HER MOTHER’S HUSBAND

The front door slammed open with such force that the walls shook.

I looked up from my laptop, heart hammering, as my mother stumbled inside like something was chasing her. Her eyes were wild, her chest heaving, her designer handbag, when did she get a designer handbag?—hanging crooked from her shoulder.

"Mum?" I jumped up from the couch. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

She didn't answer. Just stood there in the doorway, staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. Fear? Excitement? Guilt?

"Sit down," I said, rushing to the kitchen. "Let me get you some water."

My hands trembled as I filled a glass. Ever since Dad died six months ago, Mum had these moments, these breakdowns where the grief would hit her like a truck and she'd come home looking haunted. I thought this was one of those times.

But when I pressed the glass into her hands and sat beside her, she took one long sip, set it down on the coffee table, and turned to me with a smile that made my stomach drop.

"Bella, darling," she said, her voice too bright, too cheerful. "We're moving out. Today."

I blinked. "What?"

"To a big estate. A beautiful one. You're going to love it."

My mind went blank. "Mum, what are you talking about? We can't afford…"

"We can now." She grabbed my hands, squeezing tight. "Everything's changed, Bella. Everything's going to be better now. We're going to live in a luxury house, have luxury cars, have everything we've ever wanted…"

"Stop." I pulled my hands away, my confusion turning to ice. "Mum, this house is fine. It's all we have left of Dad. It's the only thing he left us…"

"We can rent it out. Or sell it." She waved her hand dismissively. "It's of no use anymore. From now on, we're going to live the life we deserve."

I stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Mum, is there something you're not telling me? Because I really don't understand what you're saying."

Her smile faltered. She looked away, then back at me, and I saw it, the guilt I'd sensed before, creeping into her eyes.

"Come here, girl. Sit down properly." She patted the couch cushion. "I know you're not going to want to hear this, but at this point I have no option but to tell you. And you'll have no option but to accept it."

Dread coiled in my chest.

"A few days ago," she began, her voice softer now, "I had a problem with a client. The design I delivered was a complete mess, and I don't know how it happened or who was behind it. My coworkers threw me under the bus. I was so frustrated, so betrayed… I wasn't paying attention when I crossed the street, and I walked right into traffic."

My breath caught. "What?"

"I almost got hit by a car." She gave a shaky laugh. "But the driver stopped just in time. And the owner of the car… he insisted on taking me to the hospital to make sure I was okay. Then he drove me home. And we started talking. And then…" She hesitated. "We kept in touch. And a few days ago, he proposed."

The room tilted.

"Proposed," I repeated slowly.

"Yes." She was smiling again, that too-bright smile. "We got married this afternoon. His name is Dominic Hayes, and we're moving into his estate tonight. Our new home."

The blood in my veins turned to fire.

"Married?" My voice cracked. "Mum, Dad just died a few months ago! His death is still under investigation, the driver who hit him hasn't even been found, and you're already married to another man?"

"Bella…"

"No!" I stood up, my entire body shaking. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I'd rather live here alone than move in with some stranger who thinks he can replace Dad!"

"Bella, please…"

"No, Mum! How could you do this? How could you forget him so fast?"

"I haven't forgotten him!" Her eyes filled with tears. "I loved your father, Bella. I still do. But he's gone, and I… I can't keep living in the past. I need to move forward. And Dominic, he's a good man, Bella. A kind man. He offered me a job at his fashion company. He's very successful, very wealthy. He has companies, businesses… He can give us the life we never had."

"I don't want that life," I said through gritted teeth.

"Don't you?" She stood, facing me. "Don't you want to stop struggling? Don't you want to stop watching me work myself to death doing bakery jobs just to keep the lights on? I'm doing this for us, Bella. For you."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But instead, I just stood there, trembling with rage and heartbreak.

"I'm only going with you," I finally said, my voice cold, "to make you happy. But no one, no one, will ever replace Dad in my heart."

Mum's face crumpled. She pulled me into a hug, and I let her, even though every part of me wanted to pull away.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, darling."

Before I could respond, the sound of a car engine rumbled outside.

Mum pulled back, her face lighting up. "Oh! They're here to help us pack."

I followed her to the window and looked out.

A sleek black SUV was parked in front of our house. The kind of car I'd only seen in movies. The back door opened, and a man stepped out.

And my breath stopped.

He was tall, impossibly tall, with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline that could cut glass. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his suit tailored to perfection. Even from a distance, I could feel the power radiating off him.

He moved with the confidence of someone who owned the world.

And when he turned toward the house, his eyes, dark, unreadable, intense, locked on mine through the window.

I forgot how to breathe.

"Come on!" Mum grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the door. "Let me introduce you."

I barely heard her. My heart was pounding too loud.

The man, Dominic, stepped into our tiny living room, and suddenly the space felt even smaller. He filled it with his presence, commanding attention without saying a word.

"Dominic," Mum said, beaming, "this is my daughter, Bella. Bella, this is Dominic Hayes. Your new stepfather."

I forced myself to meet his eyes.

Big mistake.

Up close, he was even more devastating. Sharp cheekbones. Full lips. A gaze that seemed to see straight through me.

"Bella." His voice was deep, smooth, controlled. He extended a hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

I stared at his hand for a long moment before shaking it.

His grip was firm. Warm. And when his skin touched mine, a jolt of electricity shot up my arm.

I pulled away quickly, my face burning.

"Nice to meet you too," I muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

What the hell was wrong with me?

An hour later, the car was packed.

Well, overpacked.

Mum had insisted on bringing half the house, despite Dominic's polite suggestion that everything we needed was already at the estate. The SUV was stuffed with bags, boxes, and random pieces of furniture, leaving almost no room in the back seat.

"My love," Dominic said with a small, amused smile, "you really are a luggage enthusiast. Even when it's unnecessary."

Mum laughed, swatting his arm playfully. "I like to be prepared!"

I wanted to gag.

"All right, everyone in," Mum said, climbing into the front passenger seat.

The driver, a silent, stone-faced man in a black suit, slid into the driver's seat.

Dominic opened the back door and gestured for me to get in.

I looked at the tiny sliver of space left on the seat and felt my stomach drop.

"There's no room," I said flatly.

"Oh, don't be dramatic, Bella," Mum called from the front. "Just sit on Dominic's lap. It's only a short drive."

My blood ran cold. "What?"

"Come on, darling, we don't have all day."

I turned to Dominic, expecting him to protest. To suggest literally anything else.

But he just looked at me with those unreadable dark eyes and said, "It's fine."

Fine?

It was not fine.

But I didn't have a choice. Not without making a scene.

So I climbed into the car, my face burning, and awkwardly sat on the edge of his lap, trying to keep as much distance as possible.

The door closed.

The car started moving.

And I immediately regretted every decision that led me to this moment.

Dominic's body was solid beneath me. Hard. Warm.

I kept my back ramrod straight, my hands clenched in my lap, my eyes fixed on the seat in front of me.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

But I was thinking about it.

I could feel the heat of him through my jeans. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The faint scent of his cologne, something dark and expensive that made my head spin.

And then the driver hit a pothole.

I jolted backward, my body pressing against Dominic's chest.

His hands shot out, gripping my waist to steady me.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low, close to my ear.

I froze.