbed every sound. A massive seamless white paper roll swept from ceiling to floor like an endless canvas. Overhead, a grid of steel beams held softboxes, strobes, and enough cables to rig a rock concert. One corner was pure luxury: velvet chaise, silk sheets, a crystal chandelier that looked like dripping ice. Another corner was pure dungeon: a padded leather bench with restraints bolted to the floor, a St. Andrew’s cross leaning against the wall, coils of red and black rope hanging from hooks like sleeping snakes. A tall cabinet stood open, shelves lined with toys I didn’t ev

The last flash popped and the studio lights dimmed to a soft amber glow. Sarah stretched like a satisfied cat, ropes loosened and trailing from her wrists, skin marked with beautiful red diamonds that would bruise purple by morning. Cassian lowered the camera, checked the back screen once, and gave her the smallest nod of approval.“Perfect,” he said. “We’re done.”Sarah practically purred. She slipped the robe back on, tied it loosely, and sauntered over to him for a lazy, lingering kiss on the cheek. “You’re a genius, Cassian. Same time next week?”“I’ll text you,” he answered, already turning away.I stood frozen near the light stand, arms full of coiled rope and crumpled silk, feeling like I’d been run over by something I couldn’t name. My legs trembled. My panties were ruined. I couldn’t look at either of them.Cassian’s gaze found me across the room. “Ivy. Upstairs. Shower and change for dinner. Twenty minutes.”His voice was calm, almost gentle, but it scraped over every raw ne

The upstairs session was almost disappointingly normal. Soft morning light through the bedroom windows, white silk sheets, Elena in a barely-there lace slip, Marcus in low-slung linen trousers. They laughed and kissed and moved together like they had done this a thousand times, which, from the way they touched each other, they probably had. Cassian circled them with the camera, giving quiet directions: chin down, hand lower, look at her like she’s the only thing in the world. It was sensual, yes, but it felt… safe. Artistic. I held a reflector, adjusted a curtain, handed him a different lens. I could almost pretend I was on a regular fashion shoot.Then Cassian glanced at his watch and smiled that slow, dangerous smile.“Downstairs,” he said. “Let’s get dirty.”My stomach flipped.The four of us descended the hidden staircase behind the bookcase. The moment the studio door came into view, my body remembered everything from yesterday: the heat, the scent, the way my own fingers had b