SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER novel Chapter 22

Chapter 22

I barely slept.

The room was warm, the duvet heavy, but my mind kept spinning in the dark. Everett’s voice looped behind my eyes: twelve months, unlimited budget, centerpiece. I should have felt revolted. I should have laughed at the absurdity. Instead I lay there picturing the money ( enough to buy back Mom’s house outright, enough to never waitress another double shift, enough to breathe for the first time in years). And worse, picturing the camera on me, Cassian’s voice telling me how to arch, how to breathe, how to open. Everett watching. Both of them watching.

By the time the weak winter sun crept through the curtains, I was exhausted and terrified of how little the idea repulsed me.

I found Cassian in the studio at noon, setting up for a solo shoot with a redheaded model who had arrived while I was still pretending to sleep. The woman was already in a silk robe, laughing at something Cassian said, but my presence shifted the air. She glanced at me, curious, then back at him with a knowing smile before disappearing behind the screen to change.

Cassian adjusted a light, then looked over his shoulder.

“Ivy. Reflector.”

I moved on autopilot, clipping the silver disc to the stand, angling it toward the seamless paper. But my hands were slow, my mind miles away. I didn’t hear him call my name the first time. Or the second.

“Ivy.”

His voice finally cut through the fog. He set the camera down and crossed the room in three strides, stopping in front of me, close enough that I had to tip my head back.

“Where are you?” he asked quietly.

I swallowed. The studio felt too bright, too warm

“Everett’s offer,” I said, the words scraping my throat. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I should hate it. I should have told him to go to hell. But after the seven nights are over, the debt’s gone, and then what? I go back to scraping by, working doubles, praying the car doesn’t die? I don’t know how to say no when saying yes would fix everything.”

My voice cracked on the last word.

Cassian studied me for a long moment, something fierce and tender warring behind his eyes.

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” he said. “Or tomorrow. But if you want to try—if you want to see what it feels like to be on the other side of my lens-I’ll be with you every step. I’ll teach you. I’ll keep you safe. And I promise you, Ivy, you will enjoy it.”

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Chapter 22

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He cupped my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.

“Be my model,” he whispered. “Just mine. Let me show you how fucking beautiful you are when you let go.”

His mouth came down on mine, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, like he was sealing a vow. I melted into it, hands fisting in his shirt, letting him steal my breath and my doubts for one perfect minute.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

“Think about it,” he said. “No pressure. No rush.

He kissed me once more, quick and firm, then turned back to the shoot, voice shifting seamlessly into calm, professional command.

The redhead stepped out from behind the screen in nothing but black lace and a smile, and the session began.

I stood where I always stood, holding the reflector, watching Cassian work. But everything felt different now.

Every time he said “arch your back” or “look at me” or “good girl,” I heard the words directed

at me.

Every click of the shutter sounded like a question

Every flash felt like a promise.

Two nights left on the original deal.

And for the first time since I had walked into this house, I wasn’t counting down to freedom.

I was counting down to the moment I finally said yes.

Because Cassian had just offered me the one thing more dangerous than Everett’s money:

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