Claimed By My Billionaire Stepbrothers
9.3 / 10.0
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They say you can't have it all. I'm about to prove them wrong-or destroy myself trying.
When my struggling mother married billionaire Richard Stone, I thought I was gaining a family. Instead, I found three stepbrothers who became my obsession, my downfall, and my salvation.
Dominic, the eldest, cold and commanding, who kisses me like he's claiming his kingdom and looks at me like I'm the only thing he can't control.
Julian, the charming playboy who hides a vulnerable soul beneath his perfect smile, making me feel like I'm the only woman he's ever truly seen.
Asher, the brooding artist who paints me like I'm his muse and touches me like I'm his masterpiece, seeing parts of my soul I didn't know existed.
They're forbidden. They're dangerous. They're everything I shouldn't want.
But when I discover my father didn't die by suicide that he was murdered by the very man who now calls himself my stepfather, these three powerful men becomes my unlikely allies.
First it was a forbidden attraction, now it's an arrangement that defies every rule.
The rules are simple:
I'll give each of them a chance.
I'll take everything they offer.
And in the end, I'll have to make the hardest decision of my life:
Choose one of them. Choose all of them. Or choose myself.
Claimed By My Billionaire Stepbrothers Chapter 1
The espresso machine hissed like an angry snake, and my hands shook as I twisted the portafilter into place. Three hours of sleep. That's all I'd managed between closing the diner at midnight and opening Lumineux Café at five a.m.
"Grande oat milk latte, extra hot!" I called out, my voice cracking.
The customer-a woman dripping in diamonds at seven in the morning-wrinkled her nose as she took the cup. No tip. Of course.
My feet screamed in my worn sneakers. Two more hours until my break.
"Excuse me."
The voice cut through the café noise like warm honey. Deep. Smooth. Dangerous.
I looked up.
My breath caught.
He sat in the corner booth, perfectly positioned in morning sunlight that made him look like something out of a magazine. Dark hair, artfully disheveled. A jawline that could cut glass. And eyes-God, those eyes-watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
How long had he been there?
"Can I help you?" I asked, proud my voice came out steady.
He smiled. Slow. Devastating. "I hope so."
He stood, and my brain short-circuited. Tall. Broad-shouldered. A suit that probably cost more than my rent.
"I've been watching you," he said, reaching the counter.
"That's creepy," I shot back before I could stop myself.
His laugh was genuine, surprised. "Fair. Let me rephrase. I've been admiring how you handle the morning rush."
"Is that what we're calling it? Because I call it survival."
"Then let me buy you a coffee. When you're off shift. Or dinner. Or both."
My heart hammered. Men like this didn't ask girls like me out.
"I don't even know your name," I said.
"Julian." He extended his hand. "And you're Maya. Your name tag."
His hand was warm, his grip firm. The touch sent electricity up my arm, and from the slight widening of his eyes, he felt it too.
"So, Maya." He leaned against the counter. "Dinner?"
"I have another job after this."
"Tomorrow then?"
"I work doubles most days."
Something flickered in his expression. Concern? Pity? My defenses slammed up.
"Look, I appreciate the offer, but-"
"What time do you get off? Tonight. I'll wait."
"It's one a.m."
"I'm a night owl."
I stared at him. He was serious.
"Why?" The word slipped out.
Julian's expression softened. "Because the moment you looked up and told me I was creepy, I knew I had to know you better."
Despite myself, I smiled. "You're insane."
"Probably." He pulled out his phone. "Your number? I promise I'm not a serial killer. You can Google me. Julian Beaumont."
Beaumont. My fingers froze. That name was familiar. Why was it familiar?
"Grande iced Americano!" someone shouted from the line.
"That's me," Julian said, still holding my gaze. "So? Take a chance, Maya. What's the worst that could happen?"
Everything, my brain screamed. But my traitorous mouth gave him my number.
His fingers brushed mine as he took his coffee, and my stomach flipped.
"Until tonight then." He started to walk away, then turned back. "And Maya? Wear something comfortable. We're not going anywhere fancy."
He left, and I stood frozen.
"Girl, you better give me details."
I jumped. Shanice had materialized beside me, eyes wide.
"Who was that?"
"Some guy named Julian Beaumont."
Shanice's jaw dropped. "Beaumont? As in Beaumont Hotels? As in billionaire Beaumont?"
The world tilted.
No. No, no, no.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Looking forward to tonight. And Maya? I meant what I said. You're extraordinary. -J
My hands shook. I'd just given my number to a billionaire.
My phone buzzed again.
BTW, your coffee art is incredible. The swan you made for that little girl? Made her whole day. Made mine too, watching you. -J
He'd been watching me that long?
My chest tightened. This was wrong. Men like Julian Beaumont didn't date baristas. They used them, played with them, broke them.
But God, the way he'd looked at me.
"I'll be fine," I said to Shanice, not sure if I was lying.
The door chimed.
I looked up automatically, customer service smile ready.
And froze.
A woman stood in the doorway. Late forties, elegant, with the kind of beauty that came from expensive maintenance. She wore a cream dress that probably cost more than my car.
Our eyes met.
Her expression shifted from neutral to shocked recognition.
"Maya?" she whispered.
The world stopped.
I knew that voice. Knew that face, though it had aged, hardened.
"Mom?"
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Claimed By My Billionaire Stepbrothers of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6
Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.2
Genevieve woke up choking on her own blood, a fatal gash tearing through her abdomen. The memories of a primitive world crashed into her mind—she had transmigrated into the body of a sadistic beastman Mistress.
But the five powerful beastmen "mates" standing over her hadn't come to her rescue. They had come to watch their tormentor die.
"We should just leave her," Kameron sneered coldly. "The scavengers will clean up the mess."
Gilberto spat in disgust, while Angelo, a silver-scaled snake-man, trembled in pure terror at the sight of her. The original owner had whipped them, humiliated them, and driven another mate to suicide. Now, they were letting her bleed out in the mud, their eyes filled with undisguised loathing and satisfaction.
She was a top-tier apocalyptic survival expert, yet here she was, paying the ultimate price for a stranger's monstrous sins. It was a bitter, unacceptable irony to die helplessly in the dirt while her supposed protectors waited for her corpse to rot.
She refused to accept this ending.
Forcing a chaotic surge of energy through their shared Biological Link, she brought all five men to their knees in agonizing pain, commanding them to carry her back. In the dark cave, without a single scream, she plunged her bare hands into a fire and brutally cauterized her own gaping wound with searing ash. As the beastmen stared in horrified awe at the unbreakable soul now occupying the tyrant's body, Genevieve wiped the blood from her face and began to rewrite her fate.
8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.
7.6
I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history.
But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me.
He swam past me.
He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water.
When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl.
"You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home."
Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her.
I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife."
He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps.
He was wrong.
While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room.
I was packing his ring into a cardboard box.
I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead.
By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession.
8.5
Five years ago, Nina Hale lost everything... her family, her reputation, and the man she once loved. Betrayed by her own sister and abandoned by those she trusted most, she disappeared without a trace.
Now she's back.
With a new identity and a burning determination, Nina is ready to reclaim her life and chase the dream she once gave up: becoming a star actress. But her return awakens old enemies, and her scheming sister Lydia is determined to ruin her again.
Just when Nina thinks things can't get worse, she's caught in another trap... and unexpectedly crosses paths with a quiet, lonely little boy.
Ethan Grant hasn't spoken in years.
Feeling responsible for him, Nina agrees to stay and help the child come out of his shell. But she didn't expect Ethan's dangerously charming father, Lucas Grant, to enter the picture.
Cold, powerful, and impossible to read, Lucas slowly finds himself drawn to the woman who brightens his son's world.
What begins as a simple act of kindness soon turns into something far more complicated, because Nina came back for revenge.
She never planned to fall in love.
**********
"I saw you with him," Lucas said quietly, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.
Nina exhaled, crossing her arms. "You don't get to care."
"Don't I?" He stepped in, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"This is just a contract."
"Then why does it bother me?" His hand hovered near her waist, not touching-yet.
"It shouldn't." Her breath faltered.
His gaze darkened, "And yet it does."
8.3
Half a month into our cold war, I, Claire Parker, found an abortion procedure slip tucked inside Daniel Carter's suit pocket.
The patient's name belonged to the fragile little childhood sweetheart he had always protected so fiercely-Sophie Bennett.
I folded the paper calmly and slipped it back where I had found it.
Daniel noticed the movement immediately. His eyes flicked toward me through the rearview mirror, resignation coloring his voice.
"What are you overthinking now? Sophie was just keeping a friend company at the hospital. She accidentally left it there."
I turned toward the window and said nothing.
This was Sophie declaring war on me, yet the man who could crush competitors without mercy in the business world believed her completely.
The silence inside the car grew suffocating until Daniel finally stopped outside an upscale jewelry boutique.
He reached over and ruffled my hair with easy familiarity, his tone indulgent and affectionate.
"Come on. Pick out a ring. Your birthday's next month anyway, so we might as well register our marriage too."
I bit down hard on my lip as tears fell soundlessly onto the back of my hand.
What he still didn't know was that I wouldn't live long enough to see next month.
8.6
For two years, I was trapped behind my own eyes, a prisoner in my own skull.
A crazed fan had hijacked my body after a brutal car crash, wearing my skin like a cheap suit.
When my soul finally locked back into my flesh in a cramped hospital room, I realized she had destroyed everything I built.
This parasitic stalker had drained my massive fortune to zero, buying luxury gifts for a mediocre actor and turning me into the internet's most hated woman.
My phone was flooded with death threats, and the hashtag demanding I go to hell was trending at number one.
Even the hospital nurses despised me. One marched into my room, raising her hand to violently slap my pale cheek.
"You psychotic bitch, you make me sick!"
Worse, my sprawling Beverly Hills estate had been foreclosed and sold to a mysterious billionaire named Kasey Dominguez.
I had absolutely nothing left. No money. No reputation. No home.
The sheer violation of watching a psychotic stranger ruin my life while I was locked in the passenger seat of my own mind made my blood boil.
I refused to let her destroy my legacy.
As the nurse's hand descended, my atrophied muscles snapped into action.
I twisted her wrist until the joint popped, grabbed the keys to my freedom, and slipped out into the cold Los Angeles night.
I was going to take my life back, starting with the billionaire who thought he owned my house.
