HE RUINED ME, NOW I'M HIS STEPMOTHER

The Return

The plane touched down at JFK and my stomach turned inside out.

Six years. Six years since I'd set foot in this city that had broken me. Since I'd run with nothing but a bag and Marcus's baby growing inside me.

"Mommy, look!" Lily pressed her face against the window. "Is this where Daddy lives? Does he fly like Superman or—"

Her voice faded into the background as my mind drifted somewhere else entirely to a week ago. To a man whose last name I didn't even know.

We'd exchanged numbers that night, and he'd been texting me ever since. Good morning messages, questions about my day, and even an invitation to dinner when I got to New York.

But I didn't reply to any of them.

Moving on felt too fast— too reckless. But God, I couldn't stop thinking about him. About the way he'd looked at me like I was the only woman in the room. The way his hands had felt on my body. The way he'd made me forget about the burden I carried on my shoulder.

"Mommy!" Lily tugged my sleeve. "You're not listening!"

I blinked and forced a smile. "Sorry, baby. What were you saying?"

"Mommy, can we get pizza?" Lily asked as we checked in.

"After we settle in." I grabbed her hand and walked her to the room we were assigned to.

Our room was nice, bigger and fancier than the room we had back in Manhattan. I unpacked while Lily bounced on her bed, still talking about superheroes. And soon after ordered room service and turned on cartoons, knowing that would distract her for a while.

My phone buzzed, and I saw it was a message from my assistant

‘Fashion week schedule confirmed. Friday, 8 PM. VIP guest list attached.’

I opened the attachment and scrolled through the names: Celebrities, Designers and even Investors.

Then I saw it.

*Blackwell Family - Reserved Front Row*

My blood turned ice cold. Oh no! This couldn't be happening!

But then I remembered. The Blackwells always attended fashion week. They sponsored half of the damn event. And suddenly felt so stupid for not remembering such an important detail.

But maybe Marcus wouldn't come— Maybe just his mother, or his brothers. Anyone but him. I could handle anyone but him.

****

Friday arrived too fast. It felt like I hadn't gotten much time to prepare for what I thought was inevitable.

I stood backstage in my black silk dress, adjusting it for the hundredth time. My models had just finished their walk, and I heard the loud applause from the audience.

My stage manager touched my arm. "You're up, Ms. Thomas. It is time for your final walk.”

I nodded and gave him a grateful smile, stepping towards the curtain and then— I froze completely.

A man I knew all too well stood in the shadow. It was him. Those same blue eyes and strong broad shoulders.

James. The man I had a one-night stand with some days ago. He had come like he had promised in one of his texts.

Our eyes met, and he gave me a smile. My heart fluttered and I felt heat crawl up to my neck. I looked away quickly and stepped onto the runway before I would do something stupid.

I started my walk and I felt the stage light hit me, dragging all attention to me. Then I saw the front row.

The Blackwell family section.

Marcus's mother sat there, Natalia Blackwell. Those sharp eyes that had always made me feel small, shameful and pitiful.

It felt like time slowed down as she turned her head to me and her eyes widened— then she gasped so loud that people turned to stare at her.

I smiled and kept walking.

At least there was no Marcus. Even though deep inside my mind I felt something wasn't right. Like something was going to eventually happen. I pushed the thought behind my head and continued.

I had done it. I had just survived my first New York appearance without seeing him.

So I turned to walk back, my heels clicking on the shiny floor, before I turned the corner to my personal studio.

That's when I saw him. He was standing at the side of the entrance, his body tilted in an awkward manner as if he was trying to stay hidden in the shadows.

MARCUS BLACKWELL.

I could not stand there anymore, so I walked away fast. I stumbled slightly in my heels, but I didn't let myself fall. I continued to walk away. When I was close to my studio, I looked behind me and saw him rushing through the crowd, desperately trying to reach me.

"Ms. Thomas! The after-party—"

"Five minutes," I breathed heavily. "I just need f*****g five minutes,” I snapped and slammed the door in my face.

He was here. Marcus was here. He'd seen me…he knew I was back.

My phone buzzed. It was an Unknown number.

Though I had changed my number, I wasn't surprised when I found out he was the one.

“We need to talk. Now.”

I stared at the message again and again, my hand clenching into fist.

Six years. Six years and he thought he could just text me like nothing happened.

“Aria!” He screamed. "Open the damn door. I know you're in there?"

I didn't move, and I couldn't even breathe. The room was spinning and I suddenly felt claustrophobic.

"Aria, I swear to God—" he pounded again.

"Sir." My assistant's voice sounded firm outside. “This area is restricted. You need to leave now!”

"I'm her f*****g husband. She's my wife.

How dare he?! Had he forgotten that he had married me under a fake document. That he made sure the marriage was never real.

"Liar," I called through the door.

Then something snapped in me, I was tired of hiding. I was tired of feeling scared of people who only wanted me to be beneath them. Not anymore.

He didn't own me now. So I stood up and walked to the door, his eyes widening in shock when he saw me.

“Aria,” his voice came out soft— almost pleading.

“Leave,” I spat as I glared at him hard, my cold sharp voice showing how disgusted I felt with his presence. “You have no business here, Marcus. Leave!”

"Pl– please. I just need five minutes. I need to know where you've been— if you're okay."

I choked out a bitter laugh, throwing my head to the back before I looked up at him again. “Why?” I stepped closer to him, my eyes narrowed. “Six years, Marcus. You had six years to know if I was okay. Or did you lose count?”

“You want to know how I am? Or do you just want to know if I'm still capable of being your breeding machine so you and your mistress can have a stress free life?” I snapped.

He flinched and sucked in a breath. “You heard that conversation.”