Todos los capítulos de One Night Stand with My Stepdad: Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

The clinical, sharp smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol hit me the moment I pushed through the heavy glass doors of St. Jude Memorial Hospital. It was a scent I had come to dread over the past few weeks—a cold, sterile reminder of a reality I was desperately trying to keep buried beneath layers of corporate armor and tailored wool suits.My heart hammered a frantic, irregular rhythm against my ribs as I stepped into the dimly lit corridor of the private outpatient wing. It was just past nine in the evening. The main lobby was largely deserted, save for the occasional night-shift nurse gliding past in silent rubber-soled shoes and the distant, rhythmic beep of cardiac monitors echoing down the tiled hallways.I pulled my dark trench coat tighter around my waist, keeping my collar turned up against the chill and my head bowed low.The frantic phone call from the charge nurse ten minutes prior had turned out to be a clerical error regarding an old billing record for my mother’s histo

The underground parking garage beneath St. Jude Memorial Hospital was cold, quiet, and bathed in the harsh, flickering glare of overhead fluorescent tubes.Every single step I took beside Marcus felt like walking along the knife-edge of a precipice. The heavy, measured thud of his leather-soled shoes echoed against the damp concrete walls, easily drowning out the faint, frantic click of my own heels. He walked close—too close. His towering frame cast a broad, dark shadow over me, his dark trench coat flaring slightly with every long stride, brushing against the sleeve of my coat.My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, beating so violently I was terrified he could hear it in the oppressive quiet of the garage.Does he know?The question screamed in my head, loud, chaotic, and laced with pure terror. Did Dr. Aris’s lie hold up? Did he see through the paper-thin story about a viral infection and a bad cold? Marcus Vance was a man who dismantled corporate conspiracies for

The ambient hum of the supermarket’s refrigeration units faded into a dull, distant buzz as the air in the aisle turned instantly to ice.Standing ten paces away, framed by shelves of imported mineral water and artisanal olive oils, was not Alexander Vanguard, but a tall, slender woman dressed in a soft camel trench coat, her dark hair pulled back into a loose, elegant chignon.Chloe.My chest seized. Every drop of blood in my body drained straight down to my feet, leaving my skin cold and my head spinning with a sudden, violent vertigo.Chloe froze where she stood, a bottle of sparkling water lingering in her hand, her warm hazel eyes widening in absolute, total shock as they landed on me. For a fraction of a second, her gaze dropped from my face, taking in the surreal scene before her: me, standing in a brightly lit grocery store at ten o'clock on a Wednesday night, wearing a soft, casual coat, positioned intimately close to Marcus Vance—who stood tall, broad, and unbuttoned beside

The heavy oak door of the corner suite swung wide, bringing with it a sudden, terrifying drop in the room’s pressure.Marcus walked toward them.He didn't rush. He didn't raise his voice. His stride was slow, heavy, and absolute, every leather-soled step echoing off the polished floorboards like a ticking clock in an empty room. He was fully suited in dark charcoal wool, his white dress shirt crisp against a dark silk tie, his posture broad, dark, and towering.His expression was cold—so thoroughly stripped of warmth, so utterly devoid of compromise, that the morning light filtering into the room seemed to freeze around him.Alexander didn't immediately move, but the casual, arrogant tilt of his head stiffened into something far more defensive as Marcus closed the distance between them.Marcus stopped just two feet from the desk, his massive frame looming over the leather visitor’s chair. His silver-gray eyes swept down to Alexander, dark and heavy as forged iron."Elena is working,"

The morning mist hung heavy over Manhattan, shrouding the upper floor of the Vance Holdings tower in a dense wall of gray. Inside the corner suite, the air was cold, crisp, and charged with an unsaid static that made every breath feel heavy.At nine o'clock sharp, the double doors of the executive suite opened.Richard Vanguard walked into Marcus’s private office. Unlike his son, whose ambition was loud and volatile, Richard moved with the slow, calculated precision of an old-money patriarch. He wore a dark navy three-piece suit, an antique silver pocket watch chain glinting against his vest.Marcus didn't rise from behind his massive mahogany desk. He sat anchored in his high-backed leather chair, his suit jacket discarded, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His broad shoulders were squared, his hands resting flat on the polished wood surface. His silver-gray eyes watched Richard cross the room with a look of total, impenetrable stone."Marcus," Richard greeted smo