Todos los capítulos de Payback on His Twin Bed: Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 90

****Yasmeen’s POV**After the truth or dare ended, Beatrice started serving dessert from the shaded cabana. Small glass bowls of fresh fruit, cream, and thin slices of cake moved from tray to hands. The group’s laughter had settled into a lower, satisfied murmur, the kind that followed too much wine and too many dares. The sun hung lower now, painting the water in softer gold.Elsa sat close to Liam on one of the loungers and fed him small bites as if he were a child who could not manage a spoon. Every time her fingers brushed his mouth I rolled my eyes. I lost count of how many times I did it. The sight sat under my ribs like something sharp and unfair — the same woman who had been on her knees near the trees earlier, the same mouth that had trailed wine across his chest in front of everyone, now playing at tenderness while he allowed it. The morning’s argument still echoed in my head. I had told him he was nothing. I had told him I was only using him. Watching her feed him made tho

** **Yasmeen’s POV** I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I react to Liam without my brain or my senses. The thought of getting caught did not even whisper in my ear. I simply did what he instructed. My fingers gathered the satin of my gown and pulled it higher, exposing the line of my thighs in the dim backseat while Lucas drove and Elsa scrolled through her phone in the front. The risk sat right there between us, and I still obeyed. The fabric whispered against my skin as I raised it, inch by careful inch, until the cool air-conditioning brushed directly over bare flesh. Liam’s hand left his phone and settled on my lap. His fingers moved slowly at first, tracing light patterns over the fabric that still covered my upper thigh. Then they slipped higher, caressing bare skin in slow, deliberate strokes that made my stomach tighten. I held my breath. Every pass of his fingertips sent a sharp pulse upward, low and insistent. I kept my eyes fixed on the back of Lucas’s seat, pretendi

****Yasmeen’s POV**Liora’s voice came through the wood again, clearer this time.“Uncle Liam? Big sis? I know you’re both in there. I have a question.”My heart slammed so hard I felt it in my throat. Liam’s eyes met mine across the small space of the guest room. Neither of us moved. The lock was still turned. One wrong sound, one too-long silence, and the entire careful structure we had been holding up would collapse in front of a seventeen-year-old who already think too much.I stepped closer to the door, forcing my voice into something light and ordinary.“We’re just talking, Lio. Give us a minute.”“About what?” Her tone was pure curiosity mixed with the stubbornness she always carried when she sensed adults were hiding something. “You’ve been weird since the beach. And Uncle Liam’s shirt was cut. I saw it earlier when he walked past.”Liam’s jaw tightened. I shot him a warning look and answered before he could speak.“It was an accident with a branch near the trees. Nothing ser

****Yasmeen’s POV**I barely sleep.Every time I close my eyes I felt the wine rack against my back, the grip of his hand on my throat, the way he had fucked me like he owned the right to do it. The words kept repeating in the dark, low and certain.*I will be the only one.*By morning the house felt too bright and too loud. Liora was already talking about wanting pancakes, her voice carrying from the kitchen in bright, endless streams. Lucas sat at the head of the table in a crisp shirt, scrolling through emails the way he always did, the picture of a busy, successful husband. Elsa moved around the kitchen with a tight smile that never reached her eyes. Beatrice poured coffee in silence, the red mark on her cheek from days earlier still faintly visible under the light.I sat down and tried to look normal.My body still carried the ache from the cellar. Every shift in the chair reminded me — the stretch, the bruises forming on my hips, the leftover wetness I had cleaned away in a hur

* **Elsa’s POV** Wow. I stared at the television in pure disbelief. Lucas and Yasmeen filled the screen in soft lighting, dressed like every fantasy of a perfect couple. He held her waist with practiced ease. She smiled up at him the way she always did for cameras — calm, luminous, completely convincing. Then the camera caught them kissing — slow, continuous, the kind of kiss that looked like their lives depended on it. The campaign voice-over talked about forever and trust and the kind of marriage California was supposed to envy. The same marriage I had been quietly dismantling for months. Lucas’s fakeness needed to be studied at university. Beatrice came down the stairs with a basket of laundry. The moment she saw me her steps faltered and she nearly turned around, eyes already lowering. “Come here,” I said sharply. She approached with her gaze fixed on the floor, the basket clutched against her hip. “Remember to keep your mouth sealed,” I told her, voice quiet and cold. “O