Lahat ng Kabanata ng Owned By My Stepdad(MxM): Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

The dorm hallway smelled like new carpet, pizza grease, and nervous sweat. I wheeled myself down the corridor behind the RA—clipboard guy from earlier—while two bodyguards trailed us like silent black shadows, each carrying half my life in suitcases and garment bags. My father had insisted on their staying “until I was settled.” Translation: until he was convinced I wouldn’t bolt again. I didn’t argue. I was too tired, too sore, too… everything.My room was at the end of the hall—308, women’s tower. The door was already propped open. Inside: two twin beds, two desks, two closets, one big window overlooking the quad. One side was already claimed—pink bedding, fairy lights strung above the headboard, a laptop with stickers, a makeup organizer that looked like it cost more than my tuition deposit.My roommate was sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling on her phone. She looked up when I rolled in.Tall. Curly red hair. Freckles across her nose. Wearing an oversized band tee and bike s

I pushed the door open with my shoulder, suitcase thumping against the frame, and froze mid-step.Luca was already there.He’d claimed the left bed—black comforter thrown on haphazardly, one pillow, a single framed photo of a skateboard half-buried in snow on the nightstand. He was lying flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like he’d been doing it for a while. Black T-shirt riding up just enough to show a thin strip of skin above low-slung jeans. Tattoos curling around his forearms like black ink vines. Dark hair messy, falling into his eyes. He looked… effortlessly good. The kind of good that makes you feel underdressed just by existing in the same room.He didn’t move when I entered. Just tilted his head toward me, a slow smile spreading.“Hey, roommate.”I swallowed. Hard.“Uh—hey. Elias.”He sat up in one smooth motion, legs swinging off the bed, elbows on his knees. “Luca. Been here for over an hour. Thought I’d get first pick

The café was starting to empty—mid-afternoon slump, baristas wiping counters, indie playlist looping the same three songs for the third time. Isabella and I had been sitting there for almost two hours, empty iced-latte cups sweating rings onto the table, donut-hole crumbs everywhere. My phone still hadn’t buzzed from Vane. Isabella’s had a couple of check-in texts from her dad, but nothing urgent. We were both kind of floating, that weird post-drama calm where everything feels possible and terrifying at the same time.Isabella stretched her good arm over her head, wincing a little at the ribs. “Okay, I’m officially done sitting. My ass is numb.”I laughed. “Same. Where to next? More food? Nap? Stare at the quad like creeps?”Before she could answer, Riley burst through the door like she’d been shot out of a cannon—red curls bouncing, backpack half-zipped, already talking before she even reached our table.“Heyyy, Issa! Elias! Perfect timing!”We both looked up.Riley dropped into the

The night was going great—better than great, actually. The house was packed but not suffocating, the music loud enough to feel in my bones but not so loud I couldn’t talk, and the backyard string lights made everything look soft and golden, like we were all living inside a Pinterest board for “college parties done right.” Riley had disappeared again—third time tonight—promising she’d “bring back shots or a hot guy, whichever came first.” Elias was somewhere in the living room, probably still flirting with Luca or pretending he wasn’t. I’d caught glimpses of him earlier—laughing, head thrown back, the kind of loose happiness I hadn’t seen on him in years. It made my chest ache in the best way.I’d parked myself near the sliding glass doors leading to the porch—close enough to the action to feel part of it, far enough that no drunk frat boy had accidentally bumped my chair yet. Soda in my good hand, ice melting slowly. Someone had draped a spare hoodie over my lap when the night got coo

The party had reached that perfect chaotic middle hour—where the music feels like it’s inside your veins, the lights blur into streaks, and everyone’s decisions are getting progressively worse in the best way. I’d parked my chair near the edge of the makeshift dance floor, close enough to feel the bass but far enough that no one accidentally kicked my cast. Riley had disappeared again (third time? fourth?), promising to “bring back reinforcements or a miracle.” I hadn’t seen Elias in almost an hour—he’d texted once: Still alive. Luca’s friends are chaos. You good? I’d replied with a selfie of me mid-laugh with a drink in my good hand: Thriving. Don’t die.I was thriving.Mostly.The hoodie someone had draped over my lap earlier was now tied around my shoulders like a cape. My dress had ridden up a little from wheeling around; I tugged it down absently. The bruises were hidden under concealer and dim lighting, the stitches on my lip barely noticeable unless someone got too close. I fel