My Stepson, My Sinful Obsession

I told myself it was just a harmless thought, just a fleeting moment of weakness. But as I lay in bed beside my husband, his steady breaths filling the silence, my body ached with a hunger I had no right to feel. All I could think about was how badly I wanted to fuck him. My stepson.

I should have fought it. I should have buried it. But it was already too late. I was too far gone.

A renowned pianist and a wealthy billionaire getting married?

The headlines alone would send the city into a frenzy.

Sure, I had some money of my own, but I wasn't that reputable-certainly not wealthy enough to become the wife of Mr. Klaus.

Our first meeting had been nothing more than a chance encounter, or so I thought.

It was at a grand charity banquet, a night where I was nothing more than the entertainment for the socialites, my fingers gliding over the piano as they sipped on champagne and whispered behind jeweled masks.

I had barely finished my final piece when a group of men approached me.

"Miss Bella, this way. Mr Klaus requested to see you."

I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. Why would he-Alexander Klaus, the most elusive billionaire in the room-want to see me?

They led me to a dimly lit private room, the air thick with the scent of expensive cologne and aged whiskey. Mr. Klaus stood near the window, his silhouette cast against the city skyline. He dismissed his men with a flick of his wrist, leaving us alone.

I swallowed hard. Mr. Klaus, sir-His piercing gaze settled on me, and a slow, knowing smile played at his lips.

"You played wonderfully, Bella," he said, his deep voice smooth as silk. "Your music moved me so much that I have a proposition for you."

I breathed deeply. A proposition?

There was something in his tone. I knew he was a very dangerous man.

"I want to have you as my private pianist."

The way he said it made me feel a certain type of way.

"You can still perform on certain occasions," he continued, his piercing gaze locking onto mine, "but you'll mostly play for me."

Have me?

His tone was commanding and very possesive.

It was a bit overwhelming at that moment. Why me? A man like Alexander Klaus could have the world's most prestigious pianists at his beck and call, yet he had chosen me.

But I wasn't a naive woman. An opportunity like this was once in a lifetime. I decided to go for it.

I straightened my posture, suppressing the unease that I felt in my stomach. "I would be honored to work for you, sir."

His lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Good girl," he said, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. "Then it's settled."

I started working for him, and soon, we started getting very familiar with each other.

The man I had come to know was nothing like the ruthless billionaire the world talked about. He was kind, gentle in ways that contradicted his cold reputation. Every night, he required only one thing from me to play the piano for him until he fell asleep.

So, I did.

After my fingers danced over the keys, filling his very grand estate with soft melodies, I would quietly go back to my room-one he had arranged right next to his.

During our late-night conversations, he often spoke of his son. A boy who wanted nothing to do with him, who held him responsible for his mother's death. His son had been abroad for years, he was nearing the end of his studies, yet refused to come home.

I sympathized with him in my own way. I had never known my parents, never cared to search for them. They had abandoned me, and I had long since decided-I wouldn't waste my life looking for people who never wanted me in the first place.

It wasn't long before feelings began to take root.

He was older-much older. In his late forties, while I was only in my early twenties. But it didn't matter.

Age, logic, and the whispers of society became insignificant in the face of what we had.

When he proposed, I said yes.

As the wedding approached, he sent multiple messages to his son, inviting him to attend. Not a single one received a response. Each unanswered text left a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but I reassured him. It doesn't matter. We'll be happy regardless.

The moment our marriage contract was signed, the media erupted with the news.

"Renowned Pianist Weds the Wealthiest Man in Dist, U.S. Did she marry for love or for money?"

Later that night, after returning home as husband and wife, Klaus had stayed back to speak with the housekeepers, leaving me to enter alone.

I barely took two steps before I saw him.

The man before me-well-built, towering at 6'1, broad shoulders carrying an air of defiance-merely scoffed.

His sharp, stormy eyes swept over me with a look so cutting it sent a chill down my spine. Then, with pure disdain, he sneered.

"So this is what my father decided to replace my mother with?"

Not who.

What.

I had seen his pictures multiple times. This was Jesse. Klaus's son.

His words dripped with contempt, dismissing me as if I were nothing more than a cheap, temporary replacement. Insulted didn't even begin to cover how I felt.

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. If he thought I would shrink under his hatred, he was sorely mistaken.