All Chapters of Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

EMMA’S POVThe mansion didn't just feel empty; it had become a tomb, and we were the restless spirits trapped inside its marble ribs. It had been seventy-two hours since the front door slammed with a finality that seemed to shatter the very foundations of my reality. Seventy-two hours since mom walked out, leaving behind a vacuum so powerful it felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of every room. In that time, the "Saint" hadn't just fallen; he had disintegrated, and the resulting rubble was suffocating us all in a layer of fine, bitter ash.The silence was the worst part. It wasn't a peaceful quiet; it was a heavy, rhythmic throbbing in the ears, the sound of a house holding its breath, waiting for the next scream that never came. I moved through the corridors like a trespasser, my footsteps echoing off the cold limestone floors. The staff had been dismissed or had left for the day, leaving the grand hallways to be haunted by the ghost of the family we used to pretend to be. E

RUTH’S POVThe hotel room was a masterpiece of sterile, unfeeling luxury—all eggshell whites, brushed steel, and linens that smelled faintly of industrial bleach. It was a vacuum, a hollow space forty miles away from the sprawling, velvet-choked rot of the mansion I had called home for months. For three days, I had lived in a state of suspended animation, a human statue staring out at the pulse of the city traffic below. I had eaten nothing but the bitter fruit of my own thoughts, moving through the room in a silent dance of grief and calculated fury. But eventually, the silence became too loud. It began to hum with the echoes of Jordan’s groveling and the hollow thud of his body hitting the floor. I couldn't hide in the white anymore.I reached for my phone on the bedside table, my hand trembling only slightly. The moment I powered it on, the device became a vibrating heart in my palm. The screen exploded with a barrage of notifications—a digital landslide of betrayal. There were

REIGN’S POVThe silence in the room didn't just break; it shattered under the weight of her sudden, absolute exposure. Ruth stood entirely naked, her skin glistening from the heat of the shower, small droplets of water racing down the pale slope of her shoulder to lose themselves in the hollow of her collarbone. Her hands remained frozen in the air, her fingers curled as if she could still catch the white terry cloth that now lay like a discarded skin at her feet. The shock on her face was exquisite—a wide-eyed, gasping paralysis that stripped away every ounce of the cold, untouchable matrix she usually wore like armor.I didn't give her brain time to process the intrusion. I stepped over the pooled towel, the space between our bodies evaporating until the heat radiating from her damp skin hit the front of my shirt."Reign, wait…" her voice was a breathy, trembling rasp, her hands coming down instinctively to cover her breasts, her elbows pressing against her ribs. "This is insane...

RUTH’S POVThe shower didn't wash away the shame; it only made it sting, sharp prickling needles across my sensitized skin. The hot water pelted down in an aggressive, unyielding stream, turning my breasts, stomach, and thighs a raw, vibrant pink from the friction. I had just let my stepson take me again on a cheap hotel bed, surrendering once more to that dark, vengeful hunger that always seemed to surface when Jordan pushed me to the brink. The moral compass I had spent my entire life carefully constructing, the pristine reputation of the perfect corporate wife, was now spinning aimlessly in the mud. I felt dirty, not from the sweat we had shared, but from the realization of how easily Reign could still break through my defenses, using my own grief as an invitation to slide right back into my bed."You're rushing," Reign’s voice drifted from the bathroom doorway, cutting through the steam.I spun around, clutching the edge of the glass door. He was leaning against the heavy frame

EMMA’S POVThe master suite was a suffocating tomb of sweat, musk, and the copper tang of Jordan’s blood where my teeth had split his bottom lip in the frantic heat of it. We had lost track of the hours, completely unmoored from our own identities, utterly severing any connection to the world beyond the perimeter of this massive, clinical bed. Jordan’s heavy body was a crushing weight above me, his chest damp with sweat as he pinned me down into the mattress."Look at me," he growled, his voice a gravelly rumble against my skin as he shifted our positions, pulling me up until we were tangled in a tense, breathless alignment. He flipped us over, forcing my head down toward his lap while his own mouth targeted the sensitive skin between my thighs.The room blurred as we twisted into a tight, frantic sixty-nine, the raw friction of our skin against the silk sheets generating a white-hot heat. My hands gripped his muscular thighs, my fingers digging deep into his flesh for leverage as I