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He Chose My Stepsister, So I Chose His Brother Novel Cover

He Chose My Stepsister, So I Chose His Brother

On the day of her father's funeral, Marcus Pierce betrays his wife by sleeping with her stepsister, Bianca. After learning of Bianca's pregnancy and their blatant affair, the devastated protagonist demands a divorce. When Marcus refuses to let her go, she takes matters into her own hands. Turning away from her unfaithful husband, she contacts Alexander Pierce—Marcus’s powerful brother and the one man he fears. To ruin the man who broke her, she accepts Alexander's past promise of protection.
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Chapter 9

Isabella’s POV

When we reached the car, Bianca rushed to open the front passenger door for herself, but to my surprise, Marcus held her back.

“Hold on, Bianca,” he said, then he turned to me. “Isabella… maybe you should sit in the front,” he said, giving me a small hopeful smile.

“Bianca can stay in the back..” He added.

“No,” Bianca protested, pouting like a drama queen. “I’ll get nauseous if I sit in the back. The baby’s been making me so dizzy lately, Marcus”

I rolled my eyes.

Marcus looked conflicted as he tried to think of how to please us both.

“It’s fine,” I said coldly.. “Let her sit in the front.”

Marcus tried to protest. “But—”

“I said it’s fine,” I repeated, my voice was sharper this time. “Let her sit in the front, Marcus. I don’t care.”

There was silence for a moment. Bianca smiled in triumph. Marcus frowned, but he didn’t argue again.

I climbed into the backseat silently, wincing quietly as my body ached furiously.

As I sat in the backseat, the ache in my body increased slightly, but I clenched my jaw and said nothing. I leaned my head against the window and stared outside, pretending I wasn’t here.

After five minutes, Bianca began her little games, hoping to get a reaction from me.

She placed her hand on Marcus’s thigh, and her fingers trailed up in slow circles. I didn’t bother looking, but from the corner of my eye, I could see her giving me a mocking side glance.

Marcus stiffened immediately. “Bianca,” he warned, murmuring under his breath, moving her hand off.

She blinked innocently. “What?”

When he didn’t say anything, she returned her hand, and continued, moving her fingers higher this time.

“I said stop it,” Marcus snapped, more firmly now.

She flinched, and her eyes welled up with tears instantly as she turned away and began to cry softly into her palms.

“Why are you yelling at me?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I’m pregnant, Marcus… and you’re yelling…”

He exhaled heavily, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to yell. Just… stop doing that when…when…. she’s here.”

He didn’t mention my name, as if I were a ghost in the backseat, an intruder to their private time.

Bianca sniffed, then she leaned forward, and began searching through the compartment. “I’m just looking for tissues,” she muttered.

What she pulled out was definitely not tissue.

She held up a tiny piece of lace fabric. They were red panties, and she laughed in delight.

“Oh my god, Marcus,” she giggled. “Remember this? When we couldn’t make it to the hotel? You pulled me to your lap right in this car and—”

“That’s enough,” Marcus said tightly, not looking at her.

“Oh, relax,” Bianca said with a roll of her eyes. “Isabella understands that it’s just the hormones. Hormones make one very horny, thankfully… I have you for that.” She murmured softly, placing her hand on Marcus’s thigh again. This time he didn’t say anything.

Marcus glanced at me through the rearview mirror, and for a moment, our eyes met, but I looked away before he could see anything in my eyes.

.

Immediately I got to the orphanage, I stepped out of the car without saying a word, leaving Marcus and Bianca behind.

I walked through the familiar gates and into the building that had been my father’s life’s work. My chest tightened with the memory, but I pushed it aside, I had work to do.

The administrator, Mr. Jackson, looked up as I entered his office. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw me, and then he smiled warmly.

“Miss Isabella,” he said, standing quickly. “You’re back.”

“I need to talk to you,” I said, wasting no time in getting to business.

Just as we were concluding our discussion, a loud, piercing cry echoed through the halls.

My heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong.

I turned and ran out of the room, Mr. Jackson followed behind me.

The stench of smoke hit me immediately I stepped out.

I could hear screams coming from the west wing. I rushed forward, and froze in place as I stared in horror at the scene before me.

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