All Chapters of My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Gianna ━⊰ ❦ ⊱━ I was bored. Not the normal kind of bored where you scroll through your phone for a few minutes and it goes away. This was the annoying kind. The kind that sat on your chest and made the house feel smaller every hour. Back home I used to leave whenever I felt like it. I’d walk to the corner store, sit at the park or get coffee at midnight with my girls if I couldn’t sleep. Here, even stepping outside felt like asking permission. I stood by the window and looked down toward the gates. Ten guards. Always ten. One leaning against the booth, the others pacing slowly across the driveway. The mansion was beautiful but it was also a cage. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my contacts until I found the name I wanted. Ciro. Texting was a nightmare so I just pressed the call button. The phone rang once then he picked up. “Hello?” “Hey, it’s me,” I said. There was a beat of silence. Then— “No way,” I could practically hear the grin in his voice

Gianna ━⊰ ❦ ⊱━ The thin soles of my sneakers did nothing to protect me. Underneath the socks, the skin on my feet was broken. I had done it to myself, the sharp, stinging lines I had carved into my own flesh just days ago. Now, the heavy pounding of my weight against the roots and rocks made the wounds split wide open. I felt the warm, wet soak of blood inside my shoes. "Please," I whispered, "What is this?" The screams of the other girls had faded into the distance. All I could hear was the thumping of my own heart and the wet, squelching sound of my feet inside my sneakers. I forced myself to stand up. I had to. If I stayed here, the men in black bands would find me. I limped forward, my teeth gritted so hard my jaw ached. Every time my left foot touched a stone, a fresh bolt of agony shot through my body. I leaned against a tree, the rough bark scratching my shoulder. The bell from the mansion rang again. It sounded closer now. The hunters were out. And my fear didn'

First of all, this is a dark mafia romance. I always include detailed trigger warnings at the beginning, so you know exactly what kind of story you’re stepping into. Choosing to read something with darker themes and then being upset by those same elements doesn’t quite align, the darkness is part of the story, not separate from it. Secondly, I make a conscious effort to give each character their own identity. I don’t want my characters, male or female, to feel like copies of one another. If anything, their differences are intentional. When you look closely, you’ll see that each of them carries a distinct personality, which keeps the story from feeling repetitive. Thirdly, I always draw inspiration from real-world elements. I research, I explore the darker sides of power, and then I shape it into a more romanticized version for storytelling. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to strip away the darkness entirely. Now, about the “hunts feel high school-ish” comment. I genuinely have to as

Raphael ━━ ⛓ ━━ I snapped. My hands flew out, my fingers digging into the soft skin of her hips to stop the motion. I meant to push her away. I meant to end the torture. But the second my palms hit her curves, my brain went up in flames. It was a slow, dragging friction that made my vision go dark. My body was screaming at me to lean in, to just take what was being offered. "No," I rasped. "Help me," she whispered. "I am helping you," I rasped, my jaw aching from how hard I was clenching my teeth. "I’m the only thing standing between you and a total disaster." I reached up and grabbed her by the shoulders, pushing her back just enough so I could look into those glassy, green eyes. She looked back at me, her lips parted, her breath coming in short, hot puffs. She looked like she wanted to melt into the floor with me. "You don't want this, Gianna," I said, my jaw so tight it hurt, "You think you do right now, but you don't. It’s the pill talking. And you’re making things ver

Gianna ━⊰ ❦ ⊱━ My eyes felt like someone had rubbed sand into the sockets. I tried to blink, but my lids were heavy and stuck together. Everything was too bright. The light coming through the gaps in the curtains felt like a needle stabbing straight into my brain. My mouth was a desert. It was bone-dry, and there was a bitter, metallic taste coating my tongue that made me want to gag. My head wasn't just aching, it was thumping. A slow, rhythmic boom-boom-boom that matched the frantic beating of my heart. I felt hollow like someone had scooped out my insides and replaced them with cold lead. My muscles were weak, and my skin felt sensitive, as if the air itself was too sharp to touch. I shifted my legs, and the fabric of the sheets felt wrong. This wasn't my bed. I froze. The memories of the night before started to leak back in like black ink. The forest. The masks. The high, cruel laughter of those girls. I remembered the pink ribbon. I remembered the blue pill hitting the