Claimed By My Billionaire Stepfather

LIA. I slipped into the back of the sleek black car and laid my head on the window. Oscar, who was driving, caught a glimpse of me in the rearview mirror before revving up the engine. We took off on the long, silent ride back home. London outside was gray and mournful, the sky heavy with cloud as if it had not felt the sun for weeks. It hadn't changed. It was still dreary, still melancholy. There were no pleasant memories for me here. Not exactly. Paris, though, Paris was life and color and surprise. It had been a new beginning, somewhere I could be without the burden of the St. James name weighing me down. But I was done with university now, and I had no choice but to come back. Back to the house I had struggled so hard to leave. The car swept smoothly past the gates of our estate. The sight of the big old house made my stomach drop. It looked exactly as I'd left it, and somehow more tired. Or maybe that was me. Oscar pulled over at the house. He exited, circled around the car, and opened my door. "We have arrived, Miss Aurelia," he announced with a bow. "Thanks, Oscar," I whispered, grabbing my bag. He nodded and started to pull the remainder of my luggage out of the trunk. One of the house staff chanced by when we entered the foyer and took over from him, removing my suitcase with quiet efficiency. "Aurelia." I turned at the sound of my name. My mother was standing at the head of the stairs, her bright blue eyes scanning me. She descended the stairs with the dignity she always had, even when the rest of the world was falling apart. She was tall and thin and elegant, wearing a pale blue dress that hugged her body as if it had been fitted onto her frame. Her blonde hair was coiled into a sleek chignon, not a single strand out of place. I, on the other hand, was a bit shorter, my brown hair in loose waves from the journey, my face makeup-free. "Hi, Mom," I said, trying to smile as I reached her. She didn't step forward to hug me, just stood there awkwardly as I leaned into her. "You look… older," she said, as I stepped back. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. "So do you." She clenched a tight smile. "Come on, let's get you to your room." We began walking together down the endless hallway. I regarded her, surprised at how quiet she was. "So," she said after a moment, "how was Paris? How was school?" That made me blink. She never asked me those kinds of things. “It was… incredible, honestly," I said to her, a little off put at having something to say anything. "I enjoyed my classes. The city was never dull, and there were a million different people and perspectives. I made friends, learned to cook…well, sort of. I messed up plenty at first, but I can make a really good ratatouille now." She didn't smile, but she nodded, tightening her lips. "That's nice." "And I worked part-time in a bookstore in the Latin Quarter," I went on, encouraged. "The owner, Madame Lefevre, was this little, old woman who handled every book as though it were a god. She…" "And love?" she interrupted, cutting across my words. I paused, surprised again. "Nonexistent," I shrugged. "Too busy, I suppose." She remained silent as we entered my room. It was all just as I'd left it, organized and in order. She stood in the doorway, her hands clenched tightly together. There was something in the way she stood that disturbed me. Like she was holding something in, something big. "I have something to say," she said curtly, in a clipped voice. I spun all the way around to face her. "Okay?" "I'm married." I stared. "Wait…What?" She didn't twitch. "I’m married. Not engaged. Not dating. Married." I opened my jaw, then closed it. Then opened it again. "You're…you're serious?" "Yes." "When? How? Where?" I screeched. She stared past me, eyes drifting to the window. "It was a tiny wedding. A few weeks ago. Just us and some friends." I shook my head slowly. "You didn't tell me. You didn't even mention you were in a relationship." "I didn't think you needed to know yet," she said. "Mom." I ran my fingers through my hair. "You didn't think I needed to know you were marrying someone? That you were going to join yourself to another man?’ "He's coming for dinner tonight," she added, her tone a little defensive now. "And he'll be moving in by the end of the week." I blinked. "You're kidding. He’s moving in?" She didn’t meet my eyes. "He's younger than me," she went on as if that was the most relevant thing. "But he's very successful. And rich. Crazy rich. Has a large global company." Typical, how she had nothing to say about his character or love. I had no idea what to say. My mind was still stuck on the word married. "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, this time gently. "Even a phone call. I had to hear about it like this?" "I don’t need your opinion," she said bluntly. "I don’t need judgment, I don’t need questions." I stepped back, hurt. "So you just went and married without even a word to your daughter." Her jaw clamped shut. She opened her mouth as though she was about to say something else, but then she turned quickly around, heels clicking the wooden floor. She walked out, and I had no time to say anymore before she banged the door shut. I stood there for a very long moment, gazing at the door. —— I slept for only two hours before waking up once more, my body aching and mind heavy. Bone-weary was even too weak a word to describe how I felt. Sighing, I got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom and had a shower. I didn’t want to meet the stranger my mother had clearly married without so much as telling me. But I also did not want to give her a reason to demonize and villainise me. I had dressed up in something elegant and casual; with light makeup and left my hair in loose curls. I looked in the mirror at myself, searching inside myself for something. There was a knock at the door. "Miss Aurelia?" a soft voice said. "Mrs. St. James sent me to fetch you." It was one of the staff and I followed her through the corridors and down the grand staircase. At the bottom, my mother stood by the enormous antique mirror off the foyer, adjusting a pearl earring. She was flawless, as always, her hair styled, dress perfect, posture elegant. She saw me and sized me up then nodded sharply. "Good," she murmured. I opened my mouth to say something but she leaned forward and grasped my arm, her fingers digging in. She hissed into my ear, "Don't ruin this for me, Aurelia. He's our way out of rock bottom. I'm rebuilding all the things your father destroyed." I blinked at her, stunned. She let go of my arm and moved back as if nothing had happened, just as a sleek black car drove up the driveway. The front door opened, and a tall man stepped in, his aura dark and demanding. His black hair was salt and peppered with a sharp jaw, and broad shoulders and toned muscles that moved under his custom made clothes. I could even from a distance feel the iciness in his eyes. I knew this man. He’d been the object of my crush for much of half my life. His gaze landed first upon my mother, nothing in them before they shifted to me. His eyes held mine, and time slowed, something unusual passing between us. We stared for a second too long before Mom stepped forward with a beaming, practiced smile plastered across her face. "Alaric," she purred, her voice dripping with sweetness. "So good to see you. This is my daughter, Aurelia." She looked at me with the same smile, and I saw the warning in her eyes. "Aurelia, say hello to your new father… Alaric Whitmore."