Nineteen Days: Claimed by My Stepson

AMELIAI came when Victor did, out of habit more than anything else. A tiny, polite gasp, the kind I’d perfected over the last three years of marriage. My fingers curled against his back, nails barely pressing through the silk pajama shirt he insisted on wearing to bed. He shuddered, groaned my name like he’d just closed a billion-dollar deal, and rolled off me with a satisfied sigh.“God, Amelia, you’re perfect,” he murmured into my hair, already half asleep.I stared at the ceiling in the dark, thighs still pressed together, the ache between them dull and familiar. Perfect. Sure. If perfect meant faking every single orgasm for the last eighteen months, then yeah, I was wife of the year.Victor’s breathing evened out within minutes. I waited another five, then slipped from the bed, padded barefoot to the bathroom, and turned the shower on cold. The shock of the water made me shiver, but it was better than lying next to him feeling like a fraud. I let the spray hit my face until the

AMELIAI lasted exactly four bites of the grilled sea bass before I gave up.The chef had outdone himself: lemon butter, microgreens, the little purple edible flowers Victor loves to show off to guests. It tasted like cardboard. Every time I lifted my fork, my hand shook just enough to clink against the plate. Ethan sat across from me, long legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other, scrolling through his phone like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.He hadn’t looked at me once since we sat down.I kept waiting for it: some flicker of recognition, a smirk, anything that proved he knew I’d stood outside his door this afternoon like a pervert. Nothing. Just the soft glow of the screen on his sharp cheekbones and the occasional twitch of his thumb as he typed.Probably texting her. The blonde. Telling her how round two was going to be even better once he got rid of his annoying stepmother.I set my fork down too hard. The crystal rang.Ethan’s eyes flicked up for half a

AMELIA The first crack of thunder hit like a gunshot.I jolted awake, heart already racing, the room pitch black. Another boom rolled through the building and every light in the penthouse died at once. No soft glow from the city through the windows, no hum of the air system, nothing. Just the sudden, suffocating dark and the rain lashing the glass like it wanted inside.I hate storms. I always have. Victor knows this, which is why he spent a fortune on blackout curtains and a whole-house generator that apparently decided tonight was the perfect night to take a vacation.My hands scrambled across the nightstand for my phone. Found it, thumbed the flashlight on. The thin beam shook in my grip as I slid out of bed, bare feet hitting cool marble. Silk camisole, tiny sleep shorts, hair everywhere. I looked like a lunatic and felt like one.I needed another human being. Any human being. Even if that human being happened to be the same infuriating stepson who’d had his thumb on my lip

AMELIA I avoided the kitchen for the rest of the day like it was radioactive. Hid in the gym, then the spa room, then the library with a book I didn’t read. Every time I closed my eyes I felt Ethan’s fingers inside me, heard that low “my girl” against my ear. My body hummed with it, a constant low vibration that made concentrating impossible.By late afternoon the sky had turned moody gray again, threatening another storm. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, watching clouds roll over the city, arms wrapped around myself. The glass reflected me back: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes too bright. I looked like a woman who’d been thoroughly kissed and left wanting more.Which was exactly what I was.Footsteps behind me. Soft, deliberate.I didn’t turn. Couldn’t.Ethan stopped a few feet away. I felt him there, the heat of him, the way the air changed when he entered a room.“Running from me?” he asked, voice low and amused.“I’m not running,” I said to th

AMELIA I woke up to sunlight on my face and the smell of coffee drifting under the door. For one disoriented second I thought Victor was home early, that the last week had been a fever dream. Then I felt the ache between my thighs, the faint soreness on my neck where Ethan had sucked a mark I hadn’t dared look at yet, and reality settled warm and heavy in my chest.I slipped out of bed, pulled on the silk robe again, and padded barefoot down the hall. My heart beat faster with every step toward his room. The door was open just enough to see inside.Ethan was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, phone in his hands. He looked up when he heard me, and the slow smile that spread across his face made my stomach flip.“Morning,” he said, voice rough from sleep. “Thought you might chicken out.”I leaned against the doorframe. “I haven’t decided yet.”He stood, all lean muscle and low-slung sweatpants, and crossed the room until he was close enough to touch. “Liar. You’