My Strict Stepfather's Forbidden Lessons 1
1161 Words
l never expected my life to flip upside down in one phone call.
“Emily, sweetheart… there’s something I need to tell you before you get home.”
My mom’s voice sounded nervous on the other end of the line. I was already in the taxi, just twenty minutes away from our old house.
“What is it, Mom?” I asked, frowning.
“I… I don’t live at the old house anymore. I moved three months ago. All your things are already at the new place.”
I blinked. “You moved? Without telling me?”
There was a long pause.
"I had to ... something happened, Emily" she said.
Why does she sound nervous or scared. Did something bad happen. Now I'm worried.
"What is it Mom? Are you okay"
She clears her throat uncomfortably and I brace myself for ... I don't even know what it might be.
“Yes baby, I got married two months ago.”
I heaved a sigh of relief and laughed. “Haha, very funny Mom. Stop playing.”
“I’m serious, Emily.”
The laughter died in my throat. “Wait… you’re what?”
“I got married. His name is Alexander. He’s a good man. You’ll like him.”
"Why didn't you tell me.. I can't believe this right now.." I'm so flabbergasted right now.
"I'm so sorry sweetie.. Let's talk when you get here okay? I'll send you the address."
What should we even talk about? The conversation would be pointless they are already bound to each other till death do them part.
I sat there frozen as the taxi kept moving. My mother — who had been single and grieving for seven years since Dad died — had secretly gotten married and moved into a new house without telling me anything. I'm just hurt that she hid all of this from me.
I won't even be seeing her till tomorrow. She has a night shift at the hospital tonight and she was calling me from work.
By the time the taxi pulled up to the address, I was still in shock.
The house was massive. Modern, luxurious, with big glass windows and a beautiful garden. Nothing like our old small apartment. A black Range Rover was parked in the driveway.
Before I could even knock, the front door opened.
And then I saw him.
Alexander.
Holy s**t.
He was tall — easily 6’3 — with broad shoulders and a body that looked like it had been carved by a sculptor. Sharp jawline, dark hair with a few silver strands, and intense grey eyes. He was wearing a fitted black shirt that showed off his muscular chest and arms. He looked like money. Like power. Like the kind of man women wrote poems about.
“Emily,” he said, his voice deep and calm. “Welcome home. I’m Alexander.”
I just stared at him like an i***t. *How the hell did my mom pull this man?*
“Hi…” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. I felt my cheeks burning.
He helped me carry my bags inside. The house was even more beautiful on the inside — expensive furniture, chandeliers, everything spotless. My mom came rushing down the stairs and hugged me tightly, but I was still trying to process everything.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
The new room was nice — big bed, soft sheets — but everything felt wrong. New house. New man living with my mom. My anxiety was through the roof. My heart kept racing and my mind wouldn’t shut up. I kept remembering how I used to struggle with sleep after Dad’s accident. Tonight was bad.
At 1:17 AM, I gave up.
I quietly got out of bed in my silk nightdress and went downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe some calming tea would help. Or at least a snack. I started opening cabinets, searching for anything familiar. I was getting more and more irritated. Nothing was where it should be.
“Where the hell is the tea…” I muttered under my breath, standing on my tiptoes to check a higher shelf.
Suddenly, a deep voice spoke right behind me.
“Can’t sleep?”
I jumped violently, letting out a small scream. The glass jar I was holding slipped from my hands. Alexander’s hand shot out lightning fast and caught it before it could shatter on the floor.
My heart was hammering against my ribs.
“I—I’m so sorry,” I whispered, turning around. “I didn’t mean to—”
He was standing very close. Too close. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that showed every line of his muscular chest. Even in the dim kitchen light, he looked ridiculously attractive.
“It’s okay,” he said calmly, putting the jar on the counter. “Your mother sleeps like the dead. She won’t wake up.”
I stepped back a little, suddenly very aware that I was only wearing a short silk nightdress.
“I… I was just trying to make some tea,” I mumbled, looking down. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping either,” he replied. His voice was smooth, almost gentle, but there was something commanding underneath it. “Your mother told me you sometimes have trouble sleeping. Especially in new places.”
My face burned with embarrassment. *Mom told him?*
“It’s nothing serious,” I said quickly, trying to sound normal. “I’ll be fine.”
Alexander leaned against the counter, studying me. His eyes slowly moved down my body for a second before returning to my face.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Emily. This is your home now too.” He opened a cabinet and took out a fancy-looking tin. “Here. Chamomile and lavender. Supposed to be good for anxiety.”
He made the tea for me himself, moving confidently around the kitchen. I stood there awkwardly, watching his muscular arms flex as he poured hot water.
When he handed me the mug, our fingers brushed. A small spark shot through me.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He didn’t move away. Instead, he looked down at me with those intense grey eyes.
“If you ever can’t sleep… you can come find me,” he said quietly. “I’m very good at helping people relax.”
The way he said it made my stomach flutter. There was something in his tone — something slightly darker, slightly suggestive.
I quickly looked away.
“I should go back to bed,” I mumbled.
Alexander gave a small nod, but before I could leave, he added softly:
“Sweet dreams, Emily.”
I walked back upstairs feeling hot, confused, and strangely aware of the way my nightdress moved against my thighs.
This was only my first night here.
And something already felt very, very dangerous. Well, a certain someone.
- Writer
