Claimed By My Billionaire Stepfather

EPISODE3

LIA.

The gala room glittered like something out of an old movie; glass chandeliers, cream and gold walls, and floor-length windows revealing London’s moody skyline. Classical music played softly in the background, mixing with the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses.

Mom clung tightly to Alaric’s arm, practically glued to his side, while I trailed just behind them, doing my best not to feel like an afterthought and not turn around and run away like my mind was screaming at me to do.

Mom kept a carefully pleasant expression, but I could see the edge in her eyes. This was it. Our re-debut into the London society. Or, as she had dramatically declared on the ride over, “The first step on our healing journey.” A lot of things was hinged on how this night would go.

People began to notice us the moment we stepped into the room. Heads turned, whispers fluttered like moths through the crowd. All eyes were on us…well, mostly on Alaric and Mom, of course. She held her head high, her smile calculated and flawless. I tried to copy the same poise, but my nerves were a chaotic mess.

A server appeared with a tray of champagne, and we each took a glass. The drink was light, bubbly, and slightly sweet, not strong enough to dull my unease.

Mom leaned toward me, keeping her smile in place. “Remember, speak clearly, don’t fidget, and always smile even if you want to gouge their eyes out.”

“Great,” I muttered into my glass.

She ignored that and turned toward Alaric. “We’ll work the room in small circles. I’ll start with the Coles, then you can handle the Everetts. Aurelia, stay close and smile.”

Alaric raised an uninterested brow at her and her eyes narrowed, her grip on his arm tightening as she hissed something under her breath. I caught only a few words, “You promised me... appearance... rebuild... respect.”

Alaric didn’t respond. His gaze swept the room lazily, but he didn’t argue. Soon enough, the Coles approached, an older couple dressed in midnight blue and polished smiles. Mom lit up instantly.

“Darling,” she greeted them. “You look divine tonight. How is your daughter doing in Milan?”

They launched into small talk, and I watched my mother charm them like a pro. She was in her element, weaving flattery and grace with practiced ease. Alaric played along when necessary, offering a handshake, a blank look, and just enough attention to seem polite.

More people came by; some acquaintances, others complete strangers with lingering eyes and sly questions. We moved slowly through the room, conversations blending together. Mom introduced us all again and again. “This is my husband, Alaric Whitmore. And my daughter, Aurelia.” The name Whitmore rolled off her tongue like honey. It felt weird.

An hour passed. Maybe more. My cheeks hurt from smiling. But to everyone else, we looked like the perfect little social unit: polished, poised, respectable. The St. James name was rising again.

Eventually, I took a moment to step aside and refill my drink. I found a corner near the massive windows and quietly sipped, letting my eyes wander the crowd. I spotted Mom laughing with a woman in emerald green, her hand resting possessively on Alaric’s chest.

But it was Alaric I kept watching. The way people clustered around him, trying to get his attention, both men and women alike. And how he gave it sparingly, his face cold though that didn’t deter the hungry sharks. Yet women leaned in a little too close, giggling and men tried to force camaraderie.

Then his eyes met mine across the room. My breath caught. He didn’t look away and his gaze was heavy, daring and unreadable. It sent a chill down my spine and heat crawling up my neck all at once and my fingers tightened around the glass.

Mom turned to say something to him, drawing his attention. He looked away, and the invisible thread snapped. I exhaled.

I joined them a few minutes later, pasting on my smile again. “Are we almost done?”

Mom gave me a look. “The night is just beginning, honey.”

I opened my mouth to retort but was interrupted as a group of women walked up to us.

And that was when the progress of the entire night came crashing down on our heads.

—-

As the group of women walked up to us, the air seemed to thicken. Conversations around us sputtered and died like candle flames caught in a breeze. Laughter faded into curious silence. Everyone’s attention shifted subtly but unmistakably toward the approaching storm in heels.

I didn’t recognize any of them, but the way my mother’s body tensed told me she did. Her smile became tight, her chin lifting just a fraction as if to prepare for battle. There were four of them in sleek dresses, expensive jewelry, and the kind of faces that had gone through all kinds of surgery to stay young and desirable.

At the front was a woman with auburn hair in a slick chignon, lips painted a bold red. She smiled a predatory and fake smile.

“Claudia,” she said in a syrupy voice, “You look... good. We all thought you’d died…of shame.”

Mom's jaw ticked. “Sharon. What a surprise.”

Sharon’s eyes raked over her like a critic examining a half finished painting. “We all heard you were back. Imagine my shock when I realized why. Married. To Alaric Whitmore, no less. Certainly an upgrade.”

The women behind her chuckled like they’d been rehearsing this scene. I shifted uncomfortably beside Mom, keeping my expression neutral.

Sharon’s gaze slid to me. “And you must be Aurelia. My, you’ve grown. I remember when you used to follow your mother around with hair in ribbons and mismatched socks.”

“I never wore mismatched socks,” I muttered, but she ignored me.

“I must say,” Sharon went on, smile sharpening, “Claudia, you certainly have a way of... landing on your feet. After everything. It’s impressive. A comeback story for the tabloids, I suppose.”

Mom’s smile didn’t falter. “Better a comeback than staying irrelevant even after all these years. Tell me, Sharon, how long will your husband keep running for an office no one is going to vote him into?”

I had to hold back a laugh. One of the other women choked slightly on her champagne. Sharon’s nostrils flared, but she carried on. “We were just wondering... did Alaric propose, or did youc…coerce him perhaps?”

Mom’s response was effortless. “He proposed. On one knee. At sunset. But I understand if that’s foreign to you.”

Sharon’s little group went stiff.

“Oh, Claudia,” Sharon said tightly, “You always did have a vivid imagination. And a talent for reinvention.”

“And you always did have a talent for recycling old gossip since your life is so…despairingly dull,” Mom said sweetly. Most people were watching now and I had a bad feeling.

I subtly tugged on Mom’s elbow, leaning in. “Let’s go. She’s not worth it.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Alaric’s tall frame watching, his expression unreadable but his gaze fixed on us. Was he really not going to say anything?

Mom gave a tiny nod, plastered a smile on her face, and turned to me. “You’re right, darling. Let’s refill our drinks.”

We had taken just two steps when Sharon’s voice rang out behind us, louder than before.

“So tell us, Claudia—did he marry you out of pity? I know you’re so desperate for status and affection, giving how you lost your husband to another woman clearly better than you. If I were him, I’d choose her too, you know.”

The entire room seemed to freeze. Glasses paused midair. Conversations dropped like stones.

My stomach twisted violently. “Don’t, Mom,” I whispered urgently, grabbing her arm. “Ignore her. Let’s go.”

But I could already see the fury overtaking her features, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sharp and shining with rage and her hands balled into a fist.

“Mom, no…”

She turned abruptly and, with swiftness, jabbed a punch square into Sharon’s face.

There was a collective gasp. Sharon stumbled back, clutching her nose, shrieking.

Alaric cursed quietly beside me. “Bloody hell.”

“Are you insane?!” Sharon screeched, lunging forward and swinging wildly. Her manicured hand connected with Mom’s face, and Mom lurched back too.

“Mom!” I cried out, panic blooming fast and hot. “Please stop…stop it!”

They were grappling now. Security began to move, people pressed in, phones out, flashes going off. A crowd formed instantly like sharks scenting blood.

Heaving, hair out of place, Sharon shoved Mom back and spat, “You’ve always been nothing but a pathetic, desperate leech. No wonder your husband left. No wonder your life fell apart. And your daughter…she looks just like him. Do you hate her too?”

I stood frozen, breath catching in my throat.

“She’ll end up just like you,” Sharon snarled. “Broken and unwanted.”

People whispered. Fingers pointed. My heart thundered in my ears. I couldn’t breathe.

The room spun around me, voices distorted like they were underwater. The lights, the people, the humiliation, it wrapped around me like a noose. My chest tightened, my fingers trembling against the glass I hadn’t realized I was still holding.

“Aurelia!” Alaric’s voice was low yet somehow reached my ears. But I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe. So I did the only thing I could.

I ran.

I stumbled out of the ballroom, heels clicking wildly against the marble, heart hammering as I pushed past confused guests and staff. The cold night air hit me like a slap when I shoved open the doors and burst into cool night air.

And I didn’t stop.