Their Pretty Little Stepmom

Chapter three

"All of Father's women were never pretty, just sophisticated." He said, his eyes still sizing her up, Sarah did nothing but gulp down every feeling that rose to her throat.

"And now you're so pretty but lack sophistication." He leaned further, almost an inch away from her face, Sarah dashed into the room, banging the door, breathing heavily.

She looked around her room, which was not a bedroom; it was a mausoleum of wealth. The walls were clad in dark obsidian silk, and the floor was a seamless expanse of white marble that felt like ice beneath Sarah’s feet. She stood in the center of the room, still in her wedding dress, listening to the silence of the house.

She tried to take off her dress first so she would be able to breathe with ease while thinking of what she would do in this large manor where her life had started counting in days.

Her hands fumbled with the hidden zipper at her back. She couldn't reach it. The dress didn't even bulge, and the more she struggled, the more the lace seemed to tighten around her throat. A sob caught in her chest, but she choked it down. She wouldn't give this house the satisfaction of hearing her cry on the first night.

A sharp, rhythmic rapping at the door made her jump.

"Bardulf?" she whispered, hope and terror warring in her voice. She would be happy if it was him at this point coming to save her from nothing but this big gown threatening to kill her.

The door swung open, but it wasn't her husband. It was Jeff. He had traded his coat for a silk shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and he held a crystal glass of amber liquid. He didn't wait for an invitation; he strolled in, his eyes roaming the room before settling on her.

"Having trouble, stepmother?" he asked, the title sounding like a slur. "Finally settled in?"

Sarah's chest beat faster, " I'm okay, I am having no trouble."

Jeff looked her over, " But you look like someone who has trouble peeling that dress away from your body."

"I... I can manage. Please leave," Sarah said, pulling her hair over her shoulder to hide her exposed skin.

"Don't be modest. We’re family now, aren't we?" Jeff smirked, walking toward her. He smelled of expensive bourbon and something metallic. "Dad’s on a video conference. He’ll be there for hours. He’s a busy man, our father. He buys things, then he forgets he owns them until he needs to use them."

The words stung. Sarah looked away, wondering if Bardulf even remembered she was in this room. If he could just acknowledge she was a human being and not a line item in a ledger, she might survive. But in this house, she was a hoard, a trophy kept behind glass.

Jeff stopped inches from her. He was a head taller, his shadow eclipsing her completely. The predatory energy radiating off him made Sarah’s knees feel like water.

"You’re very pretty, Sarah. Much better than the last one. She was all plastic and sharp edges," Jeff said, repeating the same haunting observation his brother had made. He reached out a hand. Sarah flinched, expecting a blow, but his fingers were surprisingly gentle as they caught the tab of her zipper. "Let me."

"No!" She spun away, her heart thundering. "I don't need your help! Get out, Jeff. Now!" She tried to inject authority into her voice, trying to act like the mother she was supposed to be to this grown man, but the reality of a twenty-year-old girl commanding a Voidmere was almost laughable.

Jeff’s expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. "Careful. In this house, the only thing more dangerous than my father’s silence is our attention. You don't want to make enemies on night one."

He stepped toward her again, his voice dropping to a soft, dangerous silk. "You need help with this dress, or you won't sleep a wink tonight. Why the theatrics? Am I not supposed to help? I'm your son, after all."

Sarah, how can this man be your son!! She's just twenty and that's her son? Unexplainable emotions crept up into her gut and slowly, she turned to him to help her with the zipper.

Jeff's eyes flaring over pale white skin as the zipper went down her back, the dress exposing... She shifted away from him immediately.

"Thank you." She said, her cheeks flaring up shyly, " You...you can leave now..."

He drained his glass and set it on a priceless antique vanity with a loud clack. "Sleep well. If you can."

Sleep did not come. Sarah eventually managed to wiggle out of the dress, shivering in a silk slip she had found in the closet, all her belongings had been "unpacked" by staff she hadn't met.

Around 2:00 AM, the sound of an engine roaring up the driveway pulled her to the window. A sleek red sports car skidded to a halt. A woman stepped out, dressed in a fur coat that caught the moonlight, her heels clicking aggressively against the stone.

Curiosity and dread drew Sarah out into the hallway. She crept to the mezzanine, looking down into the grand foyer.

She froze.

At the far end of the dim hallway, shadowed by a marble pillar, two figures were entwined. One was Jeff. The other was a male member of the house staff. They were making out openly, but the dynamic was wrong. The staff member was trembling, his hands flat against Jeff’s chest as he pushed feebly.

"Please, sir... please, leave me alone..." the man whispered, his voice cracked with fear.

Sarah stood paralyzed. She had never seen such a blatant display of power and cruelty.

Jeff pulled back, his eyes snapping upward as if he had sensed her there all along. He looked directly at her, his face a mask of bored malice. "Aren't you going to say anything?" Jeff challenged. "You just found your son misbehaving. You're supposed to correct him, right?"

"I'm... I'm just..." Sarah's voice died in her throat, "I will... I'm..."

"Did my father bring a stammerer into this house?" Jeff asked. He released the staff member, who took off at a dead run, disappearing into the servant’s quarters. Jeff began to climb the stairs, his eyes locked on Sarah. "I asked a question."

"I'm... I..." Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. The sheer chaos of the night was too much. She turned to flee back to her obsidian tomb, but Jeff was faster. He caught her by the arm, his fingers digging into her skin, forcing her to stay.

"Who said you could leave," he hissed, "when I'm not finished with you?"