Taken by my stepfathers

The plan was simple: move in with my mom, play the dutiful daughter, and count down the days until I could escape back to my real life. I didn’t expect my first night out to end in the parking lot being fucked by a silver fox who looked at me like I was his favorite sin.

I thought it was a one-night mistake. A filthy, beautiful secret I’d take to my grave. Until the next morning, when I met my mom’s new husband... and he was him.

Now, every family breakfast is a slow-motion panic attack. Every glance across the dinner table is a reminder of his hands on my skin. I can’t tell my mom the truth, but the deeper I sink into the Schmidt estate, the darker the truth becomes. Because in this house, there are no rules. There is no "mine" or "yours." There is only ours.

I thought I was falling for a man. I didn’t realize I was being claimed by a bloodline. It turns out I don’t have a husband... I have masters. And they aren't finished sharing.

Too fucking bad, Mother!

Eden

The cab rolled to a stop at the end of the gated driveway, and I stared up at the monstrosity in front of me, all marble, glass, and cold, modern grandeur. Home sweet home.

Before I could even step out fully, my mother, Lillian, pulled me into a suffocating hug. Her perfume, something heavy and floral, clung to my skin. "Welcome home, baby," she cooed, her manicured fingers brushing my hair back like I was still a kid.

The mansion screamed money. High ceilings, floors so polished I could see my reflection, and abstract art that probably cost more than my entire college fund. I dropped my bag onto the white leather sofa, already feeling out of place.

"So," I said, glancing around, "where's your new husband?"

She adjusted a vase that was already perfectly centered on the table. "Daniel’s at work, darling. But he’s very excited to meet you." The way she lingered on "very" made my skin prickle.

She gestured for me to follow. "Come, let me show you around."

We moved through the mansion. The kitchen was vast enough for a restaurant staff, with a dining room set for twenty and a sunroom drowning in orchids. She introduced me to the cook, an older woman with a no-nonsense grip; the gardener, who barely looked up from his shears; and the two drivers idling near the garage.

"Daniel decided to drive himself today," Lillian said with a flick of her wrist.

As we turned down a hallway lined with minimalist portraits, one frame caught my eye, a younger man, dark-haired, with eyes as sharp as a blade. He looked older than me and also looked like a playboy.

"Who’s this?" I asked.

Mom barely glanced at it. "Daniel’s son. He’s hardly home, always working." Her tone was dismissive, her fingers already tugging me toward the grand staircase.

My room