All Chapters of SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

We pulled into the theater parking lot just as the crowd was spilling out—people laughing, chatting, couples holding hands under the string lights strung between the palms. The show was over. We were late. Not by much, but enough that the main doors were already propped open and the ushers were starting to sweep up programs from the steps.Noah killed the engine and glanced at me with that easy, apologetic grin.“Guess we missed the curtain call,” he said. “But we’ve still got the night.”I smiled back, even though my stomach was doing nervous flips. “I need to use the restroom first. Won’t be long.”He leaned over, kissed my temple softly. “Take your time. I’ll wait in the car.”I slipped out, smoothed my dress, and hurried up the steps. The lobby was mostly empty now—only a few stragglers collecting coats, the bar staff wiping down counters. I pushed through the swinging door into the women’s restroom. It was quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, mirrors reflecting

The dream came fast and merciless, the way dreams do when your heart is still bleeding from wounds you pretend are healed.I was back in the studio at the lake house.The same wide windows letting in late-afternoon light, the same black backdrop, the same wooden floor that creaked under bare feet. The air smelled like darkroom chemicals and cedar and him.Cassian stood behind the tripod, camera aimed at me, black shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled, hair falling into his eyes. He looked at me the way he always did—like I was the only thing worth capturing, like every inch of my skin was art he needed to immortalize.I was naked.Completely.No robe. No props. No pretense.Just me.Skin prickling under the cool air, nipples tight, thighs already slick because he hadn’t even touched me yet.“On your knees,” he said, voice low, commanding. “Ass up. Face the camera. Show me everything.”I obeyed.I dropped to the floor, knees on the wood, back arched, ass lifted, thigh

“Ivy,” he said, voice low, careful, “it’s just us. No one else. No gallery. No clients. No social media. Just me and you and the camera. Like it used to be.”I swallowed. My throat felt dry, tight.“I haven’t done this in a long time,” I said. “Not like that. Not… vulgar.”He pushed off the dresser, took one slow step toward me.“I know.”Another step.“I’m not asking for anything you don’t want to give.”Another.“I just—” He stopped a foot away, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. “I can’t look at you and not want to keep you. Not in my head. Not in my memory. I need to see you like this. Naked. Open. Real. I need to make it permanent.”My pulse was loud in my ears.I remembered the lake house.The first shoot.The way he’d told me to spread my legs for the lens.The way I’d obeyed.The way I’d come with his voice in my ear and his finger on the shutter.I remembered Hawaii.The beach.The swing.The way the camera had watched while he fucked me under the star

Cassian drove me to the airport in silence most of the way. The Jeep smelled like him—cedar cologne, leather seats, the faint metallic trace of camera gear in the back. His hand rested on my thigh the entire ride, thumb stroking slow, absent circles over the denim, not sexual, just possessive. Like he was reminding both of us that I was still his, even if I was leaving.I stared out the passenger window at the palm trees flashing past, at the ocean glittering far below the highway, at the life I’d almost convinced myself I could have here. The suitcase sat in the back seat like an accusation. Packed. Ready. Final.He pulled into the short-term parking lot and killed the engine.We sat there for a long moment, neither of us moving.“I still have business here,” he said finally, voice low. “Two more days. Maybe three. Then I’m coming back to you. For good.”I looked at him.His eyes were steady, dark, full of the same promise he’d made a hundred times before.“I know,” I said quietly.H

NOAHTwo days. Forty-eight hours since Ivy left the island, since I stood outside her hotel room door with two coffees in my hands and watched Cassian walk in like he owned the place. Forty-eight hours since I turned around and walked away without knocking, without saying a word, because what was there to say? She’d chosen. So I blocked her.Because if I didn’t, I’d call.I’d beg.I’d tell her I didn’t care that she still loved him, that I’d wait forever if that’s what it took.And I couldn’t do that to myself.Leo noticed the change immediately. He’d seen me through every breakup, every bad night, every time I tried to pretend I was fine. But this was different. He kept glancing over while we worked, eyes narrowed, like he was waiting for the moment I’d finally crack.By closing time on the second night he couldn’t hold it in anymore.We were wiping down the bar, stacking glasses, music turned low for cleanup. The place was empty except for us and the dishwasher humming in the bac