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หน้าหลัก / Romance / CAN I RIDE YOU, SIR? Seducing my ex stepfather / บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

บททั้งหมดของ CAN I RIDE YOU, SIR? Seducing my ex stepfather : บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

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71

Federico Grey VolkovThe drive back to the estate was quiet.Liliana sat beside me with her hands in her lap, eyes on the road but not really seeing it. Jessica’s apartment disappeared behind us, and with it the temporary shelter she had run to. What remained was the harder ground: home, memory, and the empty space the child had left behind.When we arrived, I did not let the staff swarm her. I dismissed them with one look and walked her inside myself. In the foyer, under the hard white light of the entrance hall, I took her left hand.The ring was still in my pocket from the hospital table.I slid it back onto her finger slowly, deliberately, watching the metal settle into place as if returning a claim that had never truly been released. Her breath caught. She looked up at me, eyes wet again, but she did not pull away.“It stays,” I said.She nodded.We did not go to the bedroom first.Without discussing it, we walked the corridor that led to the room prepared for the child we no lon
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72

Rhea I had been traveling for so long that the days stopped feeling separate. Buses. Cheap hostels. Floors. Corners of waiting rooms when I could not afford better. By the time I finally reached the city, someone had already taken the last useful things I owned—my phone and my wallet. No contacts. No cash. No way to prove who I was to anyone who might have cared. So I started from nothing again. The restaurant hired me because I did not ask for much and because I was willing to work the hours nobody else wanted. Cleaning. Scrubbing. Carrying trays when they were short-staffed. The pay was small, but it was pay. At night, when the place closed and the last lights went off, I stayed behind and slept on the thin bench near the storage room because rent required more money than I had managed to save. It was uncomfortable. Cold in the early hours. Smelling of grease and detergent. But it was better than the street. Every night before I closed my eyes, I thought of her. My sister. Th
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73

RheaMy head lifted slowly.And there she was.Standing a short distance away in clean clothes, speaking to a doctor with the calm composure of someone who belonged under bright hospital lights. For a moment the noise of the ward faded. The years between us, the buses, the stolen phone, the restaurant floor, the scar—everything narrowed into her face.Mara.My sister.She had not seen me yet.But I had seen her.And instead of stepping forward, I moved back.I turned my body toward the wall, lowered my head, and let a passing nurse block the line of sight between us. My heart was beating too hard for a simple recognition. After everything—the traveling, the stolen phone, the nights on a restaurant bench—I finally had her in the same building, and my first instinct was to hide.Only after she finished speaking with the doctor and walked away down the corridor did I let myself breathe again.I sat back down in the plastic chair and stared at my hands.Why did I hide?It was not like I h
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74

Liliana MillerTwo weeks since the bleeding started. Two weeks since the doctor's voice went soft and the ultrasound screen went still. Two weeks of walking through Grey's estate like a ghost haunting my own life—quiet rooms, careful hands, the weight of a grief that sat low and heavy in my womb like a stone that wouldn't pass.Grey hadn't left my side. He worked from the home office when he had to, but mostly he just *was there*—in the periphery, in the silence, in the space between my broken breaths. He made me eat when I forgot to taste food. He made me sleep when my body wanted to stay awake and punish itself. He touched me like I was made of glass, like I might shatter if he held on too tight.But I was already shattered. And the guilt—the fucking *guilt*—ate me alive some nights until I was nothing but teeth and regret. I looked at him across the dinner table and saw everything I'd stolen. The child that would have had his eyes. The truth I'd buried so deep it had festered. The
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75

Lilian Miller "Come here," he said, voice rough.I climbed back into his lap on unsteady legs. He kissed me immediately—deep, possessive, tasting himself on my tongue and clearly not caring. His arms locked around me, one hand at the nape of my neck, the other at my lower back, holding me so close I could feel his heart hammering against my chest."Such a good repayment," he murmured against my lips. "My perfect, dirty girl."I laughed, the sound wet and broken and real. "Was it good?""Genuinely the best, Velvet." He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes soft in a way they never were for anyone else. "The absolute fucking best."His hands moved to the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head in one smooth motion. I wasn't wearing a bra—hadn't been able to stand the constriction on my tender breasts. He groaned at the sight of me, bare and flushed for him."Beautiful," he whispered, and then his mouth was on my breast, hot and wet and demanding.He sucked my nipple h
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76

Rhea“You can’t convince me otherwise!”The words came out sharper than I meant them to, but I did not take them back. Across from me, my therapist only smiled the small, patient smile she used when I was circling something instead of sitting in it.“I’m not trying to convince you,” she said. “I’m asking what the anger is protecting.”I looked at the plant in the corner of her office, then at my hands. The scar on my face felt louder under the soft light.“My mother,” I said finally. “I hate her. I hate that she couldn’t protect me. I hate that she made me a mother when I was still a child myself. I hate that she chose survival in the ugliest way and left me to carry what she wouldn’t.”The therapist nodded once, not shocked, not pitying.“And your father?”“He was absence with a mouth. When he was there, he made everything worse. When he wasn’t, the house still smelled like him. I don’t waste as much hate on him. He was easier to understand. My mother is the one who should have known
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77

Liliana MillerFor a second I thought I imagined her.The restaurant glass threw the street back at me in broken reflections, all headlights and evening bodies, and then one face cut through it with a familiarity so sharp it emptied the air from my lungs.Rhea.My sister.Older, thinner, harder around the eyes, with that scar still marking her face like a sentence no one had ever erased. She had a drink in one hand and popcorn in the other, ordinary as anyone else on the pavement. Our eyes met through the glass.Everything in me went still.Not the soft kind of stillness. The kind that comes right before panic or recognition fully lands. My mind scrambled for explanations. Coincidence. Mistake. A stranger who only looked like her.But it was not a stranger.I knew the shape of her face the way I knew old wounds. I had grown up with that face in the same ruined house. I had left that face behind.She moved first.By the time my body caught up, she was already turning away hard, almost
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78

Liliana MillerThe address burned in my mind the entire drive.Grey had not stopped me. That alone unsettled me more than if he had argued. He only assigned two guards and told them to keep their distance unless something went wrong. They stayed at the far end of the street when I stepped out of the car, close enough to watch, far enough not to crowd what I was about to do.The restaurant was ordinary. A little worn. The kind of place people entered for cheap food and left without remembering the staff’s faces. I walked in, ordered something I already knew I would not drink, and sat near the side where I could see most of the floor.My hands would not stay still.Every worker that passed made my pulse jump. Every dark-haired woman forced me to look twice.Then I saw her.Rhea was cleaning a table near the back. Sleeves rolled. Movements efficient. Face lowered until a customer shifted and the light caught the scar.My lungs forgot their job for a second.This was not the sister from m
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79

Liliana Miller


I got home with Rhea's face still stuck behind my eyes.


The estate was quiet in the way it always was when Grey was in his study, controlled and almost unnaturally still, as though the entire house knew better than to disturb him. I went to the kitchen first, poured myself a glass of fresh orange juice, then carried it upstairs because I needed something to do with my hands before I went completely insane thinking about everything that had happened.


Grey was sitting behind his desk when I walked in, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, one hand resting beside a stack of documents while the other moved across the screen in front of him. He looked up immediately, and his eyes softened when he saw me.


"How was it?"


I placed the glass beside him. "I found her."


His expression changed slightly. "Rhea?"


I nodded.


"And?"


I pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down. "It was... weird."


"Weird?"


"Awful. Good. Awful again." I sighed. "I don't know. We tal
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80

RheaThe number sat on my screen longer than it should have.I had not given it a name. No contact photo. No label. Just a line of digits that somehow carried more weight than any message I had received in months. My thumb hovered above the call button, pulled back, hovered again.If I called, I would have to hear her voice in private.If I did not, I would spend the whole night inventing versions of what she might have said.I put the phone face down on the counter and walked away from it.The apartment was small enough that walking away never lasted long. I opened the fridge, took out what little I had, and made dinner with the kind of concentration people use when they are trying not to think. Oil in the pan. Eggs. Leftover rice. Salt. The ordinary sequence of a woman feeding herself after a shift. I plated the food, sat down, and ate in silence.Halfway through, my eyes went back to the phone.I finished the meal anyway. Washed the plate. Wiped the counter. Dried my hands twice.O
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