Todos os capítulos de Affair With My Stepfather : Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

The key turned heavy in the lock of Flat 2B.It was a solid wooden door painted dark green, sitting on the second floor of a grand sandstone tenement building on Carlton Street. Ethan pushed the door inward, and the smell of the place met them first old timber, polished brass, and the cold, clean damp of an Edinburgh winter afternoon.Zara stepped over the threshold, her boots clicking against the bare, dark-stained floorboards of the hallway. Her fingers were stiff with cold, still clutching the small leather bag she had carried on the train from London.Ethan set down the two heavy leather suitcases against the wall, taking off his grey wool coat and hanging it on the brass peg by the door. The apartment was quiet. Beyond the high sash windows in the front drawing room, the rooftops of Stockbridge swept down toward the Water of Leith under a low, purple-grey sky."The heating takes an hour to kick in," Ethan said, his voice sounding slightly flat in the empty room. He walked past he

The morning light over George Street was sharp and thin, cutting clean, pale ribbons across the concrete floors of Harlow Architecture’s new northern branch.The space was still largely unfinished. Bare structural steel columns stood like dark sentinels along the bare walls, and the room smelled intensely of dry sealant, fresh paint, and cold stone. A long, unfinished oak trestle table sat squarely in the center of the room, serving as our temporary command center until the formal office furniture made its way up from London.Ethan stood by the tall arched window at the far end, a thick ceramic mug of tea resting in his hand. He was staring down at the low gray line of black cabs and morning commuters moving along the wet cobblestones below.Behind him, my laptop chimed."The structural reports for the Leith waterfront commission just landed," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen. My hair was pinned up loosely with a plastic clip, my dark-rimmed drafting glasses resting low on

The rain had tapered off into a fine, freezing mist by seven o'clock when Ethan and I walked down the steep, cobbled descent of Bell’s Brae into Dean Village.The air down in the hollow smelled rich and old—wet moss, ancient stone, and the rushing, dark water of the Leith churning over the weir below us. The half timbered nineteenth century buildings stood wrapped in yellow streetlights, looking like something carved out of another century entirely.Ethan had his arm looped tightly through mine, his broad shoulder pressing against mine as we navigated the slippery stones. He wore a dark slate grey overcoat, his collar turned up against the cold, his posture tall and steady beside me."James’s house is just across the bridge," Ethan said, his voice low against the rushing sound of the river. "He bought it four years ago an old grain mill conversion. It’s mostly open stone and exposed timber."I tightened my scarf around my coat collar, feeling a sudden, familiar flutter of tension in m

Chapter 68: The DeliveryBy Friday afternoon, the heavy sea mist had rolled in off the Firth of Forth, wrapping Stockbridge in a thick, quiet blanket of dark grey.I sat on the edge of the linen sofa in the drawing room, a mug of tea cooling in my hands, staring at the empty space beside the fireplace. Every time a heavy vehicle rumbled over the cobbles of Carlton Street below, my posture went rigid, my ears straining for the sound of air brakes or a horn.Ethan came out of the kitchen, wearing a dark navy wool jumper, his hair slightly damp from the shower. He didn't say anything to fill the space. He walked over to the sofa, sat down beside me, and stretched his long arm over the back cushion, his fingers gently brushing the nape of my neck."It's only three o'clock," he said quietly, his thumb trailing down the curve of my shoulder. "The courier window runs until six.""I know," I murmured, resting my head against his chest, breathing in the clean scent of soap and cedarwood that c

By Monday morning, the cold rain over the New Town had cleared into a sharp, brittle autumn sky.The George Street office was no longer an empty shell. Over the weekend, three heavy oak drafting tables had arrived from a local workshop, set up along the high arched windows where the pale sun poured across the drawing boards. The concrete floor smelled of warm polish, and the long trestle table in the center was now stacked neatly with leather trace cases, reference binders, and two new desktop monitors.I stood over my drafting table, leaning on both hands, a pair of dark rimmed glasses resting on my nose. Spread across the white board were the preliminary elevations for the Leith waterfront commission.I held a red fine tip pen over the structural section of the east gallery, checking the load tolerances against the site engineer's updated bedrock report.Footsteps sounded behind me—slow, steady, and unhurried.Ethan stopped right beside my table. He was wearing a dark charcoal suit