My Stepfather, my Ruin
"This... this is wrong," she stuttered, trying not to meet his eyes. "You're my stepfather. Let's forget it ever happened."
"How can I forget it happened, Nicole?" He questioned, gripping her chin. "When the image of you whimpering for more replays in my head every fucking night?"
When one night of desperation turns into Nicole ending up in bed with a nameless stranger, she's almost shocked to death when she moves in with her mother's new husband to see that the nameless stranger is her new stepfather.
Tristan Michelson has always been in control of his emotions, but he can barely control himself when he realizes the masked stripper is his new stepdaughter.
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Chapter 2
Nicole Harper
~•~
"You've been saying next week for months now, Nicole," my landlord, a gruff man with a round face, said. "How am I supposed to trust you when you've repeatedly betrayed that trust?"
Betraying his trust was a bit dramatic because I just didn't have any money, but he had been accommodating. I didn't think any other homeowner would let me stay in their room for four months without paying.
"I know, Greg, and I'm really sorry, but I'm certain this time. If I don't pay next week, you can kick me out and throw my things in the street without notice!"
His lips thinned, eyeing me carefully. "I would throw you out after next week anyway."
My smile was tight. "I deserve it."
He let out a breath. "You're a student and I don't want to be cruel to you, so find a way to pay up okay?"
I nodded. "Yes sir."
As he left, the door closing behind him, I let out a relieved breath.
I was just coming back from classes when he ambushed me by the door and asked for my rent once again. I felt guilty that I'd delayed his payment for so long and I wouldn't wish my position on anyone.
I dragged my feet to my room, walking past two of my roommates, who didn't even spare me a glance. We were four in total, including me and Clara. I spoke to Clara occasionally, but as for the other two, I hadn't spoken to them in years, mostly because on their first day, I spoke to them and they didn't respond.
I closed my room door and dropped my backpack on the ground. Then I took off my clothes and stared at myself in the mirror. I had an objectively nice body. It looked good in my underwear so it was bound to look better in sexy lingerie. If I did agree to the opportunity Clara offered me, the men would find me attractive, right?
My straight blonde hair was long and silky. It was the one feature I was the most proud of.
I walked over to my closet and pulled out a pair of heels that I hadn't worn in a few months before going back to the mirror. Why the hell did the heels make my underwear sexier?
The first thing I did was a split to check my flexibility. I gasped in surprise. My thighs didn't hurt. I guess I wasn't too bad after all.
Before I could process it, I tapped on a random song and started dancing.
The music filled the room and I started slowly. A roll of the hips first, then I lifted my hands above my head like I was reaching for something. I dropped low, thighs parting, then rose again in a slow grind. My reflection stared back at me, my cheeks already flushed from the quick movement.
Muscle memory kicked in harder. I wasn't perfect but I wasn't that rusty either. A few more practices in front of the mirror and I'd be as good as new.
One song passed, then another. During the third song, a knock on the door pulled me away from the mood I was in. Without thinking twice, I opened the door.
It was Clara. Her eyes fell on me and her jaw dropped. That was when I realized I was still in my underwear and heels.
I closed the door immediately. I heard her chuckle behind the door as I searched my closet for something to wear. I threw on the first pair of joggers I found as well as a shirt before I opened the door again.
Clara couldn't stop laughing as she came in. My cheeks reddened. "What's so funny?"
"You haven't told me yes yet, but you're already practicing?" She questioned, still laughing. "I'll take that as your answer then?"
I didn't answer. I was too embarrassed to.
"You have a very nice figure though. I wouldn't be able to tell under all those clothes. Are you sure you don't want to strip full-time?"
My cheeks were still warm as I replied. "The point of joining you for the night is for quick money. I don't want to get distracted."
If I'd known I'd struggled this much, I would have spent my last summer break in the strip club. I paused. Did that make me sound like a whore? Whatever.
"You're sure you won't regret your decision?" She asked, finally turning serious.
It was just stripping. There was nothing to regret. I wasn't a morality police. I wouldn't even consider myself a moral person. As long as I wasn't hurting anyone with my decision, I didn't mind doing it. Stripping for one night wouldn't take anything from me. It was nothing to be worried about.
Besides, Clara had told me the other day that we would wear masks for anonymity. We even had to sign NDA's and all that stuff. The only effect a high-profile stripping gig would have on my life would be a positive one.
"I won't regret it. It's one night." I assured her.
She nodded, a bit proud. "Alright then. I'll let you know the details later." She turned to leave, but paused. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Sometimes, these private gigs lead to sex." I opened my mouth to speak but she didn't let me. "You can decline, I promise. I just wanted you to know so you're not taken by surprise. If anyone asks for a private dance, that's likely what they mean. Just shake your head if you're not interested."
It wasn't like I was against sex for money, but I never wanted to be in a position where I'd be forced to have sex just because I went to dance on a pole. "Are you sure?"
"Of course. My boss checks his clients properly before putting them in our care. Besides," she leaned in to whisper like it was a secret, "–these men are billionaires who wouldn't want such a scandal."
That reassured me a bit. "Do you usually go all the way?"
Her smile was coy. "It depends?"
"On?"
"How urgently I need money or how hot the man is."
"Oh!" I blinked, unable to reply to that.
"You're cute." She laughed. "I wonder how we lived together for four years without being friends."
I faked a pout. "We aren't?"
"Now, we are!"
I'd been pretty depressed in the last week, but right now, I was feeling a bit better. There was hope that I wouldn't be thrown out. There was hope that I could finally settle some of my bills.
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8.5
"Oh. God, Eli, please! I'm not on the pills," I gasped, my fingers clawing at his shoulders.
"With a pussy as sweet as that?" he growled against my neck. "Jett was the loser. I'm not. I'm gonna fuck this pussy till the end. Afraid you're gonna have my child?"
My head dropped as a shudder ripped through me. "You're crazy!"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "You're mine now. My woman. And I'm gonna fuck you until this pretty body of yours only knows me."
---
Rowanne Steele thought she had it all. A perfect marriage to Jett Carter, heir to the Carter empire, and a future filled with love. But when Jett dies in a tragic car crash, her world shatters. Her mourning days aren't over, still clinging to his memory, drowning in grief and loyalty to the man she thought she knew.
Until one night, a hidden truth rises from his belongings and everything Rowanne believed about her husband was a lie.
Lost and heartbroken, she runs into the only arms that feel safe, Eli Carter, Jett's younger brother.
What begins as a moment of comfort in the rain turns into a mistake neither of them can forget. A mistake that feels far too much like fate.
Rowanne swears it can't happen again. Eli refuses to let go. Whether forbidden or not, he's determined to claim her. And this time, he won't lose.
7.9
In my past life, I was the naive surrogate who fell desperately in love with Karson King, an untouchable Wall Street billionaire.
I thought my blind devotion would earn me a place in his family. Instead, his cruel mother forced me to sign away my parental rights to my three-year-old daughter.
I was locked in a dark, freezing basement. I watched helplessly as his arrogant relatives tormented my child, pushing her down a flight of marble stairs and shattering her tiny arm.
When we finally died in a horrific car crash, my face covered in blood amidst the shattered glass, Karson didn't shed a single tear. To him, my death was just the convenient erasure of a cheap mistake.
I sacrificed my dignity for his approval, but they treated us worse than stray dogs. Why did my innocent daughter have to pay the ultimate price for their ruthless arrogance?
Opening my eyes again, the harsh glare of a massive crystal chandelier pierced my vision. I was back in the grand foyer of the King estate, exactly five years ago.
"Sign it. You are nothing but a gold digger."
My soon-to-be mother-in-law slammed the thick legal contract onto the marble table, demanding I give up my daughter.
This time, the paralyzing fear evaporated, replaced by absolute, icy clarity.
I didn't cower. I picked up the pen, looked right at the billionaire who despised me, and prepared to manipulate his entire empire.
9.7
I tried to quit.
My boss said no.
When you work for billionaire restaurateur Bastian Hale, every day is an exercise in endurance.
He screams at you in front of half the staff? Endure.
He tears your work to bits and tells you to start again? Endure.
He surprises you shirtless in the office late one night? Endure... then go home and die of embarrassment.
I've endured six years of Bastian Hale.
I can endure anything.
... Until my doctor tells me I'm going blind in ninety days.
Suddenly, enduring isn't the goal anymore.
Living is.
Seeing everything I can before the lights go out forever.
And that means one thing: quitting the job that's consumed my entire adult life.
There's just one problem:
Bastian doesn't accept my resignation.
Instead, he shreds my letter to pieces...
Offers me a million dollars to stay...
And vows to make my last ninety days of sight worth remembering.
The man is arrogant. Brutal. Cold as the walk-in freezer.
But his hands are warm.
And in the dark, he teaches me things my eyes never could.
I wanted one last look at the light.
I got a taste of the dark instead.
9.8
For two years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to wealthy heir Grady Maddox.
Then I found a hidden compartment in his study desk. Inside were dozens of explicit polaroids of his adopted sister, Jasmine, and a worn leather diary.
The diary revealed the sickening truth.
"Kaya is the perfect shield. As long as I have a wife, no one will ever look too closely at me and my little Yue."
When Jasmine deliberately knocked a bowl of boiling soup onto my hand, Grady didn't even glance at my blistering skin.
He frantically checked Jasmine for nonexistent scratches and yelled at me.
"Why weren't you paying attention? Look at the mess you've made! You scared her."
He then kicked me out to our empty penthouse as punishment, only to move Jasmine in the very next day, letting her parade around in his dress shirts and giving her my favorite custom furniture.
Looking at the husband I had devoted my life to fawning over the sister he was secretly sleeping with, I didn't feel heartbroken. I just felt a deep, suffocating disgust.
I was nothing but a paper wall meant to hide their twisted affair.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg for his love.
I simply locked him out of the bedroom, gathered my financial records, and called Manhattan's most ruthless divorce attorney.
I was securing my escape, completely unaware that Grady's estranged, terrifyingly powerful older brother had been waiting ten years for this exact moment.
8.4
Juliette was an agriculture major desperately trying to get top-tier CRISPR potato data from Adrian Castillo, the untouchable physics genius and wealthy heir.
But to get it, she was dragged to a high-end shooting club, where Adrian suddenly lost all his legendary motor skills, shooting zeroes and acting like a helpless nerd.
His clumsy act made Juliette a target. Blair, a wealthy heiress, cornered her, mocking her mud-stained cargo pants and calling her a pathetic dirt-girl.
"If you lose, you leave this club and never speak to Adrian again."
Blair challenged her to a professional air pistol match. The crowd of elites laughed, waiting for the farm girl to humiliate herself.
Even worse, Adrian just stood behind her, pretending to be terrified of Blair and whispering that his sinuses would swell shut if Juliette didn't save him.
The mockery and judgment felt suffocating. Everyone thought she was just a desperate fangirl who didn't even know how to hold a gun.
But they didn't know the dark trauma she had buried years ago. And she didn't understand why Adrian, a man who could supposedly shoot a coin at eight hundred meters in a sandstorm, was deliberately playing weak to push her to the firing line. What was his sick endgame?
To secure her experimental fertilizer, Juliette finally stopped hiding.
She picked up the competition pistol, locked her perfect stance, and fired ten flawless shots.
108.5. Total, undeniable annihilation.
7.1
Jenna lay dying in the ICU, kept alive by a ventilator.
Her twenty-year-old twins walked in wearing designer clothes, looking at her with pure disgust.
Before Jenna could even reach out, Arthur stepped back.
"Don't touch me. You'll ruin my jacket."
Clio shoved a photo in Jenna's face, revealing their billionaire father was marrying someone else next week.
They told Jenna she was a penniless nobody, nothing but a cheap incubator for the Knight family heirs.
Then, checking his luxury watch, Arthur complained they were going to be late for a charity gala.
Smiling coldly, he reached out and unplugged her life support.
Jenna suffocated in agony, watching her own children walk away without looking back.
As the heart monitor flatlined, she swore a blood oath. If she ever got another chance, she would make them bleed.
When she opened her eyes again, she was back fifteen years in the past.
Her five-year-old son was kicking her bed, screaming at her to make his pancakes.
The trauma of her death ignited into pure, freezing rage. She finally understood that to this family, she was just livestock.
This time, Jenna didn't drop to her knees to coax him.
She dragged the brat over her knee and slapped him hard.
She demanded a divorce, escaped her locked mansion using torn bedsheets, and ran into the dark.
Finding a bleeding, heavily armed military operative hiding from assassins, Jenna pressed her hands against his wound.
"I get you out of this kill zone. In exchange, you protect me."