In Love With My Stepson

“No! Mom! Dad! Please,” I cry, staring at my parents, as I struggle with two huge men aggressively dragging me out of my house. “You can’t do this to me! You can’t just sell me off like this!”

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine my life would turn out this way.

I have dreams and goals I look forward to, and I’m happy with whatever life has in store for me. But that doesn’t include being hauled away by several men, and forced into marriage with a mafia boss. 

The day starts like any other—actually, better than most.

I’ve just wrapped up my third year in college, now in a taxi heading home for summer break.

Today is better than most days not because I’m going home but because I get to see my younger brother, Andrew again. He’s the one I care for the most.

Better than most days ‘cause I don't have to stuff my face in textbooks. 

My college life is stressful and hectic– normally it shouldn't be, but because I have to work twice as hard as top students to maintain my full-time scholarship that funded my whole life in college, it sure was.

It’s not like I spend my whole time reading textbooks. I have a part-time job and a crochet small business I run. But the money I make from it, I save it for after I graduate, hoping to use the money to move out, get a good job, and live the life of my dreams—far away from my family.

And…. maybe fall in love with a kind, hardworking decent handsome man.

I practically have my whole life planned out, but these plans fall apart the moment I step out of the taxi that drops me in front of my house.

The taxi zooms off and I grip the retractable handle of my pink suitcase, ready to pull it toward my house, an old three-bedroom bungalow. But as I lift my eyes from the suitcase to my home, they narrow at the sight of two jeeps parked in the driveway. Their luxurious and sleek designs making my dad’s white old rusted pickup truck look even worse.

“Rich people?” I mumble, my stomach knotting uncomfortably. 

Why would a rich person be at our house? A house that I have always been embarrassed to invite friends over because of how tattered and uninviting it looks.

Worse, not one car, but two?

Something doesn’t feel right.

A heavy sense of dread washes over me, as my instincts scream, “Run! Don’t go in there! It’s dangerous! It’s trouble!”

Whatever that is going on inside, it’s definitely trouble. And I do not like trouble. I always avoid it.

But knowing Andrew might be in this trouble, I race to my front door, leaving my suitcase behind to tumble to the ground.

My knuckles barely touch the wood of the door when it swings open, revealing my living room filled with men in black suits.

Startled, My eyes bulge, my chest tightens, my heart racing as I try to make sense of the scene in front of me.

‘Huh’

The men, they’re everywhere, standing like sentinels, guarding something—or someone. Eight of them stand fiercely in calculated positions in the living room, blocking exits.

My eyes sweep across the faces of my family of six, to understand the state of the scene before me.  

I stare at my two elder brothers whom I despise, behind the couch, Romeo and George. Their faces are blank and sour. I can barely tell what they are thinking. While my younger brother Andrew, stands a bit shorter and skinnier beside them, his red, filled with tears, his expression a mix of fear and disappointment.

‘This is serious.’

Quickly lowering my gaze to the couches in the sitting room, my parents sit humbly across from a man who lounges on our couch casually, as if he owns the place.

He looks older than the other men, around my mom’s age but slightly younger. His gaze suddenly shifts from my parents to me, his dark eyes sizing me up.

My gaze abruptly flicks back to my parents, desperate for an answer. “Mom, Dad, what’s happening?” I barely manage to ask, breaking the tense silence, my voice small and shaky. 

They don’t answer. They don’t even look me directly in the eye, yet I could see guilt in theirs.

“Haha!” 

A dark chuckle breaks the silence, pulling my attention to the man on the couch. His cold dark eyes roam over me as a creepy sinister smirk spreads across his face.

“So,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, “this must be her. Hazel Benson, My new virgin wife.”

A cold chill runs through my blood.

“Wife?” I mutter, barely able to believe the words that come out of his and my mouth.