Semua Bab One Night Stand with My Stepdad: Bab 41 - Bab 50

The air inside Suite 1402 seemed to instantly drop ten degrees, turning as brittle and unforgiving as winter glass.For three agonizing seconds, the only sound in the sprawling penthouse was the faint, distant hum of Manhattan traffic filtering through the thick double-paned glass of the windows.Vanessa stood frozen in the center of the Persian rug, her chest heaving beneath her emerald-green cashmere coat. The words Gabriel Sinclair—Julian's father—had just dropped into the room—We've hidden this secret for twenty-six years. It's time Marcus never finds out.—did not just hang in the air; they detonated, shattering every carefully constructed illusion she had spent decades building. Her mind reeled, spinning backward through the dizzying corridors of time. Twenty-six years. The late nineties. The chaotic, glittering, and deeply treacherous days of high-society integration, when fortunes were built on whispers and destroyed by midnight scandals.Gabriel stood before her, his frail sh

Marcus’s mouth lingered at the soft hollow of Vanessa’s navel, the heat of his breath searing through the thin silk of her blouse. His hands—large, calloused, unyielding—pushed the emerald cashmere coat open wider until it slipped from her shoulders and pooled on the velvet cushions beneath her. The city lights from the panoramic windows painted shifting patterns of gold and shadow across her body, illuminating every rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to draw air.He rose just enough to look at her. Silver-gray eyes, dark with hunger, traced the rapid pulse at her throat, then lower. With deliberate precision he unbuttoned the silk blouse, one button at a time, until the fabric parted completely. Vanessa’s breasts spilled free—full, heavy, the soft weight of them settling against her ribs. The cool air of the suite tightened her nipples into tight, flushed peaks. Marcus’s gaze locked onto them with open, raw appreciation.“Christ,” he muttered, voice rough. “All these years…

The glowing screen of my phone felt like the only real thing in a world that had tilted entirely off its axis. I was sitting cross-legged on the center of my bed, staring blankly at the vertical video looping on my FYP. Some corporate gossip channels were already tearing apart the aftermath of the Sinclair family fallout, speculating wildly about asset seizures, sudden expulsions, and the mysterious disappearance of their social standing.My thumb swiped lazily upward, bringing up another clip, then another, but the noise of the internet felt entirely hollow. My mind was still trapped in the echoes of the executive floor, the terrifying memory of Julian screaming about secrets, and the constant, suffocating dread that the truth about the baby nestled quietly beneath my ribs would somehow claw its way into the light.I let out a long, ragged sigh, tossing the phone aside onto the comforter. The screen flickered black, leaving the quiet sanctuary of my bedroom wrapped in the dim, amber

The sharp click of the heavy double doors swinging open felt less like a sound and more like the snapping of a tightly wound piano wire inside my skull.Time, which had slowed to a torturous, viscous crawl just seconds before, violently snapped back into hyper-speed.My hand was still resting flat against the smooth, exposed expanse of Elena’s thigh, my fingers burning against her skin, the friction of the dark silk dress bunched beneath my palm. Her breath hitched, a faint, trembling gasp catching in her throat, her dark eyes flying upward from my face to meet mine with a look of sheer, unadulterated panic.In the doorway stood Vanessa.She looked immaculate, wrapped in a sweeping cashmere wrap, her silver-streaked hair pinned back with severe elegance, holding a leather clutch tightly against her side. But the moment her gaze swept across the dining table, her footsteps stuttered on the Persian rug.I didn't flinch. I didn't panic. Years of hostile boardrooms and boardroom coups had

The words hung in the quiet, fading light of the executive suite, heavy and inescapable.You don't have to pretend you're comfortable around me.My breath caught in my throat. For a fraction of a second, the floor beneath my feet felt as though it were dissolving into thin air. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to put up the shield, to retreat behind the cold, professional armor I had spent all morning forging, to deny the raw, terrifying accuracy of what he had just said.I forced my fingers to loosen their death grip on the strap of my leather portfolio bag. I lifted my chin, dragging every ounce of defensive pride I had left into my voice, and met his piercing silver-gray gaze head-on."I'm not pretending, Mr. Vance," I lied, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. "Everything is fine. I'm simply focused on the portfolio audit. There's nothing more to read into."Marcus didn't blink. He didn't smile, nor did he look away. He stood there, towering over my desk, his sharp ey