In bed with my stepson

Three

Kiara's Pov

It had been a month since that night.

The night I swore I’d take to my grave because if anyone found out I was a goner, the night that kept replaying in my head no matter how hard I tried to bury it.

A month since Kade. And now, here I was, married to another man, carrying Kade’s child .

Life had a cruel sense of humor, didn't it?

I had gotten married, more like taken, the very next day when I got home.

My father hadn't suspected a thing but my conscience had dealt a severe blow to me. Then two weeks after I woke up sick and vomiting.

One little trip to the hospital confirmed that I was two weeks pregnant and it didn't take a genius to know who the father of my baby was.

I hadn’t told anyone, not Maya, not Lily, not even myself if I could help it….but it didn't stop the fact that…. I'm having a baby

My hand drifted to my stomach constantly, protective, as though I could shield the life inside from the ugliness surrounding me.

My husband, the old bastard, hovered around me like a vulture circling its meal. He was patient, but only because patience made the reward sweeter to him.

He hasn't touched me yet, and hadn't claimed me in the way he promised, because he was waiting.

Waiting for tonight.

Waiting for his sixty-fifth birthday to make me his prize.

I shuddered just thinking about it.

His touches were constant, though, his hands brushing too low on my waist, his lips lingering on my cheek as I felt his disgusting breath close to me, eyes crawling over my body like he couldn't wait to just gobble me up.

Each advance made my stomach twist in disgust.

But I endured.

I smiled when he wanted me to, sat quietly when he paraded me before his guests, and acted like the perfect young wife.

But at night, when he finally left me alone, I would curl on my side, clutching my belly, whispering apologies to the tiny life I was carrying for allowing him to even lay his filthy hands on me. My baby didn’t deserve this prison.

Neither did I.

The air outside was cooler than I expected, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth like the rain just fell. I hugged myself as I paced along the edge of the estate grounds, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes

My hands drifted to my belly without thinking again, palms pressing protectively against it. It wasn’t obvious to anyone yet which was a good thing. After all, it was only a month or so.

I tilted my head back toward the mansion, its windows glowing like watchful eyes. I felt trapped, caged, a prized possession on display.

I thought about running, about slipping out into the night and never looking back. The thought played in my mind like a movie: me sneaking to the gates, bribing a guard, disappearing into the world with nothing but hope and desperation.

But then Lily’s face flashed in my mind.

My sweet baby sister.

I had to send her away for her safety, away from the leering eyes of my husband, who hadn’t even tried to hide the way he looked at her.

He disgusted me, made my skin crawl, but what haunted me most was the fear that if she stayed, he’d eventually ruin her life the way he was ruining mine.

Sometimes I reached for my phone, tempted to call, but I couldn’t. If my husband found out, if he even suspected, Lily would no longer be safe and I couldn’t risk that.

So, I walked the perimeter of the estate instead, tracing imaginary escape routes I didn’t have the courage to take.

Every corner, every gate, every guard felt like another reminder: I was trapped.

Still, as I held my belly and whispered to the child inside, I made a silent vow. If not tonight, then soon. I will find a way out of here, for you. Just hang in there.

With that promise burning in my chest, I turned back toward the glowing windows and the sounds of laughter spilling from inside. The party was about to begin, and I had no choice but to play the role of dutiful wife.

★

The mansion was alive with noise when I stepped back inside. Laughter, clinking glasses, and the heavy drone of music filled the air, suffocating me in their cheer.

Everywhere I looked, people were smiling, toasting to my husband’s sixty-fifth year as if he were some great man.

He spotted me the moment I entered.

His grin stretched wide, proud and smug, and within seconds his arm was around my waist “There you are, my jewel,” he said loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, his voice dripping with ownership.

I forced a smile, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes. His hand lingered too low on my hip, his thumb pressing against my side like a warning.

My skin prickled under his touch, but I didn’t flinch.

I couldn’t, not here, not in front of all these people.

He guided me from group to group, introducing me again and again as his beautiful young wife, as if I were nothing more than an accessory to his ego.

Every handshake, every glance at me felt like pity hidden behind polite smiles.

Did they know? Did they whisper about the age difference when I wasn’t looking? Did they wonder why I stayed so silent?

When he leaned down to murmur in my ear, his breath hot against my skin, I had to stop myself from pulling away.

“Smile wider, Kiara,” he hissed softly. “Tonight is special. Don’t ruin it.”

I obeyed.

The laughter around us swelled, but inside, I was drowning. I imagined myself screaming, tearing free from his grip, telling every single person in this room the truth about him. But I stayed silent, tethered by fear, by the secret child growing inside me.

As the evening wore on, I found myself sinking deeper into despair.

His hand never left me, always resting, always claiming.

Each touch was another reminder: I was his possession in the eyes of everyone here.

By the time dinner was announced, my face ached from the forced smiles. I followed my husband to our table, my steps heavy and my heart heavier.

The grand dining hall glittered with chandeliers and polished silver, the kind of place that would’ve impressed me once. Now, it just felt like another cage, brighter and noisier than the rest.

He pulled out my chair himself, making a show of it as if he were the perfect gentleman.

I sat, folding my hands neatly on my lap, my eyes flicking over the table setting. That’s when I noticed it. There were two chairs in our table left empty.

It wasn’t unusual for guests to arrive late so I didn't put much thought to it. They sat directly across from me, plates already arranged, glasses gleaming under the light. I found myself staring at them, wondering who they were for.

“Stop fidgeting,” Carlo muttered under his breath, his hand settling on my thigh under the table.

The heat of his touch made me want to shrink away, but I stayed still, staring at the empty chairs as if they were my only escape.

Conversations buzzed around us, about business deals, family gossip, the kind of hollow chatter people filled their nights with.

I heard none of it. My focus narrowed to those two vacant spots.

A strange unease curled in my stomach. I told myself it was nothing, just nerves, just my imagination running wild because I hated being here. Still, I couldn’t look away.

The hall doors opened again, laughter spilling in with the sound of heels clicking against marble….but I didn't care probably another guest that will secretly call me a gold digger for marrying my grandfather

but when the person stood in front of me all the air left my lungs

Maya? .

Her eyes locked on mine and she froze.

"Maya, My darling daughter, welcome home... where is that arrogant brother of yours "

Did he just say daughter???