Page 71 of Misconducts & Temptation

I tensed immediately. That tone always signaled trouble. My stepmother’s words had a way of escalating situations, and I knew how volatile she could become.

Keaton didn’t miss a beat. “Excuse the fuck out of me, but I came here for a reason.” His voice was hard, unyielding. “I know you wanted to sell her off to some asshole, but that's not happening. She's mine now. However,” he continued, a calculated calmness seeping into his tone, “I also understand that as your new son-in-law, I need to take care of my new family.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his checkbook, the movement smooth and confident. “I'll write you a check, and this goes away. No confronting her. No badmouthing her. You get what you want; I get my wife.”

Marion’s face twisted in shock, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Now,” he said with finality, “you got a pen? How much?”

My voice came out barely above a whisper. “Forty-two thousand.”

Marion’s eyes gleamed with sudden greed, her shock morphing into cold calculation. “Actually,” she said slowly, savoring the moment, “it’ll be seventy-five thousand.”

Keaton’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t falter. He simply nodded and began writing the check.

My mouth dropped open. “No, that’s too much?—”

“And who are you to say that, you selfish girl?” she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “We arranged a marriage for you only for you to run off and marry someone else. Don’t you think we should be compensated for the trauma you caused?”

“You can’t be serious,” I said, my voice trembling.

“How dare you talk back to me,” she hissed. “I wish you had married William. He would have punished you for such insolence.”

Keaton stepped forward, his presence dominating the room. “I’ll give you fifty,” he said, ripping out the check. “But if you mention his name in my presence again, I’ll ruin you. And don’t you ever,everinsinuate my wife should be punished for standing up to you. I know women like you. You’re a cunt of the highest order. You don’t deserve her.”

She arched a brow, her lips curling into a sneer. “And you do? You may be filthy rich, Keaton Douglas, but as far as I hear, you’re the greatest disappointment to your father—more than his two bankruptcies. Even more than your mother’s death.”

Before I even knew what I was doing, my hand flew through the air and connected with Marion’s cheek with a resounding slap. The same way Marion had slapped me countless times.

Her eyes widened in fury.

“You can’t speak to my husband that way,” I said softly but firmly, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of my words hanging in the air like a storm cloud about to burst. Keaton's hand found mine.

Marion’s face twisted in rage, and she lifted her arm, ready to retaliate.

Keaton grabbed Marion's wrist before she could strike me. His grip was firm, unyielding. “You think I give a shit you're a woman?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Touch one hair on her head and I'll break every bone in your hand. Now, take the fucking check before I decide you owe me.”

She snatched the check from his hand; her face twisted with barely concealed fury. Her eyes flickered between us, calculating her next move. She clenched her teeth but didn’t argue.

Keaton turned to me, his expression softening slightly. “Get whatever shit you want,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I'll be down here, waiting with your stepfamily. No one is going to follow her, got it? You'll be staying with me. And when she has everything, that's it. We're gone.”

My stepmother's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t protest further. She knew when she was outmatched, at least for now.

I nodded and hurried up the stairs to my room. The familiar creaks of the floorboards beneath my feet echoed in the empty hallway. My room was small and sparse, filled with secondhand furniture and memories I was eager to leave behind.

I grabbed my old backpack from the closet and began stuffing it with the few belongings that mattered: my worn copy ofPride and Prejudice, a small photo album with pictures of my mother and father, some clothes, including my mother’s green dress, and a few personal items that held sentimental value.

As I packed, my mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead. I took one last look around the room, trying to imprint every detail in my memory. Despite everything, this had been my sanctuary in a house that never felt like home.

With a deep breath, I slung the backpack over my shoulder and headed back downstairs. Keaton stood in the entryway, his presence commanding and reassuring all at once.

“I’m ready,” I said quietly.

He nodded and placed a hand on my back, guiding me toward the door.

“You’ll regret this,” Marion spat finally, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.

“Maybe,” I replied, my voice stronger than I felt inside. “But at least it’ll be on my terms.”

---