All Chapters of CAN I RIDE YOU, SIR? Seducing my ex stepfather : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Liliana MillerGrey did not let the panic sit for long.The second I said Viktor had committed murder, his hand came to my back and steered me inside, away from the open driveway and the men still cleaning up the far end of the hall. His voice stayed low, controlled, as if the night had not just cracked open in front of me."It was a traitor," he said once the door shut behind us. "One of ours sold a route. Viktor handled it before it spread.""On the grounds?""Better here than in public."I stared at him. "That is not the comfort you think it is.""It's the truth." His eyes moved over my face, then down to the half-wrapped burn on my finger. The shift in his expression was immediate. "What happened to your hand?""It's nothing.""Liliana.""I cooked," I said. "For Rhea. The chef didn't know the dish, so I made it myself. I burnt it a little. Me. Not the food. Or… both."Grey took my wrist with far more care than the rest of the night deserved and examined the mark under the light. H

Chapter 84Rhea“I will pay for your surgery.”That was the first real thing Frederico Grey Volkov ever said to me that I could not immediately classify as threat, pity, or control.I rejected him three times.The first time because pride is a stubborn animal. The second because money from my sister’s man felt like a chain dressed as kindness. The third because I had lived so long without soft options that accepting one made me suspicious of myself.He never argued like a man who needed to be thanked. He simply restated the offer as fact and left it on the table until the day I walked into the clinic on my own and signed the papers.Even then, I told myself it was practical. Not emotional. Not forgiveness by proxy.Now, weeks later, the scar on my face no longer pulled the same way when I spoke or smiled. Strangers looked at my eyes first more often than the damaged skin.The new job helped too. Better pay. Cleaner hours. A desk that did not smell like grease and exhaustion.I still c

Liliana MillerA day to the fucking wedding.I had never been more excited and nervous about something in my entire life. It was almost ridiculous how many times I had said the same thing in the last hour.“I still can’t believe this is actually happening.”I said it again, staring at my reflection in the mirror while sitting cross-legged on the enormous bed.Jessica burst out laughing from where she was sitting beside Rhea.“You’ve said that at least twenty times.”“I know.”“You’re going to say it twenty more times before you sleep.”“I probably am.”Rhea smiled, shaking her head as she watched me. For some reason, seeing her there still made something warm settle in my chest.There had been a time when I couldn’t imagine sitting in the same room with my sister without feeling like there was an invisible wall between us. We had not always understood each other. We had both carried our own hurt, our own assumptions, and our own reasons for keeping our distance.But that was behind us

Liliana Miller pov: "So we are husband and wife, huh?" I mumbled softly, the words still foreign and delicious on my tongue.Grey and I stood close in the suite, both staring at the wedding photograph already placed on the side table like the day needed proof it had happened. In the picture his hand covered mine, my veil caught mid-shift, and the look on his face was the same one he wore now — steady, claimed, slightly disbelieving in the most dangerous way.We were leaving for Italy in the morning. Tonight belonged to this room and the quiet after the noise.I disappeared into the bathroom while he loosened his cufflinks and talked through the open doorway. "I'm telling you. I didn't even notice them at first." I responded to him, after he told me a particular business partner didn't come through."They were in the last row.""Be serious, Grey. We didn't invite that many people. If they came, we would have known."He made a low sound of agreement.When I stepped out, I still had th

RheaTwo months later, Milan still did not feel like it belonged to me.That was the strangest part. The lease had my name on it. The sign above the door had my name on it. The early-morning flour on my hands, the ache in my feet after closing, the smell of butter and sugar that followed me home every night, and the exhaustion that settled into my bones after a twelve-hour shift were all mine. I had chosen the location, signed the papers, hired the workers, picked the recipes, argued over the display cases, worried about the color of the walls, and stood behind that counter when the doors finally opened. Yet sometimes, especially when the shop was quiet, I would look around and still feel like I had somehow wandered into somebody else’s life by mistake. I would stare at the bakery sign through the glass and wait for someone to tell me that there had been a misunderstanding, that this wasn’t really mine, that I was going to wake up and find myself back where I had started.But nobody e