The Stepmom's Secret Lovers

I gripped the worthless will in my hand, my nails digging into my palms until they almost broke skin.

But I knew in this cannibalistic family, my only bet for survival was to cling to my two stepsons.

Zane, the younger one, was sweet and a total velcroclingy kid, showing none of the typical high school boy rebellion. But Gideon, the older one, was coldly repelled by me.

He wouldn't even allow me to step foot into his CEO corner office. I thought he despised me to his core. Until the night of the funeral.

Zane, his eyes redrimmed, looked pitiful as he pleaded. "Stepmom, I'm scared. Can we cuddle to sleep?" And late in the night, Gideon climbed into my bed. "If he can, why can't I?

Don't play favorites, stepmom." Chapter 1 Vance, my sixtyyearold billionaire husband, dropped dead from a sudden heart attack. The will was crystal clear.

Every last cent, every asset, was split evenly between Zane and Gideon. Meaning, he left me absolutely nothing.

I pressed my lips into a thin line, forcing down the bitter taste of betrayal, but I knew I had to play the part of the unbothered widow, clinging desperately to my two stepsons to secure my place.

Zane was a senior in high school. He was surprisingly sweet and clung to me constantly, always whining for my attention with a soft edge to his voice.

He didn't reject my presence at all; if anything, he leaned on me too much. The real problem was Gideon.

He took over the family empire at twentyfour, ruling the boardrooms with absolute ruthlessness.

He harbored a deepseated prejudice against me, keeping me strictly banned from ever setting foot in his office.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, throwing the covers off and climbing out of bed. My top priority right now was getting on Gideon's good side.

Holding a glass of vintage Macallan whiskey over ice, I knocked lightly on Gideon's bedroom door. Silence.

The door was already ajar, and the force of my knuckles pushed it open just a sliver. I stood in the hallway for a second, assuming he wasn't there.

The heavy blackout curtains were drawn tight, casting the room in thick shadows. I turned, ready to leave the glass and walk away, but my feet froze at the sound of a heavy exhale.

Low. Raspy. Thick with an intense, urgent heat. It only took a split second for my brain to process exactly what that sound meant. My eyes adjusted to the dark. I could see Gideon.

He was still in his impeccably tailored suit, his dress shirt buttoned stiflingly tight all the way to the top. The sharp cut of his trousers hugged the solid lines of his thighs.

Aristocratic and proper.

But his long, pale fingers were halfcurled, the pale blue veins on the back of his hand bulging sharply as his grip moved over a small scrap of lace fabric. Visceral and messy.

The sheer contrast of the scene seemed to amplify the heavy, musky scent hanging in the air.

Blood rushed straight to my eardrums, the sound of my own heartbeat deafening in the deadsilent hallway, and I felt like all the oxygen in the space had been sucked out.

Then, another hot, muffled groan ripped from Gideon's throat. I jolted like I had touched a live wire, spinning around and bolting down the hall.

I practically sprinted the entire way back, praying frantically that Gideon hadn't noticed me invading his space.

It wasn't until I spotted Zane crouched right outside my bedroom door that the frantic pounding in my chest started to level out.

Zane was clutching a pillow to his chest, the rims of his eyes flushed red.

He looked exactly like an abandoned golden retriever. "Where did you go?" My breathing hitched for a fraction of a second.

I lowered the glass of whiskey in my hand and forced my voice to stay soft. "I was thirsty. Went down to grab a drink.

Do you want something, Zane?" Zane stood up, his gaze dropping straight to my fingertips.

I just then realized that because I had walked so fast, the whiskey in my glass had spilled over the rim, dripping slowly down my fingers. Zane nodded slowly.

Then, his hand shot out. He wrapped his fingers loosely around my wrist, pulling my hand up toward his mouth, and leaned down to take my wet fingertips past his lips.

His hot, damp tongue dragged over my skin in a slow, lingering sweep.

My pupils dilated sharply, and I snatched my hand back. "Zane, what are you doing?" I said, a clear edge of warning clipping my words.

Zane blinked slowly, his clear eyes meeting mine without a trace of guilt. "You were sticky. I didn't have a napkin.

I was just trying to help." The excuse made sense logically, but an unspoken weirdness crawled up my spine. Yet, the teenager's gaze was so utterly clear.

I forced my shoulders to drop, convincing myself I was just being overly sensitive. "It's fine," I breathed out. I curled my fingers inward into my palm.

My skin still burned from the heat of his mouth. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his arms naturally around my waist and buried his face right into the crook of my neck.

His voice came out muffled, sounding horribly wronged. "Can I sleep in your room tonight? I'm scared of being alone.

Can we just cuddle like we used to?" Zane was only seventeen, but he had already shot up to six foot one.

Even through the thin silk of my pajamas, I could clearly feel the solid cut of his muscles and the broad span of his frame.

The intense, raw heat of his youth radiated off him, making a sudden flush rise into my cheeks. Zane. Chapter 2 I pushed against his chest. Zane didn't budge.

Instead, his arms tightened around me, his low, clingy whines vibrating against my collarbone as he refused to let go. I exhaled a slow, heavy breath. "You're a grown man now, Zane.

Not a little kid. This crosses a line." His biological mother divorced Vance when Zane was only three.

So, growing up, whenever he had a nightmare, he'd always make a beeline for my bedroom.

His voice was muffled against my skin, slipping effortlessly into his usual spoiled routine. "I don't care.

I want to." His stubborn, bratty attitude instantly made me feel like he was still just an innocent kid who didn't know any better. The tension in my chest eased up a fraction.

I let out a soft laugh and ruffled his hair. Zane lowered his eyelashes, the light in his eyes instantly dimming. "I never had a mom growing up, and now my dad is gone too.

You're all I have left." He always knew exactly which buttons to push to break my defenses. I pressed my lips together. "Fine. But just this once." Zane's eyes lit up.

He grabbed my hand, ready to pull me into my room. Then, I saw him. Gideon stood at the top of the sweeping mahogany staircase, staring down at us with a cold, predatory stillness.

His clothes were immaculate, every button perfectly in place.

It was as if the heavy, flushed scene I'd just witnessed in his room was a complete hallucination. "Zane, go back to your own room." His voice was dead flat, but it carried the crushing weight of an absolute command.

I instinctively yanked my hand back from Zane's grip, a cold sweat instantly breaking out across my spine. The halfbrothers had always been at each other's throats.

But with Gideon now holding the absolute reins of the family empire, it would be sheer stupidity for Zane to pick a fight with him over something this trivial.

My survival instinct pushed me to protect the weaker link. I stepped in quickly to defuse the bomb. "Don't pick a fight with your brother. Be good.

Go back to your room." Zane looked at me with glassy, wet eyes. "Are you throwing me away too?" My resolve crumbled into dust.

I dropped my voice to a harsh whisper. "Wait until he's gone, then sneak over." A dark flicker passed through Zane's eyes before he offered a meek, obedient smile. "Okay." That left just me and Gideon in the sprawling hallway.

He dragged a glacial, indifferent gaze over me, then turned and began to walk away.

The sheer distance in his posture—so polite yet utterly detached—screamed that he found me entirely beneath his notice.

That perfectly calibrated aristocratic distance was infinitely more suffocating than straightup insults.

It was a brutal reminder of the untouchable privilege bred into his very bones. Staring at his broad, retreating back, I gritted my teeth and threw a hard punch into the empty air.

Without warning, Gideon pivoted back.

I froze, my hands flying up to frantically smooth down my hair, forcing a stiff, plastic smile onto my face. "What is it?" A slow, deliberate smirk curved Gideon's lips. "A piece of clothing blew onto my balcony.

I believe it belongs to you." He reached into the pocket of his tailored slacks, pulled out a perfectly folded square of fabric, and held it out to me.

His expression was completely blank. I reached out and took it. The second my eyes registered what it was, the air slammed out of my lungs. White. Lace.

It was still radiating a damp, residual heat. But the sheer mortification of my stepson handing me my own underwear wasn't what made the blood freeze in my veins.

What completely fried my nerves was the terrifying realization that I had just seen this exact piece of fabric somewhere else.

The sheer exhaustion of planning the funeral finally caught up with me.

Sprawled facedown on my mattress, my racing thoughts started to blur, and I drifted into a heavy, suffocating sleep. A sharp knock echoed through the room.

My sleepaddled brain automatically assumed it was Zane. I rolled over, my voice thick with sleep. "It's unlocked. Come in." The heavy thud of footsteps approached the bed.

With my eyes halfclosed, I blindly patted the empty pillow next to me. "Sleep here. Don't hog the duvet." A pair of distinctly cool hands slipped around my waist.

The sudden, biting contrast in temperature sent a violent shudder rippling across my skin. I furrowed my brow and rolled over.

The thick fog in my brain instantly shattered, every drop of blood in my body turning to absolute ice.

Chapter 3 Gideon raised an eyebrow slightly, a low chuckle escaping him. "What are you so afraid of?" I shrank back instinctively, stammering out a defense. "I thought… it was Zane.

You—you need to get out." The crushing weight of his frame pinned me against the mattress, leaving zero room to escape. "If he can, why can't I?

Don't play favorites, stepmom." His dark eyes were unreadable, but the iron grip he had on my wrists radiated a suffocating pressure.

This was the very first time he had ever called me stepmom.

A title that should have been a strict boundary of generation and respect was suddenly drenched in the dark, raspy gravel of his voice.

It felt dangerous, dripping with a completely different kind of heat.

I froze in place, my breathing completely stalling for a halfsecond, my throat so dry I couldn't force out a single sound.

Right at that exact moment, Zane's voice drifted through the heavy bedroom door. "Can I come in?" Frantic, I clawed at Gideon's fingers. "Let me go." Gideon simply closed his eyes, his absolute calm a stark contrast to my panic.

The heavy arm strapped across my waist locked in tighter, his voice dropping into a thick, exhausted drawl. "Vivienne, I'm so tired. Just let me hold you for a second.

Just for a second." It was like I had been hit with a paralytic. For a fleeting second, all the fight just drained out of my muscles. Thank god Zane was always the obedient one.

Getting zero response from me, the heavy thud of his sneakers slowly faded down the hall.

Gideon nuzzled his face into my cheek, the rigid, knotted muscles pressed against my spine finally going slack.

Listening to the slow, even rhythm of his breathing, I carefully rolled over to face him.

Under the weak silver light filtering through the blinds, the usual brutal, sharp angles of his face softened. But whatever dream he slipped into was clearly fighting him.

A faint, strained crease locked between his eyebrows.

For a split second, my brain shortcircuited, pulling me straight back to those early days when Gideon first moved back into the estate.

Maybe the dead of night just messed with a person's defenses, but the tight knot in my chest slowly dissolved. I reached out and pulled the heavy duvet up over his shoulders.

His eyes snapped open instantly, hypervigilant, his voice wrecked with sheer exhaustion. "Not even for a second?" A phantom ache squeezed my ribs.

Falling back into an old instinct, I gently patted the broad expanse of his back like I was soothing a little boy. "Go to sleep.

I'm right here." Gideon fell into a dead sleep, but I stared at the ceiling, wide awake. The truth was, our relationship wasn't always this toxic, scorchedearth wasteland.

If anything, there was a time when Gideon leaned on me way harder than Zane ever did. Gideon was the son of Vance's first wife.

After the second wife—Zane's mother—moved into the mansion, Vance practically threw his eldest son away like garbage. Gideon was shoved into the attic.

His private driver for school was cut off, and he wasn't even allowed to sit at the main dining table for dinner.

When I first married into the family, I didn't even know there was an older heir living in the house. The kids and teachers at that elite prep school were absolute vultures.

Gideon became the favorite punching bag for the upperclassmen, and the staff just conveniently looked the other way.

He quickly turned feral and dark, learning to settle every single problem with his fists.

The first time I ever laid eyes on Gideon was when his homeroom teacher called me in for an emergency parentteacher conference.

He stood there staring at the floor, a dark crust of dried blood caked in the corner of his mouth.

The teacher was practically spitting as he rattled off a laundry list of Gideon's violent offenses.

Gideon just lifted his head, his face deadpan, and rudely cut the guy off. "So, you're my dad's new wife? Then you handle it. Expel me or suspend me, whatever.

I'm out." I grabbed his wrist in a vice grip, my brow furrowing deep. "We're going to the ER first." The teacher stared at me like I had two heads, but remembering the billionaire name attached to me, he instantly dropped his tone into a grovel. "It's just a scratch, ma'am, he's fine.

Ms. Vivienne, the parents of the boy he attacked are currently throwing a fit in the principal's office.

Don't you think we should first—" By that point, I had already shadowed Vance through enough highsociety charity galas and boardrooms to learn exactly how the ultrarich projected absolute, crushing authority without raising their voice.

Chapter 4 I dragged a flat gaze over the teacher and let out a dry laugh. "My husband donates tens of millions to this academy every year.

Are you seriously telling me I need to handle a petty playground scuffle myself? I already had security pull the surveillance footage before I walked in here.

They threw the first punch." "What Gideon did was textbook selfdefense.

Has this elite institution really devolved to the point of judging right and wrong based entirely on who bleeds more?" "If that's your stance, this conversation is over.

The corporation's legal team will be in touch with the board." I didn't wait for his stuttered apologies. I spun on my heel and walked out.

A few steps down the hall, my heels stopped clicking. Gideon hadn't followed me. He just stood there staring at me, a microscopic tremor in his eyelashes.

Thinking his pride was keeping him from asking for help, I marched right back to him, crouched down, and yanked up the hem of his uniform trousers. "Is your leg busted?" Gideon slapped my hand away. "I'm fine." He shoved past me and stalked down the corridor.

With his towering frame and long legs, one of his strides equaled three of mine. I couldn't even keep up.

The second he hit the campus gates, he walked straight past the idling Maybach and headed for the city bus stop.

Frustrated, I kicked off my Louboutins, grabbed them by the heels, and jogged barefoot across the pavement to block his path. "Are you deaf?

I've been calling your name for a block." A bitter, mocking smirk hooked the corner of his mouth.

His eyes dropped to the stilettos dangling from my hand. "You put on a hell of a show.

No wonder you were the only one who actually managed to get a ring out of him." My marriage was the ultimate textbook case of a gold digger jumping classes.

I'd heard enough venomous gossip in country clubs to build absolute immunity. Plus, I had zero interest in holding a grudge against an angsty teenager. "Say whatever you want.

Get in the damn car. We're going to the hospital." Gideon dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, tapped one out, and clamped it between his teeth.

His lighter sparked a blue flame, kicking up a harsh cloud of smoke. He took a deep drag, his brow pulling into a tight knot. "No one's watching here. You can drop the act.

That little stunt in the office was more than enough to impress my dad." "Stop tailing me, okay?

Keep pushing, and I'll sell you off to the highest bidder." I snatched a cigarette straight from the pack in his hand.

Rising onto my tiptoes, I leaned directly into his space and pressed the unlit tip of my cigarette right against the burning cherry of his.

The sudden invasion of his personal bubble made him freeze completely. I pulled back and blew a perfect ring of smoke right into his face.

Watching him start hacking and coughing out of nowhere, a genuine laugh bubbled up in my throat. "Do I look like I need to act around you? Sell me off? You're a kid.

Who exactly are you trying to scare?" That afternoon, I literally dragged him by the ear into the VIP ward of the private hospital for a fullbody scan.

Once I had the medical reports, I scorched the earth, calling the principal and threatening a nuclear lawsuit.

I didn't stop until the very upperclassmen who had jumped him limped into the hospital on crutches and bandages, bowing in a humiliating apology to Gideon.

The car ride back to the estate was dead silent. Just as he was heading up the stairs, Gideon paused. "Thanks," he muttered.

It held that specific, awkward stiffness of a kid who had never been loved properly. After that, I talked Vance into letting me handle Gideon's education.

I stood over him while he studied, taught him how to navigate the cutthroat social circles, and backed him up like a bulldog at every parentteacher night.

The feral violence slowly drained out of him, replaced by a refined, lethal calm. He started chasing my approval.

Every day after school, he'd bring me a decaf skinny latte and macarons.

Whenever he tagged along with Vance to the Sotheby's auctions, he made sure to bid on multimilliondollar diamond necklaces just for me.

Whenever he ran a fever, he'd open his arms to me, his voice rough and thick as he called me "Vivienne." I would chew him out for disrespecting his elders.

He would just smoothly change the subject, his face completely deadpan. "I'm exhausted. Just hold me for another minute." When exactly did it all go to hell?

I think it started during Gideon's senior year. Vance's health went into a rapid, brutal decline.

As the only heir old enough to legally sign, Gideon was thrown right into the deep end, taking over the family empire.

Chapter 5 Meanwhile, Vance shipped Zane off to an overseas boarding school for high school, and the kid threw an absolute fit every single day, begging to come back.

During that time, I was running myself into the ground, bouncing constantly between the hospital and the corporate headquarters.

Every now and then, I even had to catch an international flight just to check on Zane. Between the sheer exhaustion and the chaos, I completely forgot Gideon's birthday.

When Gideon called me, I was standing in the arrivals terminal waiting for Zane. He hung up before I could even finish stringing an excuse together.

By the time I finally made it back to the estate, the butler informed me that Gideon had moved into the penthouse suite near the company and wouldn't be returning.

From that day on, Gideon completely flipped a switch. He spoke to me with the sterile, strictly business tone of a boardroom executive. Cold. Polite.

Suffocatingly condescending and totally detached. But I knew exactly what he was doing. He had just found a different way to retreat back into that armored shell.

When I woke up the next morning, the space next to me in bed was empty. I got dressed and headed downstairs. Zane was sitting at the kitchen island, biting into a piece of toast.

He turned his head the second he heard my heels click against the floor.

I was just about to slide into the stool next to him and pull some random excuse out of thin air to explain last night. But Gideon pulled out the chair to his right.

He poured a glass of warm milk and pushed it across the marble counter toward me.

The motion was so fluid, so insanely natural, that my hand reached out and took it before my brain could even register it. "Thanks." I took a small sip of the milk, leaving me with absolutely no choice but to sit down right next to Gideon.

He gave a microscopic nod, instantly reverting back to his usual, dangerously quiet self. Zane stared at me, his eyes widening.

The sudden rigid shift in his shoulders showed exactly how tight he was strung.

I picked up a silver knife and fork, sliced the crispy bacon on my plate into perfect strips, and slid the plate across the table right in front of Zane. "Stop being mad." Zane let out a sharp, cold scoff. "Whatever," he muttered, sounding completely unwilling to let it go.

A dull ache started throbbing at my temples, but a laugh caught in my throat. "How old are you, Zane?

Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?" Zane threw a dark, sideways glare at Gideon, his tone dripping with heavy sarcasm. "So what?

Some people are way older than me and hold grudges like it's an Olympic sport.

I'm being perfectly reasonable, okay?" I followed his lead, immediately soothing his bruised ego. "Of course. Our Zane is the most mature, the sweetest.

When I ran into Eleanor and the other socialites at the country club the other day, they couldn't stop praising how well you stepped up." When Vance was in critical condition, Gideon happened to be out of the country on a business trip.

The entire board of directors and a horde of leeches claiming to be relatives crawled out of the woodwork, circling like vultures.

And every single one of them aimed straight for my throat. Even though Vance had backed me into the Vice President seat, I still didn't share their bloodline.

I didn't hold a single share of the company stock. The absolute second Vance collapsed, no one in that skyscraper had an ounce of genuine respect for me.

It was Zane who took a redeye flight back to the city, standing directly between me and the fallout, locking down the chaos with sheer brute force.

That smoothed down Zane's hackles perfectly. The corner of his mouth twitched up, but he forcefully pulled it back down into a flat line. "It was whatever.

I wasn't even trying that hard." I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Out of nowhere, Gideon's voice cut straight through the air. "Am I not sweet?" I froze.

Gideon was staring dead at me. His tone was frighteningly flat as he repeated it. "I said, am I not sweet?" That word had absolutely no business being anywhere near Gideon.

And from the deadserious, obsidian look in his eyes, he wasn't joking.

My fingernails dug into my palms. "Of course you're sweet too…" Gideon's lips hooked up a fraction of an inch, but his dark eyes remained completely dead. "Is that so?" It was a razorsharp counterattack disguised as a question.

For a split second, my brain completely failed to read his endgame. The temperature in the dining room nosedived into absolute freezing.

A maid walked out of the kitchen, holding a silver French press, shattering the dead silence. "Sir, you're out of milk. Do you need me to bring some more?" Gideon stood up.

His hand shot out, casually picking up my halfempty glass of milk.

He took a slow, deliberate sip. "Don't bother." His lips pressed exactly over the faint red lipstick stain I had left on the rim, completely smudging the color. My eyes widened.

Gideon turned and walked right out of the room, his expression completely blank. The maid blinked in shock for a second before she hurriedly started clearing Gideon's place setting.

I shoved my racing thoughts into a mental box and locked it, turning my attention back to Zane. "Your brother is so overworked lately.

He's not even paying attention to whose glass he's grabbing." Zane's brow furrowed into a dark knot, but he didn't say a single word.

Chapter 6 The maid chimed in sensibly. "Ma'am, if Mr.

Gideon returns tonight, I'll have the executive chef prepare a prime ribeye steak for him to recharge." I waved a hand. "Hold the black truffle sauce.

He hates the smell." It really did seem like just a small accident.

But my brain wouldn't stop flashing back to the exact image of his lips aligning perfectly over my lipstick stain. Flawless precision. Almost like… a kiss.

A month had passed since the funeral, and my life was finally returning to normal.

In my downtime, I'd invite a few socialites to sip dry martinis in a private booth at the country club