My Stepbrothers Forced Me to Call Them Daddies

CHAPTER 3

JESSICA'S POV

“I asked you a question, omega. Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

I get up from the ground, but still couldn’t look up.

My head shot up, obeying the alpha command in his tone before I could stop myself. His eyes, those gorgeous, hateful eyes, gleamed with cruel amusement.

“We were just discussing your… literary masterpiece,” Miranda purred, playing with a lock of his hair. “It’s so brave of you to put your pathetic little fantasies out there for the whole world to laugh at.”

“I didn’t—” The protest died in my throat. It was useless.

“You didn’t what?” Liam leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could smell the crisp, clean scent of his cologne, mixed with that wild, alpha edge that was uniquely his. It was a scent that twisted my stomach with a confusing mix of terror and unwanted attraction. “You didn’t think I’d actually be interested in a broke, fatherless nobody like you? Wake the f**k up, Jessica.”

He picked up my half-full water glass. For a second, I thought he was going to drink from it. A weird, stupid part of me thought it would be an intimacy.

Instead, he tossed the contents directly into my face.

The cold water hit me like a slap. I gasped, ice-cube droplets sliding down my neck, soaking into my shirt. The cafeteria erupted in laughter, a roaring, horrible sound that echoed in my water-clogged ears.

“There,” Liam said, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper meant only for me. “Now you’re awake. Stop f*****g dreaming, you stupid slut. Girls like you aren’t in my league. You’re not even playing the same game.”

He turned away from me, the dismissal absolute. He grabbed Miranda’s face and kissed her, hard and possessive, right in front of me. A display of what I could never, ever have. The crowd cheered. Then, as he pulled away from her, his hand shot out and shoved my shoulder, hard.

As I turned to run away but I tumbled onto the linoleum floor, my hip connecting with a painful thud. The laughter reached a fever pitch. I curled there, soaked and humiliated, as they all walked away, their laughter echoing in the hall.

I picked myself up, ignoring the stares, and went to the bathroom to dry off. I stared at my reflection—mascara smudged under my eyes, hair plastered to my cheeks, shirt transparent and clinging. You stupid slut. The words played on a loop in my head. Fatherless nobody. I cursed myself for ever liking him. For ever thinking I was worthy of an alpha’s attention.

After that, nothing at school mattered. The words in my textbooks blurred into nonsense. Mr. Davies’s lectures became a distant hum. My grades, once solid Bs, began a nosedive into a sea of red Fs. I couldn’t concentrate. All I could see was Liam’s mocking smile. All I could hear was the crowd’s laughter.

I started skipping classes entirely, hiding in the dusty, forgotten storage closet near the gym. It was the only place they never looked. The fear of being found was a constant, sour taste in my mouth, but it was better than the public torture.

The texts from Mom started around then. Did you see the mail today? We need to talk. I ignored them. I had bigger problems than bills.

But the universe, it seemed, wasn’t done with me. I came back from my hiding spot one afternoon to find my locker pried open. My backpack was gone. My stomach dropped. I found it in a garbage can by the football field, but it wasn’t just thrown away.

It was destroyed. Someone had taken a knife or something to it, slashing the fabric to ribbons. My history notes were scattered everywhere, each page torn in half. And at the bottom of the can, covered in coffee grounds and something that smelled sickly sweet, was the book of poetry my mom gave me for my birthday. The one thing I actually cared about.

My hands shook as I pulled out my phone. It was already there. On @TruthAboutJess. A series of photos. My slashed bag. My torn notes. A close-up of my ruined book with the caption: Omega Trash for the Omega Trash Can. The comments were a festival of laughing emojis.

That was it. The last thread holding me together snapped. I didn’t cry. I just felt… empty. Hollowed out. A shell.

I went home and found my mom at the kitchen table, her face pale, a pile of opened envelopes in front of her. She looked up at me, her eyes red-rimmed.

“Your father…” she began, her voice trembling. “He… he took out several loans before he left. In our names. We’re… Jessica, we’re in so much debt.”

The words barely registered. It was just more weight, more pressure, crushing me into nothing. I just walked past her and went to my room.

That night, I didn’t plan escape routes. I wrote a different kind of letter. My hand shook, staining the paper with tears.

Dear Mom, it began. I can’t do this anymore. Every day is a nightmare. I’m begging you, please let me switch schools. Or do homeschooling. Anything. I’ll get a job after class to help with the money. I promise. I just can’t go back there.

I left it on her pillow. For days, nothing changed. I stopped coming out for dinner. I stayed in my room, the blue light of my laptop my only companion, scrolling through websites for online academies and alternative schools in the next county over. They all cost money we didn’t have. The trap was closing in, the walls of my life getting smaller and smaller. I was considering things… drastic things… just to make it all stop.

Then, one night, a soft knock came at my door.

“Jess? Honey? Can we talk?” Mom’s voice was gentle, but firm.

I didn’t answer. She opened the door anyway. She sat on the edge of my bed, her weight making the mattress dip. She looked tired, but there was a new, strange resolve in her eyes.

“I got your letter,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry, baby. I had no idea it was this bad.” She took a deep breath. “The money… your father’s mess… it’s worse than I thought. We can’t stay here. We can’t afford it.”

A tiny, desperate spark of hope flickered in my chest. We’re moving? We’re leaving?

“I’ve… I’ve been seeing someone,” she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. “His name is Robert. He’s a good man, Jess. A strong man. He knows about… everything. The money, your father, all of it. And he wants to help.”

The spark fizzled and died, replaced by a cold dread. Someone? Who?

“He asked me to marry him,” she said, the words rushing out now. “And I said yes. We’re going to move in with him. Next week. He has a house outside of town. You’ll have your own room. You can start fresh at a new school.”

The world tilted. Marry? Move in with a stranger? A hot wave of anger and panic surged through me. No. No, this is my home. My room. My life.

“His family…” Mom continued, and my blood ran cold. “He has a son. He’s your age. I think you two will really get along.”

The air left my lungs. A new house. A new school. A new family. A son. A strange alpha, no doubt, in a strange house. It was too much. It was an escape, but it felt like a different kind of prison.

I immediately hated the idea. Hated this Robert for existing, for swooping in and uprooting my entire life.

But as I looked at my mom’s hopeful, terrified face, and I thought about Liam’s mocking smirk and Miranda’s cruel laughter, I realized this twisted, terrifying offer was the only rope being thrown to me. The only way out of the hell my life had become.

The trap door had opened, but I had no idea what was waiting for me at the bottom.