The morning sunlight slanted through the curtains, painting the room in golden streaks, but the atmosphere between us felt colder than ice.
"Good morning, Stepmom," Jackson's voice cut through the silence like a blade. He stood at the door, a tray in his hands. "You didn't come down for breakfast, so I thought I'd bring it to you."
I stayed silent, my gaze sharp as I studied him. Why was he suddenly so… considerate? He stepped in, placing the tray on the bedside table, and pulled a chair close.
"I'm sorry if my words hurt you yesterday," he said, his tone softer than I expected. "Hearing you cry last night… it didn't sit well with me. I know you didn't sleep much. I'm truly sorry."
His sincerity caught me off guard. I blinked, trying to decipher his sudden change.
"It's okay," I murmured, keeping my walls firmly intact. "Thank you for the breakfast."
He nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Enjoy it. I'll be at the seat-out if you need anything."
Without waiting for a response, he stood and left. His footsteps echoed faintly as I sat up, staring at the tray. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and buttered toast filled the room, but my appetite was nowhere to be found.
Later, after brushing my teeth and forcing myself to eat, I opened the wardrobe to find a completely new set of clothes. Every item I owned—gone. My heart sank. Mr. Dickson had replaced my wardrobe without consulting me, tossing out the belongings I had chosen for myself.
The new clothes were undeniably beautiful, each one a display of luxury and elegance. But they weren't mine.
I slipped into one of the dresses, a sleek piece that hugged my frame perfectly. It was the kind of dress that demanded attention. Stepping out of my room, I almost collided with Mr. Dickson.
"You look stunning," he said, his gaze lingering. "I knew these would suit you."
I folded my arms, my voice steady despite the bitterness curling inside me. "Good morning. I think you should have asked before throwing out my clothes. I bought them with my own money."
He tilted his head, unfazed. "Noted. But you're my wife now, and I want you to look the part."
The words stung, a reminder of the cage I now lived in. "Thank you," I muttered and stepped past him, eager to escape the conversation.
The garden became my sanctuary, a place where the chaos of my life couldn't touch me. I was lost in thought, replaying the shattered dreams of a life with Daniel, when Jackson's voice broke the quiet.
"Hello, Stepmom," he said, his tone playful. "Mind if I sit with you?"
"Sit wherever you like. It's your father's house," I replied curtly.
He lowered himself onto the bench beside me, his demeanor unusually calm. "You don't even care to know your stepson's name. That's not very motherly of you."
I glanced at him, unimpressed. "What do you want, Jackson?"
He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm. "I want to start over. Yesterday… I was out of line. The truth is, my relationship with my dad is… complicated. It's made me someone I'm not proud of."
There was something raw in his voice that I couldn't ignore. Against my better judgment, I softened. "I'm sorry. No one deserves to feel that way."
"Thank you," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "There's something different about you compared to the others he's brought here. Tell me about yourself."
Hesitation gripped me, but his genuine curiosity felt disarming. Slowly, I began to share fragments of my story. As the days passed, our conversations grew deeper, our connection undeniable.
One evening, Jackson found me in the living room. "Stepmom," he said with a teasing grin.
I rolled my eyes. "I told you to stop calling me that."
"But you are my dad's wife," he teased, sitting down.
"I prefer you call me by my name," I insisted, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Fine, but only when he's not around," he said. "So, how about we hang out tonight? It's been weeks of being cooped up here. Let's do something fun."
I hesitated but eventually nodded. "Okay. Let's go."
I dressed up, the mirror reflecting a version of myself I barely recognized. Confidence radiated from me as I stepped out, and Jackson's stunned expression said it all.
The night was exhilarating. Laughter, drinks, and stolen moments blurred together, a reprieve from the suffocating walls of the house. By the time we returned, the air between us was charged.
"Thank you, Jackson," I said, pausing at my door. "I had a lot of fun."
"So did I," he murmured, his gaze lingering on me.
Before I could respond, he stepped closer. His hand brushed against mine, and then his lips met mine. The kiss was unexpected, electric, leaving us both breathless.
As we pulled apart, the weight of what had just happened settled in the air. Without another word, I slipped into my room, my heart pounding against my ribs.
And that night, I knew—lines had been crossed, and there was no turning back. What came next would change everything.