Todos los capítulos de My Stepbrother's Secret Obsession : Capítulo 111 - Capítulo 120

Throwback: Three Years Ago Uncle Clifford was sitting at the bar, draped in a silk kimono that shimmered under the house lights, meticulously counting a stack of small bills. Beside him, Luz was touching up her eyeliner in a hand mirror, when Carlos walked in. "Well, if it isn't the Architect of our miseries," Clifford drawled without looking up. "To what do we owe the pleasure of a daylight visit? Did you lose your way to the country club, or is the air in the mansion getting too thin for you?" Carlos leaned against the bar, his presence instantly chilling the room's casual atmosphere. "I’m here to hand out some invitations, Clifford. Important ones." He reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and pulled out a stack of heavy, cream-colored envelopes. The gold foil embossing glinted—The Wedding of Carlos Mendoza and Inés Alvarez. He slid them across the bar. Clifford stopped counting the money. He picked up one of the envelopes, turning it over in his manicured hands as if i

Throwback: Three Years Ago The rain lashed against the windows of Miguel’s penthouse, a relentless, grey curtain that matched the suffocating atmosphere inside. The room was dark, save for the amber glow of a half-empty bottle of scotch and the flickering embers in the fireplace. Miguel sat on the edge of the leather sofa, his head in his hands. The elevator chimed, a sharp, intrusive sound. Miguel didn't look up. He didn't have the energy to care who was intruding on his grief. Maria stepped into the room, her silhouette framed by the hallway lights. She didn't say a word at first. She simply stood there, watching him, her eyes tracking the slumped line of his shoulders and the tremor in his hands. She looked immaculate, as always, but there was a new softness to her expression—a carefully crafted mask of empathy that hid the sharp teeth of her ambition. "You look like a man who’s lost his soul, Miguel," she said, her voice like velvet against the cold air. Miguel finally look

Throwback: Three Years Ago The shipyard at midnight was a graveyard of rusted iron and salt-crusted secrets. Skeletal cranes loomed against the ink-black sky, their shadows stretching like long, spindly fingers over the stacks of shipping containers. Carlos Mendoza stood by the edge of the dock, the glowing cherry of his cigarette the only light in the gloom. The man, known only as Elias, emerged from the shadows of a towering crane. He was a creature of the periphery, a man whose entire existence was built on making things disappear. He moved with a nervous, twitching energy, his eyes darting toward the perimeter. "You're late," Carlos said, his voice as cold as the Atlantic wind. "I had to make sure I wasn't followed," Elias rasped, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead despite the chill. "The woman... Carmen... she’s been calling. She’s frantic. She wants proof that the metal has been melted. She’s a ghost in my ear, Mendoza." Carlos flicked his cigarette into the dark w

Inés was pacing the length of the library, her heels clicking a frantic, uneven rhythm against the parquet floor. Her hands were trembling so violently that she had to clench them into fists to keep from crying out. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Carlos—composed, smiling, and utterly untouchable—sitting in that police station as if he were at a gala. "He’s out, Miguel. He’s out, and we’re right back where we started," she choked out, her voice thin and brittle. "The police... they had nothing. He made sure of it. Three years of planning, and he didn't leave a single fingerprint on the wreckage of our lives." Miguel stood by the window, his silhouette dark against the moonlight. He looked weary, the sharp lines of his face etched with a frustration that bordered on agony. "They couldn't pin the kidnapping or the financial fraud on him yet, Inés. He’s shielded himself behind layers of shell companies and plausible deniability. But it’s not over." "It is over for me!" Inés sp

The neon light of P-Valley hit Inés’s face, turning her skin a pale, ghostly violet. They headed straight for the Throne... the elevated booth where Uncle Clifford usually presided over the chaos. Clifford was there, draped in a floor-length sequined robe that caught every stray beam of light, but her usual regal composure was frayed at the edges. She was nursing a drink, her eyes fixed on the entrance as if waiting for a ghost. When she saw Miguel and Inés, her expression shifted from concern to a well-practiced, weary nonchalance. "Well, if it isn't the royal family," Clifford said, her voice cutting through the bass like a jagged blade. "To what do I owe the pleasure? You here for a private show, or are you just looking for a place where the air-conditioning actually works?" Inés didn't stop until she was inches from the desk, leaning over it so Clifford couldn't look away. "Cut the act, Clifford. We aren't here for the show, and we aren't here for the drinks." Clifford arche