Ravaged By My Cold-Hearted Stepbrothers のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

RHEA“Okay, I have to ask.” Elora’s voice cut through my thoughts as we walked toward the library. “Is it just me, or have you been walking funny all day?”My heart jumped into my throat. “What? No. I’m fine.”“Rhea.” She stopped, forcing me to stop too. Her eyes scanned me up and down with the kind of scrutiny only a best friend could pull off. “You’re walking like you’re saddle-sore. Like you spent twelve hours on a horse or something.”Heat flooded my face. “I’m just sore from yesterday. The allergic reaction made all my muscles tense up and now everything aches.”Elora’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God. Did they give you an injection at the hospital that messed with your legs? I’ve heard about that happening. Like, some people get steroid shots and then—”“No!” I laughed, but it came out too high, too forced. “Nothing like that. I just… I fell getting out of the hospital bed. Super embarrassing. Bruised my tailbone and my legs and just… yeah. It hurts to walk normally.”The lie tasted

Rhea“Good.” Brandon’s hands slid down my arms, guiding them behind the chair. “Because you’ve earned it, baby. Choosing him this morning. Walking around with his hands on you all day. Lying to us about Camilla.”He picked up a rope from a table. The rope was soft against my wrists as he worked efficiently, looping it around and tying it in a way that was secure but not painful. My breathing quickened.“You think you can play both sides?” Jackson leaned down, bracing his hands on the armrests, caging me in. His face was inches from mine. “Be his perfect girlfriend while letting us fuck you at night?”“I didn’t—”“Don’t lie.” His hand came up to grip my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Not here. Not now. You’re tied to a chair in our basement, Rhea. The time for lies is over.”My core clenched at his words, at his proximity, at the dominance radiating off him. I was supposed to be scared. Supposed to be fighting this.But my body knew what it wanted. And it wanted them.“Look at her,

RheaA knife?My heart screamed when Brandon picked up the knife I’d seen Jackson with earlier. Not a kitchen knife. Something smaller, sharper, with a wicked edge that caught the light.“Stand up,” Jackson said, helping me to my feet.My legs were weak and unsteady. I couldn’t take my eyes off the blade in Brandon’s hand.“What is that for?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.“Insurance,” Brandon said, his eyes meeting mine. “So you never forget who you belong to.”My heart started racing, fear and something else, something darker, twisting in my stomach. “You’re going to—what are you going to do with that?”“Mark you.” Jackson’s hand slid down my arm, his touch deceptively gentle. “Permanently. So every time you look in the mirror, every time you get undressed, every time that boyfriend of yours tries to touch you, you remember.”“You can’t—that’s insane—”“Is it?” Brandon set the knife down on the table and crossed to me. “You’ve been lying to us. Sneaking around. Letting hi

RHEAPain woke me before anything else.Not just the burning across my chest where they’d carved their initials into my skin. That was there, constant and throbbing. But the ache between my legs was worse—a deep, bone-deep soreness that made even the thought of moving unbearable.They hadn’t given me a break. All night, they’d fuck me over and over, pushing past every limit until I couldn’t form words anymore. Until I couldn’t remember my own name, only theirs.I tried to shift slightly and immediately regretted it. Everything hurt. My thighs, my core, and my back from being pressed against the wall. The fresh wounds on my chest pulled with even the smallest breath.“Easy.” Jackson’s voice was low and rough with sleep. “Don’t move too fast.”I turned my head—slowly, carefully—and found him already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching me. His hand rested on my hip, thumb tracing lazy circles that were more soothing than sexual.“How long have you been awake?” My voice came out hoar

RheaThe Sterling Grand Hotel ballroom was exactly what I’d expected—elegant, expensive, and designed to remind everyone in attendance exactly how much power and money the Sterling family wielded.Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings. White tablecloths covered dozens of round tables arranged around a central dance floor. A string quartet played soft classical music in one corner. Servers in crisp uniforms circulated with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.And everywhere, people in designer clothes mingled and networked, their laughter echoing off marble floors.The Sterling Annual Charity Gala. The event of the season. Where the family showcased their philanthropic side while reinforcing their social standing.I stood near the entrance with Mom, Brandon, and Jackson, trying not to wince with every step. I’d chosen my outfit carefully—a navy blue cocktail dress with a high neckline that completely covered the bandages, and a hemline that hit just below my knees. Conservative. Safe