My Husband’s Son Wants Me

The taxi jolted over the cobblestones, and my stomach lurched with every bump. I clutched the edge of the seat so tight, my knuckles turned white. I wished… I prayed that my mother would suddenly see reason, that she would stop steering me toward a life I didn't want.

“Stella, sit up straight! You’ll wrinkle your dress,” my mother snapped, glancing back at me with that sharp excitement that made my chest ache with dread.

“I’m serious, Mother. I don’t want to marry him. I can earn money and provide for us! I...”

“Marry him?” she cut in, a hand fluttering to her chest like I had uttered something blasphemous. “Anthony Crawford is not just an ‘him’! He’s the wealthiest man in town. The Crawford name could secure your future! Our future!”

I pressed my lips together, the words catching in my throat. My mother had been dreaming of this day ever since she’d overheard someone mention the fact that Anthony was seeking a wife. She called it an “application,” as if love and choice had nothing to do with it. And perhaps, in her mind, it didn’t.

“I don’t care how rich he is. I don’t want to live with an old man,” I whispered, though part of me knew my words were useless. My mother’s face had already hardened into the determined mask I knew too well.

“You don’t understand, Stella. No man will ever give us what the Crawfords can. Do you want to spend your life scraping by, worrying over every coin? This is the chance of a lifetime!”

Chance of a lifetime. I scoffed at that. It was more: it was a chance to be trapped. A chance to be sold like a prized cow. My stomach twisted.

I wished I were my sister. She was free to choose the man that she loved. Maybe I would have had that freedom as well if I wasn't so ugly.

The taxi slowed as we approached the Crawford estate. My breath caught in my throat at the realization that my fate was getting closer and I was not ready.

The mansion loomed above the road like a castle from a nightmare. It was taller than every other house in the estate, and every window reflected the pale afternoon sun. Ivy clung to the walls like dark veins, and the gates were made of heavy black metal.

I swallowed hard. My mother’s hand tightened around mine. “We’re here. Remember your manners.”

I wanted to flee, to tell her she could shove her manners and her gold and her dreams. But I stayed silent.

Anthony Crawford met us at the front steps. He was a man who looked every bit the part of a ruler in his own life. Tall, Grey haired with sharp eyes and a scar across his face. He leaned slightly on a stick. His gaze swept over me like he was inspecting a commodity, and I felt a chill crawl along my spine.

“Stella,” he said, his voice smooth, yet with an edge that made me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand a little straighter.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, my voice almost trembling.

“Your mother speaks highly of you,” he continued, his eyes never leaving mine. “She calls you a young woman of… promise. I hope you are aware of what is expected in this arrangement.”

I swallowed. “I… I think so, sir.”

He nodded once, briefly, then stepped closer. There was a weight in his presence that pressed against my chest. “I want children,” he said bluntly. “Many children. You must be capable of that. Is that clear?”

I froze, a shiver running down my spine. My mother never told me about their agreements. This statement stripped away everything else: my dreams and my agency. It was a command masquerading as a question.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, though the word felt wrong and heavy on my tongue.

My mother’s eyes gleamed, but I felt nothing but fear coiling in my chest. If she were a cartoon character, I was pretty sure I would see dollar signs in her eyes right now.

Anthony’s gaze lingered on me, calculating and measuring, as if he could already see the life inside me mapped out… each child, each year, and each sacrifice.

“You are… exactly as I imagined,” he said finally, stepping back with a faint smile. “Come inside. Let us begin the formalities.”

I followed, my mother screeching behind me, oblivious to the tightening grip of dread that threatened to choke me by the second. The house smelled of polished wood and expensive perfume. Chandeliers glittered overhead, but the light felt cold. The floors creaked beneath my feet.

Anthony led us into a grand parlor, and I saw the portrait of his late wife hanging above the fireplace. She looked young, delicate, and smiling.

“Sit,” he commanded, indicating the high-backed chairs. My mother flitted to her seat like a bird eager to be admired, while I sank into mine.

Anthony took the seat opposite me, his fingers steepled in front of him. “Your mother tells me you are obedient and eager to please. That you understand the… importance of this marriage.”

I swallowed again. I looked at my mother in confusion but she was distracted by the paintings. Those were words I had never chosen for myself. “I… yes,” I murmured.

He studied me, then leaned back slightly, and for the first time, I saw a spark of curiosity glinting in his eyes. “And I should warn you, any kind of illusion that you have should be quelled this instant,” he said, voice soft but firm. “This is not going to be some great romance. There will be no sort of tenderness from me.”

My throat ran dry. I should run, though the doors were closed and the windows were high up to the ceilings. I was just a small speck in this cavernous room. I could feel his eyes sizing me up, deciding whether I was worthy.

My mother, sitting beside me, beamed. “Stella will make you proud, Anthony. She’s… exceptional.”

Anthony’s gaze returned to me, and in it, I saw the truth I had dreaded: he had already decided that I belonged to him.

I barely looked at my mother, though I wanted to scream at her, beg her to undo what had been done. But the moment passed. Anthony was satisfied. He had his young bride.

As I accompanied my mother back to the taxi, I glanced back at the mansion, hoping that Anthony Crawford would realize he’d made some kind of mistake and chase me away right now.

“Stella, you will adapt,” my mother said, voice trembling with excitement. “You will see. Wealth and security… this is a life we never dreamed of!”

I didn’t answer. I waited for her to get in. The taxi lurched forward, and I watched as my mother left. She sent me a quick wave, one I couldn't return. I tried to remind myself that I had survived fear before, I could survive this too. But deep down, I knew nothing could have prepared me for what awaited inside that house.

“Miss,” a woman who seemed to be in her early thirties stood before me. One of Mr Anthony's servants. “Mr Anthony asks for you."

My mother’s smile lingered in my mind long after she left. She didn’t even glance back as the carriage turned away, leaving me alone at the Crawford mansion. She was thrilled that her daughter was now bound to a man she didn’t know, a man she didn’t want.

I swallowed hard, gripping the strap of my small bag as I followed the servant into the house. She shut the door behind me, slamming the reality of the situation into me. I was here. Alone. Sold.

“Stella,” Anthony’s voice echoed. “Follow me.”

I obeyed, trying to keep my legs steady. 

My sister had once asked me, “What kind of man do you want to marry?"

I’d told her, “The one who would spoil me with flowers."

“Flowers, that's the bare minimum!"

“Maybe I would pick the one who organized the biggest wedding ceremony for me then."

But here I was, and there were no flowers, and definitely no welcoming ceremony. Instead, I was led