All Chapters of Revenge With Step-Daddy : Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

Lana’s POV “God, it’s going to pour. The weather’s acting like it’s on its period again.” I balance the damp paper takeout bag on one arm and fumble with the lock, practically vibrating with excitement. I told him I’d be gone until tomorrow, but I cut my work conference trip short. Three days apart felt like three years. I’m such a pathetic sap. I bought his favorite—pepperoni with extra jalapeños and that stupid root beer he insists “tastes nostalgic.” I used to roll my eyes, but now I smile because love turns you into a clown, and I’m full circus at this point. I hum under my breath as I text him. ME: Got your fav. Be home in 5. Get ready for kisses, loser 😘 He doesn't reply. That’s fine. He’s probably gaming or has his phone on silent. Or maybe he’s plotting to bend me over the kitchen counter when he hears the door open. I grin at the thought, quickly checking my reflection in the hallway mirror: tight jeans, cropped white tee, glossy lips. I even spritzed perfume low bet

Lana’s POVThe sun is barely a pale smear outside the massive windows when I slip out of bed.I’m still wearing his shirt, the white cotton soft against my skin. Still wearing nothing underneath. Still sore from yesterday’s emotional wreckage, but the tears are finally dry. They’ve been replaced by a cold, unsettling curiosity.Roman’s mansion is huge, quiet, and unsettlingly cold. It’s not haunted; ghosts at least leave residue. This place is just… empty. A polished, sterile mausoleum of wealth.I pad barefoot down the long, immaculate hall, looking for any trace of life. Any sign of a home.Wedding photos? Framed candid shots? Tacky vacation memories?Nothing.Not on the console table, not on the vast, blank walls, not even a single dusty picture tucked away. Everything is curated to be impersonal. For a newlywed billionaire’s mansion, it’s… sad.I walk into the master suite—his, obviously. The bed is vast, shrouded in sharp, ironed linens, perfection in white and charcoal. Only one

Lana’s POVThe sheets in the guest bed are rumpled. My body feels heavy, satiated, and gloriously powerful.I woke up smiling.I know he heard me last night. I didn’t whisper his name for my own pleasure; I whispered it for his ears. I wanted him to feel the exact kind of helpless, agonizing pull I felt when I walked in on my mother and Larry.He didn’t come in. The door stayed shut.Control. That is his currency. And last night, I made him use every last bit of it just to keep his distance.I put on a pair of tiny cotton boy shorts and a slightly sheer white tank top. I need him to look at me, and I need him to see exactly what he’s denying himself.I pad down to the kitchen. He’s already there, standing at the island, reviewing his tablet. He looks tired. His jaw is tight beneath the perfect stubble. Good.I grab an apple and lean back against the counter, legs crossed casually at the ankle.“Morning, Roman,” I chirp, biting into the apple with an unnecessarily loud crunch.He barel