[POV Stepsister] Cappuccino in Schöneberg

The clink of espresso cups and the muted murmur of the lunchtime crowd formed a pleasant backdrop in the small Schöneberg café. Sunlight streamed through the large front window, painting bright strips across the wooden table.

I slowly stirred my iced coffee with a small spoon, watching the melting cubes circle in the dark glass, and leaned back. Sitting opposite me was Nadja. Having pushed her sunglasses up into her blonde hair, she sipped her cappuccino and appraised me with a searching, attentive gaze.

"You seem remarkably composed," Nadja began softly, resting her elbows on the wooden tabletop, looking me dead in the eye. "Night and day compared to last week. How are things really going with John?"

I paused, the spoon in my glass falling still. A subtle, painful pull set around the corners of my mouth before I shook my head.

"He's handling himself remarkably well," I said quietly. "Especially after everything that happened. The weekend with Timo was rough, but John held the facade out on the sofa, didn't slip up once, and gave me the exact surrender I needed afterward. But… I know what you're getting at."

Nadja lowered her head slightly, her expression turning grave. "Emma."

A cold shadow drifted across my thoughts. The memory of the salon, the party, and what happened afterward in the university wing momentarily tightened around my windpipe.

"I lost control, Nadja," I admitted with flat candor. "I was drunk on my own power, so greedy to make Emma feel that I held her completely in my hands through the materials. I thought I could use her as my instrument to test John. But I let her off the leash without realizing how poisoned she was by her own strain. She nearly exposed John right in front of everyone at the party. And when I disciplined her for it before his eyes, I naively assumed the lesson had landed."

Taking a deep breath, I pressed my fingers around the chilled glass.

"Instead, she dragged him into a restroom stall at the institute. Savagely wrenched the cage into the tightest notch, pinched tissue, degraded him, and abused him as a pure outlet solely to get back at me. She nearly broke him beyond repair. And only because *I* was careless. Because my ego mattered more than his safety."

Nadja listened in silence. There was no judgment in her features, only that calm, steady understanding. Reaching across the table, she placed her hand firmly over my forearm.

"Yet you pulled the cord, Loona," she said with emphasis. "You recognized what I pushed you toward back then. You shut Emma down completely, barred her from any contact with him, and took the reins back into your own hands. That is the divide between blind sadism and genuine leadership. You saw that John would have shattered if you hadn't stepped in. And the fact that you held him steady over the weekend—that you held him, cared for him, and anchored him again afterward—shows me you have control again. Not power ruling over you, but you ruling over the dynamic."

A faint trace of relief loosened the tension in my shoulders.

"I will never let anyone between us again who wants to ruin him," I whispered with resolve. "He needs parameters, he needs dispossession, but he also needs shelter from the fallout. He belongs to me. And I will not allow him to become fair game again."

"Good," Nadja returned gently, drawing her hand back slowly. That familiar, subtle gleam returned to her blue eyes. "Because that is precisely why I am helping you. Not to break him like that unhinged Emma, but to guide him in a secure space toward where he wants to be. What are we doing tonight at Maybachufer?"

My gaze cleared, that familiar, composed smile settling back onto my lips.

"Tonight, you lead the dance," I murmured softly. "He is entirely convinced you haven't the faintest idea. He thinks you're merely my pretty, innocent friend looking to tease him a little. After that nightmare with Emma, he is terrified of making another misstep, terrified of any contact beneath his trousers. He dreads the thought of you discovering what is going on beneath his fly."

Nadja giggled softly into her cappuccino. "He was already sitting there like a frightened fawn back at my place in Prenzlauer Berg the moment I rested my hand on his arm."

"That is exactly our angle," I nodded. "Tighten the noose carefully. Close the distance, graze his knee, compliment his quiet demeanor. Make him feel how razor-thin the margin before exposure is—while keeping the boundaries firm. Make him sweat, Nadja. I want him to believe he's walking on burning coals, while you already know every single move he makes in advance."

Nadja raised her cup, toasting me with a conspiratorial wink before taking a sip.

"Leave it to me, babe," she murmured under her breath. "I'll draw the absolute best out of your little stepbrother. Without pointed heels."