I Became My Ex-Husband's Stepmother

The morning light filtering through the manor's tall windows felt different now—sharper, more revealing. I'd barely closed the guest room door behind me when voices drifted up from the garden below—Sterling's low murmur, Vivian's theatrical laugh.

I moved to the window without thinking, drawn by the same masochistic instinct that had ruined me in my previous life. They stood on the stone terrace beneath a canopy of wisteria, Sterling in silk pajama pants, Vivian draped against him in a form-fitting dress that screamed expensive. His arm circled her shoulders with practiced ease, and she was playing the fragile flower to perfection—one hand pressed delicately to his chest, her face tilted up in rehearsed adoration.

"Are you alright?" I could just make out his murmur through the half-open window. His voice was soft with concern that I'd once foolishly believed was reserved for me.

Vivian's reply was too quiet to hear, but the way she nestled closer said everything.

Then, as if she'd sensed my gaze, Vivian looked up directly at my window. The smirk that spread across her face was slow and deliberate. She mouthed two words, her lips exaggerating every syllable so I wouldn't miss them: "I win."

I held her stare for three full seconds, then drew the curtain shut.

Let her have her morning victory lap. It would make the fall that much more satisfying.

Moments later, Sterling's voice reached me through the closed window—this time directed at me, sharp enough to carry across the distance.

Then Sterling's gaze found mine, and the warmth in his eyes died instantly. His expression turned cold, calculating, dismissive. "I assume you were smart enough to have Garrett call Vivian last night," he said, his tone sharp as a blade. "Don't get any ideas about things that will never belong to you."

The words hit me like a physical blow, but not for the reasons he intended. In my previous life, standing in this exact spot, he'd said something entirely different: "It doesn't matter who it was. Don't worry about it—just accept being Mrs. Ashford."

I'd thought those words meant acceptance, maybe even the beginning of love. How naive I'd been. He'd only meant that I was convenient, a placeholder until he could secure his position as head of the family. The moment he'd gained that power, he'd discarded me like yesterday's newspaper.

I'd loved him once. Loved him desperately, completely, foolishly. When I'd been struggling through medical school, drowning in debt and despair, he'd been my salvation. The Ashford family scholarship had covered my tuition, and Sterling had personally guaranteed my acceptance into the program. Years later, when I'd become a successful doctor, I'd voluntarily taken the position as the family's private physician just to be near him.

What a joke that seemed now.

"Of course," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "I know exactly where I stand."

Sterling's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he'd expected more of a reaction. But I simply nodded politely and continued down the hallway, leaving them to their performance.

As I reached my room, my phone buzzed with a text message. Maxwell's name appeared on the screen, and my heart skipped a beat.

**"Flying to London on business. Will be back in two weeks. Wait for me."**

I stared at the message for a long moment, then tucked the phone away without responding. Let him wonder. Let him wait.

The next few days passed in a strange sort of suspended animation. The manor continued its daily rhythms—servants bustling about their duties, Sterling conducting business from his study, Vivian floating through the halls like she owned the place.

But I noticed things I'd missed before. The way the staff whispered when Vivian passed, their expressions carefully neutral but their eyes holding something that looked almost like pity. The way Sterling's jaw tightened whenever he caught Vivian staring at herself in mirrors, adjusting her appearance with obsessive precision.

Vivian, for her part, seemed determined to make my life as uncomfortable as possible. She made pointed comments within earshot of the servants about "certain people" who "threw themselves at unavailable men." She questioned my medical credentials loud enough for half the household to hear. She even went so far as to suggest that I was "taking advantage of elderly patients" during one particularly vicious encounter in the library.

I endured it all with the patience of someone who knew exactly how this story would end. In my previous life, Vivian's obsession with Sterling had eventually consumed her. She'd spiraled into addiction and mental illness, convinced that if she could just be perfect enough, beautiful enough, devoted enough, he would finally love her the way she loved him.

The irony was that Sterling had always believed in her devotion. Even as she'd fallen apart, he'd seen her as his one true love, the woman who'd never betrayed him. If only he'd known the truth about the nights she'd spent with other men, desperately trying to make him jealous, or the pills she'd started taking to maintain her perfect facade.

But that was then. This time, things would be different.

On the fifth day after Maxwell's departure, I was making my way up the main staircase when Vivian appeared at the top landing. She'd been waiting for me, I realized—positioned perfectly to block my path.

"I need to ask you something," she said, her voice tight with barely controlled anger. "Why do you insist on inserting yourself between Sterling and me? Don't you have any shame?"

I paused on the stairs, looking up at her. In the afternoon light streaming through the stained glass windows, she looked almost ethereal—beautiful and fragile and completely unhinged.

"Only someone like you would want Sterling Ashford," I replied coolly. "I'm not interested."

Her face flushed crimson. "You're lying! You've been chasing after him for years!"

"Have I?" I continued up the stairs, moving to step around her. "Maybe you should ask yourself why you're so threatened by someone who supposedly doesn't matter."

As I passed her, I heard her sharp intake of breath, felt the shift in the air that meant she was moving—

"Dr. Wren!" Vivian's scream pierced the afternoon quiet. "What are you doing! Don't—!"

I spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs, and watched in horror as Vivian tumbled down the marble staircase. Her body hit each step with sickening thuds, her limbs twisting at unnatural angles, until she finally came to rest at the bottom in a crumpled heap.

For a moment, the world went completely silent. Then the screaming began.