Chapter 3: The Stepmother

Every muscle in Julian’s body ached.

It wasn't the sharp, agonizing pain of an injury, but a deep, heavy soreness that radiated through his thighs and his lower back. He shifted against the incredibly soft, high-thread-count sheets, a soft groan escaping his lips.

The memories of last night came rushing back in a dizzying, overwhelming flood. The sharp crack of the leather belt. The strict, unyielding commands. The way Victor had systematically broken down every wall of Julian’s panic and replaced it with a dark, consuming pleasure. Victor hadn't just touched him; he had dismantled him, demanding absolute surrender and rewarding his obedience with a mind-numbing ecstasy Julian had never experienced with Chase.

Julian opened his eyes.

The heavy blackout curtains of the master suite were drawn back, letting the crisp morning sunlight spill across the Persian rug. Lying in a discarded, ruined heap in the corner was the Vera Wang wedding dress.

"You have exactly ten minutes to shower and dress, Julian."

Julian gasped, his head snapping toward the voice.

Victor was standing by the massive mahogany dresser. He was already fully dressed in a bespoke, charcoal-gray three-piece suit, looking every inch the ruthless, untouchable billionaire. He was adjusting a heavy silver watch on his wrist, his piercing gray eyes watching Julian through the reflection of the mirror.

"Breakfast is served at eight sharp," Victor continued, his voice a low, commanding rumble that sent a fresh shiver down Julian’s spine. "I do not tolerate tardiness."

"Yes, sir," Julian breathed automatically. The honorific slipped past his lips with terrifying ease.

Julian scrambled out of the massive bed, his cheeks burning as the cool morning air hit his bare skin. He hurried into the sprawling marble en-suite bathroom.

When he stepped out of the scalding shower eight minutes later, a set of clothes was laid out perfectly on the edge of the mattress. It wasn't a dress. It was a tailored, slim-fit black suit, a crisp white dress shirt, and a dark silk tie.

Julian stared at the clothes in shock. He slipped the trousers on, his breath catching. They fit perfectly. The waist, the inseam, the shoulders of the jacket—it was all tailored to his exact, precise measurements.

Victor had planned this down to the very last detail. He had known Julian would be standing in this room, wearing these clothes, long before Julian had ever put on the veil.

"Button the collar all the way up," Victor commanded from the doorway.

Julian jumped, his fingers fumbling with the small pearl buttons of the shirt. He fastened the top button, effectively hiding the faint, dark bruises Victor’s mouth had left on his collarbone the night before.

Victor walked over, his massive frame towering over Julian. He reached out, taking the silk tie from Julian’s trembling hands. With practiced, elegant movements, Victor tied the knot around Julian’s neck, pulling it snug.

"Listen to me carefully," Victor murmured, his knuckles brushing against Julian’s throat. "Chase is downstairs in the dining room. He is expecting to have breakfast with his new stepmother. When we walk through those doors, you will keep your chin high. You will not flinch. You will not look away from him. You are my husband now, Julian. You answer to no one but me. Do you understand?"

Julian’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The thought of facing Chase—the boy who had laughed in his face and thrown him away just forty-eight hours ago—made him feel physically sick.

But as he looked up into Victor’s cold, absolute gray eyes, the fear began to recede, replaced by a dark, thrilling sense of power. Victor was his shield. Victor was his weapon.

"I understand, sir," Julian whispered.

Victor’s lips curved into a dark, approving smirk. He offered Julian his arm. "Then let's go say good morning to my son."

The Sterling Estate dining room was the size of a small restaurant, featuring a massive, twenty-foot mahogany table bathed in the light of a crystal chandelier.

Chase Sterling was sitting at the far end of the table, nursing a cup of black coffee and scrolling through his phone. He looked hungover, his designer shirt wrinkled, his blonde hair messy. He was probably still recovering from whatever after-party he had attended following the wedding reception.

The heavy double doors of the dining room swung open.

"Good morning, Chase," Victor’s deep, resonant voice echoed through the room.

Chase didn't even look up from his phone. "Morning, Dad. Tell Juliet to keep her voice down today, my head is killing me. Did she already start redecorating the—"

Chase froze.

Victor stepped fully into the room, and right beside him, his hand resting possessively on the small of his back, was Julian.

The coffee cup slipped from Chase’s hand. It shattered against the saucer, sending hot, black liquid spilling across the pristine white tablecloth.

Chase stared, his jaw dropping so far it practically hit the table. His eyes darted from Victor, to Julian’s tailored suit, to the heavy platinum wedding band glittering on Julian’s left ring finger.

"Julian?" Chase choked out, his voice cracking in absolute, unadulterated horror. He scrambled to his feet, his chair screeching violently against the hardwood floor. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

Julian’s heart was racing, but he remembered Victor’s command. Do not flinch. He kept his chin high, his expression a mask of cool indifference.

"Hello, Chase," Julian said quietly.

Chase’s face turned a mottled, furious shade of red. He looked at his father, completely bewildered. "Dad, what is this? Did he sneak in here? Security! Get in here! This psycho stalked me to our house!"

"Sit down, Chase."

Victor didn't yell. He didn't raise his voice. But the sheer, suffocating menace in those four words made the temperature in the dining room plummet to sub-zero.

Chase snapped his mouth shut, his eyes wide with panic. He slowly sank back into his chair, trembling.

Victor pulled out the chair to his immediate right—the seat of honor at the head of the table—and gestured for Julian to sit. Julian obeyed instantly, folding his hands in his lap. Victor took his own seat at the head of the table, looking down at his son with a gaze of absolute, freezing disgust.

"Juliet Ashford is currently in Paris," Victor stated smoothly, picking up his coffee cup. "She was never the bride. Julian walked down the aisle yesterday. Julian signed the marriage certificate. Julian is my husband."

Chase looked like he was going to vomit. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. "You... you married my ex-boyfriend? Dad, are you insane?! He's a gold-digger! He's a nobody! I dumped him two days ago because he was boring and pathetic!"

"You dumped him," Victor corrected, his voice dropping to a lethal, quiet drawl, "because you are a spoiled, arrogant child who wouldn't know the value of a diamond if it hit you in the face. You threw away the most brilliant junior associate at our firm to sleep with a paralegal in a disabled bathroom."

Chase flinched as if he had been physically struck. "How... how did you know about that?"

"I know everything that happens in my firm, Chase," Victor sneered. "I watched you take credit for Julian’s legal briefs for six months. I watched you parade around the office, pretending to be a prodigy, while Julian worked until midnight to fix your catastrophic mistakes."

"Dad, please," Chase stammered, the arrogant playboy facade completely shattering. He looked at Julian with pure, venomous hatred. "He manipulated you! He's just trying to get back at me!"

"The only one being manipulated here is you," Victor said coldly. He set his coffee cup down with a sharp clink. "Effective immediately, you are stripped of your Junior Partner title at Sterling & Associates."

Chase gasped, the color draining entirely from his face. "What?! You can't do that! I'm your son!"

"You are a liability," Victor countered ruthlessly. "You will be demoted to the mailroom. Your trust fund is frozen. Your company credit cards are canceled. If you want to live in this house, you will pay rent from your new, minimum-wage salary."

"No!" Chase screamed, tears of genuine panic welling in his eyes. He looked at Julian, his face twisted in desperation. "Julian, tell him! Tell him this is a joke! We were together for a year!"

Julian looked at the boy who had broken his heart. He looked at the pathetic, whining child begging for his trust fund. And then he looked at Victor—the massive, terrifying, brilliant man sitting beside him, radiating absolute power and protection.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Chase," Julian said, his voice smooth as ice. "I'm your stepmother. You should show some respect."

Chase let out a strangled, agonizing cry of pure defeat. He buried his face in his hands, sobbing into the ruined tablecloth.

Victor’s lips curved into a dark, deeply satisfied smirk. He reached under the table, his large hand resting heavily on Julian’s thigh, giving it a firm, approving squeeze that sent a jolt of heat straight to Julian’s core.

"Finish your breakfast, Julian," Victor commanded softly, his gray eyes burning with a possessive fire. "We are going to the firm in thirty minutes. I am moving you into Chase's old corner office. Your training begins today."