Alle Kapitel von I AM MY STEPBROTHER'S OBSESSION : Kapitel 111 – Kapitel 120

Clara caught me halfway down the hall before anyone else could react, took one look at my face, and pulled me into the copy room, letting the door fall almost shut. “Brett,” I breathed, my pulse pounding so hard it vibrated in my teeth. “Sales. He told me people are talking about Richard’s legal mess and me staying with someone in the firm. Said it right to my face like he was doing me a favor.” Clara’s expression turned cold and sharp. “I’m having a chat with his manager before the end of the day. Head back to your desk. Do not cry out there, Nyra. Don't explain anything to anyone. Let me deal with it.” “I’m not crying.” “Good, keep it together until you’re in the car.” I went back to my cubicle and spent the rest of the afternoon staring at my screen, typing out over-edited emails. At one point, our legal team called, and I had to ask the attorney to repeat himself because all I could hear was Brett’s voice echoing in my head: staying with someone from the firm. Around three,

Marcus called at 7:12 in the morning, taking ownership of the hour before I had even poured fresh coffee. “You’re sulking,” he said flatly, skipping any pretense of a greeting. “Sulking doesn’t move money. Sulking doesn’t fix a frozen line. Sulking gets you a longer sentence and a smaller life.” I stood in the kitchen of the house that still had both our names listed on the deed, holding a mug that had gone cold an hour ago. The temporary protective order sat on the counter beside the toaster, its edges soft and creased from being read and re-read too many times. “I’m under a strict court order, Marcus,” I said, my voice dry. “I can’t even call my own wife.” “Ex-wife in progress,” he corrected smoothly. “And court orders have boundaries. Boundaries have gaps. I’m not asking you to kick down her front door. I’m asking if you still want leverage, or if you’ve officially decided to be the pathetic bastard who lost a firm and a woman in the exact same quarter and called it destiny.”

NYRA'S POV Clara’s voice came as barely a whisper directly against my ear, warning me not to turn around fast because he was standing right by the bar in a dark suit. My body instinctively understood what she meant before my brain could even finish processing her words, causing the champagne flute in my hand to freeze halfway to my lips while the gentle background swell of the string quartet thinned out into meaningless noise. For a terrifying second, the entire ballroom felt less like an elegant gala and more like a long, narrow hallway with only a single exit and someone standing directly in front of it. I turned my head to look anyway. Richard was standing near a high-top table across the room, his glass raised a fraction of an inch, with his eyes locked onto mine as though we were the only two people left beneath the crystal chandeliers. He wasn't advancing or speaking, but was simply standing there in a deliberate effort to make his presence felt. The last time I had seen t

NYRA’S POV We didn’t bother setting an alarm, letting the morning open up around us without the usual sharp demand of a clock. Luca had cleared his Friday using some vague story about a vendor visit, bringing it up in the kitchen earlier as if he fully expected me to be the sensible one, to say no and drag us both back into the relentless pull of the working week. But I didn’t push back. Instead, I just looked at him and asked where we were going, to which he replied that we were heading out...somewhere far away from this apartment with all its heavy locks, promising that if I hated it, we could turn straight back around. I told him right then that I wouldn't hate it. He threw a few things into a canvas tote while I pulled on clothes, leaving every single tailored work blouse hanging cold in the closet in favor of soft jeans and a sweater. We packed coffee into a thermos along with a paper bag of warm pastries from the bakery downstairs, and then he drove us north along the water whe

Mom’s text didn’t invite a response, it delivered a sentence. ​MOM: You and Luca, tonight. 7:00. Please, both of you. No excuses. ​Luca stared at the glow of my screen over the kitchen counter, his face locking into a hard, unyielding line. "We don't have to go," he said quietly. ​"We do," I replied, grabbing my coat. "If we stay away, they write the narrative while our backs are turned." ​He didn't argue. He just grabbed his keys. "Then we walk in together." ​When we pulled up to the curb, the house looked entirely normal...warm light in the windows, the familiar porch light cutting through the autumn chill. My mother, Diane, opened the door before our knuckles hit the wood. She wasn't smiling, but her expression was controlled, tight-lipped and careful. ​"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "In the living room." ​George...Luca's father, was sitting in his armchair, a blanket over his legs. He looked older under the living room lamps, his skin pale, but his eyes were sharp. Th