Chapter 1

There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Raymond Mueller finally sighed. "Don't act recklessly, Joyce. Just wait for me to get back, alright?"

"Sorry, Raymond. I can't wait anymore."

I barely had time to hang up before a bowl came hurling straight at my face. I didn't react fast enough, and it hit me hard.

"You snitch. You think you're so special just because Grandpa backs you up?"

Jeremy Mueller hadn't heard our conversation from where he was standing, so he jumped to the usual conclusion—that I'd run to Raymond for help.

He grabbed another bowl and drew his arm back, ready to launch it at me.

"That bowl meant everything to my mom before she died, and you went and broke it. Don't think Grandpa showing up will save you from this."

I looked up, staring straight at my stepson. "You're lying, Jeremy."

Aaron Mueller had carefully stored all the possessions of my sister, Celia Quayle, in a safe. He was the only one who knew the combination.

That shattered bowl? It was just an ordinary dish from the kitchen.

Jeremy stuck out his tongue defiantly when he realized I'd caught him. Then he sprinted back to his room, shouting, "Serves you right for taking my mom's place!"

This time, I didn't chase after him to explain like I usually did. On autopilot, I tended to my injury and finished the chores without really thinking.

Once everything was done, I pulled out the divorce agreement from the living room drawer. Aaron's signature already graced the final line.

Suddenly, I remembered how Aaron had stared at me that day, his eyes distant, like I was nothing but a criminal.

"I don't have feelings for you, Joyce. I only married you because my family pushed me into it, and Jeremy needed someone to raise him. Once he has grown up, I expect you to have the decency to leave quietly."

Then came his cruel smirk.

"But then again, you'd never sign the papers, would you? You couldn't even wait for Celia's body to grow cold before crawling into my bed, begging to be Mrs. Mueller."

The memory made my lashes flutter, and I let out a bitter laugh at my own expense.

I picked up the pen and signed my name in the space marked for the wife. The last stroke was barely dry when the door opened.

I turned, and there stood Aaron, his eyes locking onto mine the second he stepped inside.

Aaron barely looked at the cut on my forehead, his eyes cool and uninterested. Then he noticed my red-rimmed eyes and put it all together immediately.

"Jeremy's acting up again," he said, his voice flat but with an edge of disapproval. "But you're not blameless here. I've told you before—don't push things with him. You still haven't figured out your position after all these years."

I kept my eyes down and murmured, "I'll keep that in mind."

Ever since we'd gotten married, I'd poured myself into running this household perfectly for eight years. But nothing I did would ever be enough just because I was "Mrs. Mueller" in name.

Aaron's eyebrows drew together when he saw me frozen in place.

"Come here," he ordered.

I quietly gathered his slippers, set them at his feet, and put away the clothes he'd tossed aside.

With a humorless laugh, Aaron yanked me into his arms. His lips came down on mine with rough intensity, the kind of kiss that felt more like ownership than affection.

I could barely catch my breath by the time he released me.

He kept his forehead touching mine as he spoke, his words sounding like a begrudging compromise. "My dad's been hounding me again about giving Jeremy a little brother or sister."