All Chapters of Addicted to My Stepbrother : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

​Derek didn't wait for the dust to settle. While the agents were still hauling Andrew, my mother, and Margaret toward the service elevators, his boots clicked hard against the floor. He made a sharp turn toward the side exit, hand shoved in his coat pocket, trying to slip out before anyone noticed.​"Not so fast," I said, cutting right through the quiet room. I flicked my chin toward the corner. "He's trying to run."​Derek froze, one foot half-lifted off the floor. He spun around, his face twisting into a desperate snarl. "You're lying. This is a personal dispute, I have nothing to do with any of…"​"Extortion isn't a civil matter when it involves federal banking licenses, Derek," Agent Vance said without breaking stride.​Two officers didn't wait for a second signal. They grabbed Derek by the shoulders, shoved him against the glass doors, and slapped cuffs on him. Within seconds, he was hauled out into the corridor, cursing under his breath as his shoes scraped against the floor.​W

The room went quiet except for our breathing, the two of us still tangled together in the aftermath. I pressed one more kiss to his cheek before pulling back, reaching for my dress where it had slipped off my shoulder.​"You're leaving already?" Julian murmured, catching my wrist.​"I need to paint." I laced my fingers through his for a second, then let go. "You're not the only thing on my mind, Mr. Man."​He huffed out a laugh, low and rough. "Wound me. Go on then."​I fixed myself in the mirror by the door, smoothed my hair back, and slipped out into the hallway. The building had emptied out, most of the lights dimmed for the night. I took the stairs up to my studio two at a time, my mind already drifting back up to the loft.​By the time I pushed the heavy door open, the quiet of the room felt loud.​I dropped down onto the floorboards in front of the shoebox tucked under my easel, a thin layer of dust coating the lid. My fingers hovered for a second before I shoved it open.​The p

Julian caught the stairwell door before it swung shut behind me, his palm slapping against the metal. “Tamara, wait.”​I kept climbing. He followed, taking the stairs two at a time until I reached the landing. I stopped there, one hand gripping the cold railing, my chest rising and falling too quickly.​He came around the corner and stopped a few feet away. “You don't get to just walk away from this.”​“I’m not walking away.” I straightened. “Julian, you know this isn't going to work.”​“Then look at me.”​I did. His face was different now. The desperation he'd tried to hide was completely exposed. “I meant what I said,” he whispered. “I want you. I want us. I don't care about the company, the board. I don't care about any of it.”​My heart tightened. That was the problem. I believed him, and somehow, believing him made this harder.​“Julian, you don't understand what you're asking me to do.”​“Then tell me.”​“I can't just drop everything.”​“I'm not asking you to leave anything,” he

The gate agent scanned my boarding pass with a tired smile. "14A. Window seat, first flight out. Lucky you.""Lucky me," I murmured, my voice raspier than intended.I shoved my bag overhead and dropped into 14A. Outside, the tarmac crew swung wands under the wing lights, their breath fogging in the gray damp. A flight attendant paused beside my row, tapping the headrest. Her name tag read MARISOL."Water, juice, coffee before we push back?""Just water, thanks."She handed over a small plastic cup, her eyes flicking down to the paper slip tucked into my jacket pocket. "One-way to New York?""One-way."Marisol held my gaze for a beat. The worn crease between her brows softened, and she gave a single, knowing nod. "Safe travels," she said softly, and moved down the aisle.I pressed my palm against the cold glass, watching the runway lights blur as the plane picked up speed. When the tires left the ground, I finally let go of my breath. Below us, the city shrank into a grid of tiny light

​The room was so quiet I could hear the tiny click of the speakerphone.​"Tamara?"​It wasn't the smooth, professional Julian speaking. His voice sounded raw and weak.​"He's still talking," Priya said softly from behind her easel, her paintbrush stopping over her canvas. She didn't look at me.​I didn't move. I just stared down at his name glowing on my phone screen.​"If you’re listening to this," the message continued through the static, "it means you didn't answer. That's fair. After everything my family did to yours, you should block my number."​He took a deep, rough breath.​"The police and lawyers finished questioning my mother an hour ago. She told them everything about their illegal business deals. They are locking down all the bank accounts. By tomorrow morning, the family business will be completely destroyed."​My chest felt heavy not with fear, but with a strange feeling of relief. It felt like watching a burning building finally fall into ashes.​"I’m not calling to ask