Todos los capítulos de My Stepbrother My Ruin: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

The kitchen was too quiet after Dawson left.Brianna sat at the table, her fingers still tingling where his hand had been, her coffee cold and forgotten in front of her. She listened to the front door close. Listened to his car start. Listened to the sound of him driving away.She should go upstairs. Change out of the clothes she had worn to the gala. Eat something. Sleep. Do any of the things normal people did after a night that had torn their life apart and put it back together differently.Instead she sat at the table, watching the light shift across the floor, and let herself feel the weight of what he had said before he walked out.I lied.Three words. They had undone everything. The walls he had built between them, the careful distance, the pretense that she was just another person in his house, just another contract to manage.She pressed her palms flat against the table. The wood was cool, solid, real. She needed something real. The last few hours had felt like standing at the

They stood in the foyer for a long time after Eric's cars disappeared.Brianna could feel Dawson's heartbeat against her cheek, steady and slow, the rhythm of a man who had learned to be calm while everything around him burned. She wanted to stay there. Wanted to close her eyes and let the warmth of him erase the cold that had settled in her bones.But the cold was part of her now. It had been part of her since the night her mother walked her through these doors.She pulled back."I need to go upstairs."He let her go. His hands fell to his sides, slow, like he was learning to release something he had been holding for a very long time."I'll be in the study. If you need anything."She nodded. Walked toward the stairs.At the bottom step, she stopped. Looked back at him. He was standing in the middle of the foyer, the light from the windows falling across his face, his hands still empty at his sides.He looked like a man who was waiting to be left.She did not go to her room.She walke

Morning came through the curtains soft and gray.Brianna woke with the sweater still wrapped around her, the cashmere warm against her skin, the smell of Dawson's soap still clinging to the fabric. She lay still for a moment, watching the light move across the ceiling, listening to the house wake up around her.She had slept. Really slept. For the first time in weeks, there had been no dreams, no waking in the dark with her heart pounding, no staring at the window waiting for Eric's face to appear.She sat up. The room was hers now. The clothes in the closet. The sheets on the bed. The dress in its box. She looked at them and felt something she could not name. Gratitude. Fear. The weight of being seen.She got up. Walked to the closet. Ran her fingers over the fabrics he had chosen. Silk. Wool. Cashmere. Things she had never owned, never touched, never let herself want.She pulled out a dress. Gray. Simple. It would fit. She knew it would fit. He had thought about that too.She was ho

The car was waiting at the gates.Brianna walked through the foyer with Dawson's hand still in hers, her bag over her shoulder, the gray dress moving against her legs. She could feel Declan watching from the study doorway. She did not look at him.Eloise was standing at the front door.She had changed clothes since the morning. A silk blouse. Tailored pants. Diamond studs in her ears that Brianna had never seen before. She looked like a woman who belonged in this house. She looked like a stranger.Dawson stopped when he saw her. His grip tightened on Brianna's hand.Eloise's eyes moved to their linked fingers. Her face did not change."Leaving so soon?"Brianna stepped forward. "You knew we were leaving."Eloise moved aside, let them pass. Her heels clicked on the marble. She followed them down the steps, toward the car, toward the gate."Francesca told me. Geneva. Important business." Her voice was light. "Dawson's taking good care of you."The driver opened the door. Dawson handed B

The elevator was silent.Brianna stood with her back against the wall, Dawson's hand still on her arm, his grip too tight, his face too still. The numbers on the panel climbed. Five. Six. Seven. She watched them without seeing them.The folder. Her name. The truth about her father.She opened her mouth to speak. Dawson shook his head. He looked at the ceiling, at the corners of the elevator, at the small black dome of a camera. Not here. Not now.The doors opened on the eighth floor. He pulled her down the hallway, past doors, past ice machines, past a cart of towels that smelled like bleach. He stopped at a door at the end. Swiped a card. The lock clicked.He pushed her inside.The room was dark. She heard him close the door, turn the lock, slide the chain. He moved through the dark, checking the windows, the bathroom, the closet. She stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, waiting.A lamp clicked on. He stood by the window, his back to her, his hands on the