Semua Bab SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER: Bab 81 - Bab 90

I stood under the shower for what felt like forever, letting the hot water pound against my shoulders until my skin turned pink and the steam clouded the mirror so thick I could barely see my own reflection. My hands shook as I scrubbed between my legs, trying to wash away the evidence of what I’d just done, but no amount of soap could erase the warmth still lingering inside me, the faint pulse of Noah’s release deep where no one else had ever been. I pressed my forehead against the tile and breathed through the panic, slow and deliberate, telling myself over and over that it was just once, that the odds were tiny, that I wasn’t stupid enough to get pregnant from one reckless moment.But the fear stayed.It coiled low in my belly, sharp and cold, whispering worst-case scenarios until I felt sick.When the water finally ran cold, I turned off the faucet with numb fingers and stepped out. I wrapped myself in the hotel’s too-small towel and opened the bathroom door.Noah was standing r

I was dreaming again.The same dream that had haunted me for nights now, only this time it felt sharper, more vivid, more dangerous.The jacuzzi water was hot, almost too hot, steam rising in thick curls around us. Bubbles churned against my skin, tickling, teasing. I was naked, pressed between two bodies that felt both familiar and impossible at the same time.Cassian behind me.Noah in front.Cassian’s chest was solid against my back, his arms wrapped around my waist, hands splayed wide over my stomach, holding me in place. His mouth was on my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear, the one that always made me shiver. His erection was thick and insistent against my lower back, sliding slowly between my cheeks as he rocked his hips in lazy, deliberate circles.Noah was in front of me, kneeling in the water, hands on my thighs, spreading them wider. His mouth was on my breast, tongue swirling around one nipple while his fingers pinched the other, tugging just hard en

The coffee in my mug had gone cold, the steam long gone, leaving a thin, sad film on the surface. Sarah sat across from me at the kitchen table, the torn photos scattered between us like broken promises. The envelope lay open, its flap curled from too many nervous fingers. My scar—the one on my left thigh from that stupid bike fall when I was twelve—was staring up at me from the glossy print, blurred face or not. It was unmistakable. To Sarah. To me. To anyone who’d ever seen me in shorts or a swimsuit.I felt the room tilt.My mouth opened before my brain caught up.“That’s not me,” I said, too fast, too sharp. “The scar could be anyone’s. Lots of people have scars like that.”Sarah didn’t blink.She just looked at me—quiet, steady, the way she’d looked at me when we were kids and I tried to lie about breaking her favorite doll.“Ivy,” she said softly. “It’s you.”I shook my head, harder than necessary. “No. It can’t be. I mean—look at the pose. The lighting. I would never…” My voi

The library shift had dragged on longer than usual that day. The afternoon crowd was thin—mostly students hunched over laptops, a few regulars flipping through magazines—and the quiet gave my mind too much space to wander. I kept seeing the same images on loop: Cassian’s face when he told me he loved me, Noah’s grin in that beach photo, Sarah’s tear-streaked cheeks when she finally fell asleep on my couch. Every time I tried to focus on shelving returns or answering a patron’s question, my thoughts slid sideways and landed somewhere painful.By the time I clocked out, the sky was already bruising into early evening. I stopped at the grocery store on the way home because the fridge was empty and I needed something normal to do with my hands. Something that didn’t involve checking my phone every thirty seconds for a text from Cassian that never came.I pushed the cart slowly down the produce aisle, picking out carrots, spinach, apples, a couple of avocados that were just ripe. The rou

I needed a distraction.So when Noah texted again—same easy warmth, same invitation to come back—I almost said yes.He even offered to buy the ticket.“I’ve got miles,” he wrote. “Let me spoil you. Come back. Let me take you dancing. Let me take you to bed. Let me remind you how good it feels when it’s simple.”I stared at the message for ten full minutes.My thumb hovered over “Yes.”But every time I almost pressed send, I saw Cassian’s face—eyes dark with need, voice rough when he said “I love you.” And Claire’s hand on her stomach. And the ring on her finger that matched the one on his chain.I typed “I can’t” instead.Then deleted it.Typed “Maybe soon.”Deleted that too.Finally I just wrote: I’m thinking about it. Work is crazy. Let me figure some things out.His reply came fast: Take your time. Door’s open. Bed’s warm. I’m here whenever you’re ready.Lunch with Jonas two days later was the first time I said any of it out loud.We were in the library cafeteria—small tables,