After My Husband Betrayed Me I Married My Stepbrother

I have no idea when I passed out.

The heavy metal door of the basement stands wide open. A cold draft sweeps down the stairs, chilling the stale sweat on my neck.

A harsh buzzing cuts through the silence. My phone vibrates against the damp concrete floor. Damien Sterling must have finally exhausted his rage. He only returns my connection to the outside world when his temper fades.

I force myself up. My joints grind. Sharp pain flares along my ribs.

"Get up," I whisper to the empty room. "Just get up."

I drag my feet up the wooden stairs. Each step sends a jolt of agony through my bruised shins. I push the basement door shut behind me.

I step into the blinding light of the living room and bump hard into a soft shoulder.

"Watch it," Sophie Hart snaps.

She brushes off her pristine, structured dress. Haute couture. The kind of fabric that screams money without flashing a single logo.

"Oh, I see," Sophie sneers. Her eyes rake over my filthy clothes, lingering on the dust smeared across my cheek. "He played his little games with you again. Poor maid."

"Where is he?" I ask. My voice sounds like cracked glass.

"Out," she replies. "Working. Paying for the roof over your pathetic head."

"This is my house," I say.

"Is it?" Sophie laughs. "Then why do you live in the basement?"

Footsteps slap rapidly against the hardwood.

"James," I say, turning away from her.

I drop to my knees. I spread my arms wide to catch my son.

He runs right past me. He buries his face directly into Sophie’s waist.

"Mom, I need you to cook," James says. He doesn't even look at me. "The nanny's food tastes like dirt."

My arms fall to my sides. He calls me Mom, but he holds her.

"Sophie wants steak," James demands, finally cutting his eyes toward me. "And I need a bowl of borscht. Make it fast."

"James, look at me," I plead. "Do you know how long I was down there?"

"I don't care," he says. "I'm hungry."

He doesn't ask if I am hungry. He doesn't ask why I am covered in basement dust. My chest tightens. A sharp, twisting ache takes root behind my ribs. I am nothing but a machine to them.

"You heard the boy," Sophie says. "Get to the kitchen."

"I am not your servant," I say.

"No, you're just the incubator who birthed him," Sophie replies. "Now go make my steak medium rare."

I swallow hard, refusing to let the tears fall. I turn away and walk into the kitchen.

I stand at the stove. I chop the vegetables. I sear the meat. I pour the steaming red soup into three porcelain bowls. The smell of garlic and beef fills the air, making my empty stomach cramp painfully. Seven days of tap water and stale air have left me hollow.

I carry the heavy tray to the dining table. I set the bowls down one by one.

"Dinner is ready," I announce.

I grab the back of my chair and pull it out. I bend my knees to sit.

The wood scrapes violently against the floor. The chair vanishes.

I hit the ground hard. Pain shoots up my spine.

"I have never seen anyone as stupid as you!" James howls.

He stands behind my stolen chair, pointing down at me. His face turns red with laughter.

"James!" I shout. I rub my bruised tailbone. "Why would you do that?"

"Because it's funny," he replies.

"It's not funny. I could