Billionaire Scandal: My Stepsister's Husband Wants Me

Margaret's pov.

Newville's airport lounge was so cramped that one could barely move five feet without bumping into someone. My boarding pass was crumpled in my fist Gate 17, departing in twenty-three minutes. I kept glancing at the digital board even though the numbers hadn't changed in the last ten minutes.

I hadn't been back to Lintertown in six years. Not since the day I walked out of the family house with my law degree from Newville college of Law.

I convinced myself that I was too busy with case files and depositions so I couldn't make to go him but the truth was simpler: I was afraid that if I went back, the old version of me that who flinched at raised voices and learned to disappear into wallpaper would crawl right back under my skin.

The invitation had arrived three days ago. A cream envelope with gold foil script marked "Margaret's invite" which I had found on my doorstep when I got back from work on Monday.

Laura,my stepsister, was getting married to some billionaire nobody had bothered to name in the card, just a vague "We would be honored if you joined us for the wedding on Friday."

I should have thrown it in the shredder instead here I was, boarding a flight to Lintertown to be with a family that never cared for me.

My phone buzzed against my thigh. It was my best friend Cielin, of course.

I answered immediately. "Hey."

"Margaret Eloise Peters, tell me you are not at that airport right now." Cielin's voice was all sharp edges and worry, the way it got when she thought I was about to do something irreversibly stupid.

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "I'm literally staring at the gate babe."

"Turn around and get back to my place miss too goody shoes"

"Cielin—"

"No, listen to me Margaret. They sent the invite three days ago. Three fuck'n days whereas the wedding's been planned for months and Laura's been posting about it on ring selfies since January. You weren't on the guest list until the caterer probably over-ordered salmon. This is not an invitation Margaret, it's an insult."

I closed my eyes for a second. She wasn't wrong. I could picture my stepmother, Vivian, addressing the envelope with that pinched smile she saved for charity galas and family photos. Laura probably hadn't even noticed I was missing until someone asked about "the other sister."

"They're family," I said, lying to myself

"Blood doesn't make family and you know that better than anyone."

I glanced around the airport,at every one going about their business freely. That freedom and life was all I had yearned for.

The kind I'd built brick by careful brick in Newville. "I just… I need to see it through Celin. I need to prove to myself that it doesn't still hurt. That I'm past it."

Cielin was quiet for a beat. When she spoke again, her voice softened. "You don't owe them or yourself proof of anything, Mags. You freak'n won babes.You're a thriving partner-track associate at Kessler & Hale,don't let them drag you back into the pit."

I laughed. "My ficus is thriving, thank you very much."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not running away again Ceilin," I told her. "I'm walking in with my head high, staying for the weekend and walking out. It's high time we get it over with"

"Alright madam,Promise me you'll call if it gets bad. Like, immediately. I'll buy a last-minute ticket and storm the venue in heels if I have to."she teased me although I knew she meant every word.

"Deal.I gotta board soon though."

"Love you, idiot."

"Love you more."

The boarding call crackled over the speakers. I stood, smoothed my navy blazer, grabbed my suitcase and joined the line. First class had already boarded; I was in economy, middle seat, because apparently even lawyers who billed two hundred an hour because boarding passes to small towns had to be ridiculously expensive.

The flight was short, barely ninety minutes but every minute stretched as I stared out the window trying not to think about what was waiting at the other end. But amongst all, nothing haunted me more than dad's distant eyes that never quite met mine after Mom died.

By the time the plane touched down in Lintertown, I had drifted into a short nap from my thoughts.

The airport was small, just like the town it was in. I collected my suitcase from the carousel and stepped outside into the late-afternoon heat. A black town car waited at the curb—courtesy of the family or perhaps dad,no doubt. The driver held a sign: Margaret E. Peters.

I slid into the back seat without a word. We drove in silence past strip malls and oak-lined streets until the houses grew larger and I began to see the palm trees than led up to my childhood home

Maplewood Lane looked exactly the same way it did six years ago.

The driveway was already crowded with cars I didn't recognize, a catering van, a florist's delivery truck with people trooping in and out of the house.

I paid the driver even though I knew the ride was comped, then stood at the bottom of the steps for a long moment, suitcase at my side. I took a deep breath and reassured myself that I could do this. One weekend and I'll be back to my life.

I rang the bell.

The door flew open before the chime finished.

"Margaret!" Dad screamed in excitement. His arms were thinner than I remembered, his hair grayer. "You came."

"Of course I did," I said into his shoulder.

He stepped back, eyes shining bright as it pierced into mine. "Look at you. All grown up and fancy now."

Behind him, Vivian appeared in the doorway like she'd been summoned by bad timing. She let out a quick smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Margaret. How nice of you to make it."

"Hey Vivian." I muttered

Laura drifted in next in blonde waves and diamond studs, the kind of effortless beauty that used to make me feel invisible. She air-kissed both cheeks. "Hey, sis. I'm glad you could come."

The word sis landed like a slap wrapped in velvet.

"Wouldn't miss it," I forced a smile.

They didn't ask about work or how life has been for me the past six years,just the bare minimum of greetings, then Vivian was already turning away, calling over her shoulder, "Your room's the same one upstairs. Dinner's at seven. Hope you have enough outfits,we're doing rehearsal photos tomorrow."

Dad squeezed my arm once before following them. I stood in the living room alone for a second, the grandfather clock ticking like it was counting down to something.

I dragged my suitcase up the stairs, past framed photos that had been updated with what could be called Laura's gallery, leaving no photos of me after age 10.

My old room smelled like it had not been cleaned in ages.I dropped my bag and sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at the wall where my law school acceptance letter used to hang before Vivian took it down "to redecorate."

I checked my phone. There were no No new messages from Cielin so I typed a quick one: I Landed safely and I'm at home now.I'll call when I can

Her reply was instant: Alright,hang in there okay?

I almost smiled, before the commotion started.

Excited voices rose from the driveway overlapping.

"Laura! He's here!"

"Oh my God, look at that car!"

"Everyone, come see!"

Footsteps thundered down the hall, past my door. I heard Vivian's voice screaming into rooms"Alexander's arrived, darlings! Come down!"

I stood up, smoothed my blouse and walked to the window. From the second floor I could see the circular drive clearly—a sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom idling,as its door opened,a man stepped out.

My breath caught that instant.

I knew that face. ”Alexander Martinez” ,the new managing partner of Kessler & Hale as of last week at the partners conference,my high school boyfriend and apparently now,Laura’s fiancée?