After My Husband Betrayed Me, I Married My Stepbrother

I didn’t know when I passed out.

Maybe sometime during the pain.

Maybe sometime after he finally got tired of using my body.

When I opened my eyes again, the basement door was already unlocked.

My phone kept vibrating beside me on the floor.

That was how I knew Damian’s anger had faded for now. Whenever he cooled down, he returned my phone like he was doing me a favor instead of taking away my freedom in the first place.

I pushed myself up slowly.

Pain shot through my entire body so hard my vision blurred for a second.

My thighs hurt.

My wrists hurt.

Even breathing felt uncomfortable.

But I still forced myself upstairs.

Because people like me didn’t get to rest.

The second I stepped into the living room, I saw Chloe.

She was sitting on the couch with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, scrolling through her phone like she owned the house.

Maybe she already did.

She looked up when she heard me walking.

“Oh.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Looks like he played one of his little games with you again.”

My fingers tightened slightly against the stair railing.

Chloe tilted her head innocently.

“Poor maid.”

She was dressed beautifully today. Cream-colored designer knitwear, gold jewelry, flawless makeup. I didn’t even need to recognize the brand to know the outfit probably cost more than my adoptive parents made in a year.

Then small footsteps came racing across the room.

“Mom!”

My heart jumped instantly.

I opened my arms before I could stop myself.

But my son ran right past me.

Straight into Chloe’s embrace.

She smiled immediately and kissed the top of his head. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m hungry.” He wrapped his arms around her waist comfortably. “Can you tell her to cook?”

Her.

Not Mom.

Me.

“The nanny’s food sucks,” he complained. “I want steak. And I want Russian soup too.”

Borscht.

His favorite.

Or maybe not anymore.

Children changed quickly.

Especially when someone spent months teaching them who deserved love.

He never asked if I had eaten.

Never asked why my face was pale.

Never asked where I had been all week.

But that was normal.

My entire life existed for other people.

That was what I had been taught since childhood.

A daughter should obey.

A wife should endure.

A mother should sacrifice.

So why did my chest still hurt so much?

Why did I still want to cry?

Chloe looked at me lazily. “Well? Didn’t you hear him?”

I lowered my eyes automatically.

“I’ll cook now.”

—

An hour later, dinner was finally ready.

Three bowls of soup.

Two steaks.

Fresh bread.

I carried the soup carefully to the dining table while trying to ignore the ache between my legs every time I walked.

Damian still wasn’t home.

Probably with another woman.

Or maybe with Sophia in his imagination.

I placed the last bowl down quietly and pulled out a chair.

The second I started sitting down—

The chair jerked backward violently.

I lost balance immediately and crashed onto the floor.

Pain exploded through my hip and wrist.

For half a second, the room went silent.

Then my son burst into laughter.

Loud laughter.

Cruel laughter.

“I’ve seriously never seen someone this stupid before!”

My breathing stopped.

I looked up slowly.

My son was pointing at me while laughing so hard he almost fell against the table.

And Chloe?

She simply walked over gracefully and sat down in the chair I almost took.

Like nothing happened.

Like I wasn’t still on the floor.

“Darling,” she said sweetly while unfolding her napkin, “before eating, maybe you should wash the sheets from the master bedroom first.”

Her eyes slid over me mockingly.

“People won’t die from missing one meal.”

The meaning behind her words hit me instantly.

The sheets upstairs.

The sheets she slept on with my husband.

My stomach twisted violently.

“Come sit,” Chloe told my son warmly.

His attitude changed immediately.

He climbed into the chair beside her obediently and picked up his spoon.

He looked happy.

Like she belonged here.

I stared at them quietly for several seconds before lowering my gaze again.

Then I picked up my spoon.

If I ignored them, maybe the night would pass peacefully.

Maybe—

Crash.

My bowl disappeared from my hands.

A second later, it shattered against the floor.

Hot soup splashed across my legs and glass scattered everywhere.

I froze.

My son stood there breathing hard.

He had thrown it.

“You didn’t hear Chloe,” he snapped angrily. “Go wash the clothes first.”

Not Chloe auntie.

Not Miss Chloe.

Just Chloe.

Like she was already family.

Something inside my chest started trembling.

I stared at him in disbelief.

This was my child.

The boy I carried for nine months.

The boy I almost died giving birth to.

After my parents died, he became the only person in the world connected to me by blood.

And now he looked at me with pure disgust.

I stood up slowly.

My hand lifted before I even realized what I was doing.

Not to hurt him.

Never to hurt him.

I just—

I just wanted him to stop.

But before I could speak, Chloe immediately pulled him behind her protectively.

Like I was dangerous.

Like I was the monster here.

My son peeked out from behind her shoulder with open contempt.

“I hate you,” he muttered.

The room suddenly spun.

A sharp ringing filled my ears.

I couldn’t breathe properly.

My vision darkened at the edges as heat rushed violently through my body.

Then everything went black.