SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER novel Chapter 21

Chapter 21

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For the first time since I had driven north into the snowstorm, I left the lake house.

Cassian handed me a long black wool coat and a pair of leather gloves, then opened the passenger door of the Range Rover himself. The drive was only twenty minutes, but it felt like crossing an international border. The road wound along the frozen lake, pines heavy with fresh powder, until a pair of wrought-iron gates appeared. They swung open automatically, revealing a lighted drive that curved up to a modern glass-and-stone villa perched on the hillside like a jewel.

Everett was waiting on the front steps, wearing a charcoal sweater and dark trousers, hands in his pockets, smile wide and welcoming. He looked every inch the gracious host, as if he had never pinned me against a bathroom wall and sucked bruises into my skin.

“Ivy,” he said warmly, stepping forward to kiss both my cheeks European-style, lingering just long enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne. “You look stunning. I’m so glad you came.”

His eyes flicked down my body (simple black dress, boots, hair loose) and the memory of his mouth on my breast flashed so vividly I almost stumbled.

Cassian’s hand settled possessively at the small of my back, guiding me inside.

The villa was breathtaking: soaring windows framing the black lake and white mountains, a massive stone fireplace crackling, modern art on the walls that probably cost more than my old apartment building. Soft jazz played somewhere in the background. A long table was already set for three, candles flickering, silver gleaming.

Everett took our coats, fingers brushing my shoulders longer than necessary.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said. “I hope you’re hungry”

He led us into the dining room. Cassian pulled out my chair, the one in the middle, then sat to my right. Everett took the head of the table, close enough that his knee could graze mine if he wanted.

Which he did. Repeatedly.

Conversation started light: the storm, the beauty of the lake in winter, the ridiculous price of truffles these days. Cassian’s hand stayed on my thigh under the table, thumb stroking slow, reassuring circles. Every time Everett’s gaze lingered too long on my mouth, Cassian’s fingers tightened, grounding me.

Then the tone shifted.

Everett poured another glass of Barolo and leaned back, swirling the wine.

“I’ve been thinking about a new project,” he said eyes flicking between Cassian and me. “Big one. Twelve-month contract, multiple locations, unlimited budget. A book, a gallery show,

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maybe a limited-series documentary. Dark, sensual, unapologetic. The kind of work that defines careers.”

Cassian’s interest sharpened. “You’re finally ready to go public with the private collection?”

Everett smiled. “Select pieces. Carefully curated. And I want you behind the lens, Cassian. No one else.”

He turned to me then, eyes gleaming.

“And I think Ivy should assist. Full-time. She has… a natural presence. The camera already loves her.”

My fork froze halfway to my mouth.

Cassian’s hand stilled on my leg.

Everett continued, casual as discussing the weather.

“I saw the test shots from the lake. Extraordinary Raw vulnerability, perfect submission. The way she responds to direction-” He paused, letting the word direction hang in the air like smoke. “It’s rare. I’d pay her triple whatever you’re giving her now. Travel, wardrobe, everything covered. She’d be the centerpiece.”

I set my fork down carefully, afraid my hand would shake.

“I’m not a model,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.

Everett’s smile didn’t waver.

“You already are,” he said softly. “You just haven’t signed the contract yet.

>>

Cassian’s fingers pressed harder into my thigh, possessive, protective, but he stayed silent, letting me speak.

“I’m here for one week,” I said, meeting Everett’s gaze. “That was the deal. Seven nights. Then I go home.”

Everett tilted his head, studying me like I was a photograph he hadn’t quite developed yet.

“People change their minds,” he murmured. “Especially when they discover how good it feels to be seen.”

Under the table, his foot brushed my calf, slow and deliberate.

Cassian’s grip turned almost painful.

Everett leaned forward, voice dropping to that velvet register that made my stomach flip against my will.

“Think about it, Ivy. Twelve months. More money than you’ve ever dreamed of. And every night, two of the best photographers in the world focused on nothing but making you look

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like a goddess.”

He let that settle, then sat back, sipping his wine, eyes never leaving mine.

Cassian finally spoke, voice low and dangerous.

“We’ll discuss it,” he said. “Privately.”

Everett smiled like a man who already knew the outcome.

“Of course,” he said. “Take all the time you need.”

Dessert was served (dark chocolate tart, fresh raspberries) but I barely tasted it. Everett’s gaze stayed on me the entire time, warm and patient and predatory.

When we stood to leave, he walked us to the door helped me into my coat, fingers lingering at my throat.

“Drive safe,” he said, then to me alone, so quietly Cassian couldn’t hear, “I’ll see you very soon, Ivy. One way or another.”

The drive home was silent, snow starting to fall again, headlights cutting tunnels through the

dark.

Cassian’s hand rested on my thigh the entire way but he didn’t speak until we were inside the lake house, coats off, standing in the foyer.

He cupped my face, searching my eyes.

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