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 6
Nicole Harper
~•~
I was lost in thought until I fell asleep.
By the time I woke up, it was very dark outside. I checked my phone to see that it was already past eight at night. I blinked in surprise. How long did I think for? How long did I sleep for?
I sat on the bed, not sure what to do, then my stomach rumbled and I found myself changing into something much more comfortable-an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts.
Barefoot, I made my way downstairs and went to the kitchen. The space was huge. It was the kind of kitchen that made you want to spend time in it regardless of whether or not you knew how to cook.
I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I opened the fridge, hoping to find something to eat. A blue sticky note caught my attention and I carried the container it was stuck on.
My lips pulled into a smile. At least, my mom was selfless enough to reserve dinner for me.
I put it into the microwave and leaned against the kitchen island, doomscrolling as I waited for my food to heat up.
"You don't like me very much, do you?"
I jumped in fright, turning around to see that Tristan was on the other side of the island. I placed my hand on my chest, trying to calm my fast-beating heart. "What the hell? What are you doing here?"
He arched an eyebrow. "This is my house, Nicole," he said, emphasizing on my name.
My tongue poked the inside of my cheek in annoyance, knowing damn well why he was speaking like that.
As I stared at him, all the memories from that night came flashing in my head.
"Are you throwing a fit because your mother remarried or is it an issue with me personally?"
I took a subconscious step backward even if there was something in between us. The more oblivious he acted, the angrier I got. My mother was with her third husband. She'd had several boyfriends. If he were this rich, it wouldn't be hard for him to find out and my mom never hid her history. Why would I get angry about a man who wouldn't last two years?
"Are we going to keep acting oblivious?" I questioned, not sure when the words left my mouth. I hadn't decided on whether or not to confront him yet here he was standing in front of me, looking ridiculously good in a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, looking nothing like the man who tied my hands behind my back, fucked me until I almost cried, and left me like that.
His hair almost covered his eyes, but I could vividly remember how those brown eyes tracked my every move that night. He'd been mesmerized. His intense gaze had turned me on, but how could I have known he was the "billionaire" my mother was talking about on the phone?
He arched an eyebrow. "Have we met before?"
I opened my mouth, ready to call him every name in the book, ready to call him out for acting like he didn't remember what happened that night, but then I paused.
What if he really didn't recognize me?
That night, I'd been wearing a mask that I never took off. I never gave him my name either. It was possible he couldn't recognize me. He knew nothing about me. Not my name. Not my face. Only the sound I made when I came undone.
I turned around, facing away from him as I closed my eyes tightly. Fuck.
I almost fucked up. I almost revealed that I was the stripper that night. If he couldn't recognize me, things were a lot better this way. I would have to learn how to act around him and not give myself away.
"Have we?" He was suddenly a lot closer.
I moved away, walking closer to the microwave as I faced him again. His eyes were stuck on my face. For a second, they drifted to my lips. My breath hitched. "No, not at all."
"Then I presume we have no existing differences?"
I swallowed. As long as we weren't counting intimacy. "None."
"Good," he hummed, his voice low and deep, doing something to my stomach I would never dare admit. "Your mom was worried you didn't join us for dinner today. I'm assuming that won't be the case tomorrow."
Dinner? Together? I wasn't used to that. However, I didn't trust my voice anymore so I just settled for nodding. His presence was imposing. He was close enough that he could reach me, turn me around, and...
I cleared my throat, ridding myself of every improper thought I had of him. He was my mom's husband. Aside from that, he wasn't a good person either. Good people didn't cheat on their partners. There was nothing to fantasize about him.
Just because I knew what he looked like and felt like, just because I knew how good he was at handling a woman's body didn't mean...
Fuck. I was already going off track.
"I don't like it when women are unhappy in my house," he said, taking a step back. "Especially not my wife."
I bit the inside of my cheek, physically restraining myself from snorting. If he cared so much about his wife, why was he looking at strippers with lustful eyes? Men were such hypocrites.
The microwave beeped, reminding me that I still had to eat. I let out a breath and focused on my food. By the time I brought the container out of the microwave, he was gone. I didn't even hear him leave.
Then again, I didn't hear him come in either.
I transferred my food onto a plate and carried it up to my new room, not wanting to run into that man again. He unsettled me.
I needed to pretend like everything was fine, but I'd never been the best at pretending.
This was going to be a wild summer.
Were there any jobs that provided accommodation for interns?
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8.1
Elinor's frail daughter, Cece, died in a sterile hospital room while waiting for her father to take her to Disney World.
But her billionaire husband, Derick, never showed up. At the exact moment Cece's heart monitor flatlined, the hospital TV broadcasted Derick affectionately holding the hand of his mistress and he has booked a clearance of the entire Disneyland to celebrate mistress's daughter's birthday!.
When Elinor confronted Derick with their daughter's ashes, he sneered and accused her of hiding the child just to get his attention. Elinor's heart was torn to shreds. How could a father be so blind and ruthless? Did Kamryn use his power to steal the very kidney that belonged to Cece? Why did her innocent baby have to die for their sick affair?
The suffocating grief inside Elinor finally crystallized into a sharp blade. She wiped the blood from her lips, canceled the simple divorce, and began her ruthless revenge.
9.2
For three years, Rachel lived in a marriage that almost no one knew existed.
To the outside world, Captain Jared Holland-the cold and powerful second son of the influential Holland family-was single.
Only a handful of people knew the truth: Rachel was his legal wife. Their marriage had begun because of a mistake and was bound by a prenuptial agreement that promised it would end quietly after three years.
And in Jared's heart, there had always been someone else-Olivia, his foster sister and first love.
When Rachel returns from a grueling flight and sees a video of Jared desperately carrying Olivia to the hospital, the last illusion she held onto finally shatters. That same night, she signs the divorce papers and walks away with nothing but a suitcase and her dignity.
But when the time comes to finalize the divorce, Jared refuses to sign-always finding excuses to delay it.
The woman he once ignored is now determined to leave.
And the man who never valued her is suddenly unwilling to let her go.
Rachel looked at the man in front of her and frowned: "Jared what are you playing? Sign the divorce papers."
Jared smiled, "Darling, I am sorry, I was wrong. Please, let's not get divorce."
9.0
Colette stepped out of the federal prison, finally breathing the air of freedom after two agonizing years.
But instead of a bus home, a black armored SUV blocked her path. Ferris Vance's men kidnapped her right at the gates. He forced her to sign a marriage certificate, threatening to completely destroy her father's legacy if she refused.
The nightmare had only just begun. She soon learned her father had been driven to suicide anyway. Dragged into the Vance estate, Colette was beaten bloody by the family of Ellie, the girl she supposedly wronged. Ferris paraded her in a pure white gown for the cameras, playing the fiercely devoted husband. But the second the lenses turned away, he forced her into a coarse maid's uniform, making her scrub the freezing marble floors on her hands and knees.
"Your life isn't even worth the dirt on my shoes."
Ferris whispered those words as he threw his muddy boots at her bruised face. She was nothing but a piece of bleeding bait, a prop meant to lure his missing lover out of hiding. She was tortured and humiliated for a crime she had absolutely nothing to do with. The sheer injustice of paying the price for another woman's disappearance tore her soul apart.
When he cornered her in the bathroom, the last thread of Colette's sanity snapped. She hurled a bucket of filthy water right into his face, broke out of his grip, and threw herself out a window into a freezing storm. This time, she chose to escape, even if it meant death.
7.6
I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history.
But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me.
He swam past me.
He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water.
When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl.
"You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home."
Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her.
I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife."
He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps.
He was wrong.
While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room.
I was packing his ring into a cardboard box.
I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead.
By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession.
8.3
On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.
9.3
After eight years in captivity, I was finally rescued. I thought it was the beginning of a new life with my mother.
But she didn't even look at me. She ran into the arms of a handsome stranger, her real husband, and I was treated like a dirty secret from her past.
They called me a contamination, a reminder of their trauma. My new stepsister set their Doberman on me, and as the dog's teeth sank into my arm, I looked up and saw my mother watching from the window.
She met my eyes for a second, then slowly closed the curtains.
In that moment, the last bit of hope I had died. The shallow bond of family was completely gone, and I finally gave up.
But they made one mistake. The family patriarch, suspicious after a car accident, ordered a secret DNA test.
The results came back on the day of my stepsister's birthday party, revealing a truth that would burn their perfect world to the ground.