Todos los capítulos de Owned By My Stepdad(MxM): Capítulo 221 - Capítulo 229

By late afternoon, the heat on the Riviera began to soften, leaving behind a hazy, golden hum that settled over the entire estate. Bella’s yacht was a tiny, elegant white speck cutting across the deep sapphire horizon toward the main port of St. Tropez, leaving Vane and me in a silence that felt entirely absolute.We had moved down from the upper deck to a shaded stone pavilion that jutted out directly over the cliffside. The structure was ancient—weathered Roman columns draped in heavy, fragrant jasmine vines—but Vane had outfitted it with a minimalist, low-profile outdoor sectional that cost more than my entire sophomore year of college.I was lying stretched out across the cushions, my head resting flat against Vane’s thigh. One of his large, warm hands was buried in my hair, his long fingers slowly, absentmindedly massaging my scalp in a rhythmic cadence that kept me hovering right on the edge of sleep."Marcus sent an update from the port," Vane’s deep baritone rumbled from above

The transition from the pristine cliffs of St. Tropez back to the reality of the university campus was jarring, to say the least. Vane’s total digital and financial blockade of the Monaco trust had executed flawlessly over the weekend. By Tuesday morning, the Hale legacy had been permanently absorbed into his corporate conglomerate, and I was flown back to the city on his private jet just in time for the conclusion of mid-term week.But school didn't care about corporate blockades. And college students didn't care about international banking charters.By Friday night, the entire student body had migrated to the private, wooded shoreline of the campus lake for the annual end-of-semester bonfire party. The night air was crisp, thick with the scent of burning cedar, cheap beer, and expensive woodsmoke. A massive wall of orange flame crackled in the center of the clearing, casting long, dancing shadows across the hundreds of students drinking and laughing against the backdrop of the dark

The smooth, rhythmic hum of the corporate convoy was the only sound slicing through the quiet Saturday morning as we glided away from the university grounds. Outside the tinted, bulletproof glass of the armored SUV, the familiar red-brick campus structures slowly shrank into the distance, looking less like a battleground and more like a simple background detail in a life I had completely outgrown.I sat deep within the plush leather of the backseat, my legs crossed lazily. The loose silk robe had been exchanged for a pristine, bespoke navy travel suit that fit the exact lines of my shoulders. On the console next to me, my phone remained completely dark. There were no frantic text alerts from long-buried contacts, no hidden server pings, and no shadows waiting around the corner. The silence was absolute."I’ve already notified the villa staff to have the yacht's upper deck prepared for lunch by the time we touch down at the private terminal," Vane’s deep, velvety baritone rumbled thr

Sunday morning at the St. Tropez villa always smelled of salt and wild jasmine, but today, it smelled like vanilla, melted butter, and fresh espresso.For the first time in what felt like centuries, I was entirely alone in a room. Vane was down in the lower pavilion conducting a high-priority briefing with his European legal team regarding the newly acquired Monaco assets, and Bella was still dead to the world in her wing of the estate. The vast, professional-grade kitchen was entirely mine.It was a masterclass in minimalist luxury—all brushed white marble countertops, state-of-the-art French copper cookware hanging from custom iron racks, and massive floor-to-ceiling glass walls that opened directly onto a terrace overlooking the sapphire stretch of the Mediterranean.I stood at the central island, wearing nothing but a pair of loose white linen trousers and a soft, oversized gray cashmere sweater that smelled deeply of Vane’s amber cologne. My bare feet were cool against the heate