My Stepdaughter Calls Me Mommy Now

Layla Jensen sold herself into marriage for $28,800. Her new husband was ten years older, with a five-year-old daughter. After returning the money to her parents—a final, hollow act of gratitude—she packed up her pathetic handful of belongings and left for good.

When she got to the address he’d given her, the mansion’s sheer size knocked the breath out of her. For a second, she was sure she’d gotten it wrong. Just as she was about to turn and flee, a sweet, childish voice rang out.

“You made it, Sis!” Before Layla could even brace herself, the little girl sprinted over and wrapped herself around Layla’s leg, beaming up at her. Layla knelt, pulling her into a hug. “This is your house?” she asked, her voice full of disbelief.

Avianna nodded, her small, soft hand tugging Layla toward the massive front door. The housekeeper, Monica Morris, hurried over to take the luggage. Layla stood there, stunned. So her husband could drop twenty-eight grand like pocket change and live like this? It didn’t feel real.

Even at thirty-two, the man was striking—well-built, impossibly well-dressed, handsome in a way that made her head spin. Miles better than the middle-aged disaster her parents had tried to chain her to. Still, as she followed Avianna inside, Layla couldn’t stop staring. Gold accents, high-end finishes everywhere. The place was palatial, straight out of a dream.

In a daze, she followed Monica’s gesture to head upstairs. “Ma’am, this way. I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled.” Layla nodded, clutching Avianna’s hand like a lifeline. Once inside the room, Monica set the luggage down, gave a few quick instructions, and disappeared with the little girl.

Alone now, Layla glanced down at her outfit—faded white sneakers, old jeans, and a plain white T-shirt. She looked desperately out of place in all this elegance. Monica had mentioned clothes were waiting for her, and she spotted the bathroom right there. So she grabbed some loungewear from the closet and headed in.

Sinking into the hot bath, Layla let her mind drift back over the absolute whirlwind of the past three days. It still felt like some impossible dream. She was only twenty-two—fresh out of college and into a hospital internship—when her parents had pressured her to come home for an arranged marriage. When she’d refused, they’d threatened to end their own lives. They’d already pocketed a $28,800 bride price to buy a house for her brother. She had no choice. So she met the man, and her stomach dropped: over forty, with a leg missing. Despair had swallowed her whole that night. She’d honestly thought about ending everything.

Fleeing back to the city, desperate for a minute of peace, she’d been by the lake when she saw Avianna drowning. Without a second thought, Layla had jumped in, dragged her out, and used every scrap of her nursing training to revive her.

The next day, Sebastian Knight found her. He offered her anything she needed. Caught completely off guard, the words had tumbled out before she could stop them: “Your daughter said you’re single. Will you marry me? But you have to give me a bride price of twenty-eight thousand dollars.”

She’d figured no man in his right mind would say yes. But Sebastian had. He’d transferred the money and taken her straight to the courthouse for the license.

Layla understood now: the marriage was only ever about giving Avianna a stepmother. She had no idea where the girl’s real mother had gone or how they’d split up. Exhaustion pulled at her, and without even noticing, she fell asleep right there in the tub. Later, Monica gently shook her awake. “Ma’am, Mr. Knight is back. Please get ready to join him and Miss Avianna for dinner.”

Layla scrambled out, threw on her clothes, and crept downstairs. In the living room, Sebastian stood in a sharp tailored suit, radiating a quiet, intimidating confidence that made her stomach tighten. She always felt so small next to him, so completely out of her depth, like a child pretending to be an adult.

She forced herself forward, voice barely steady. “You’re back.”

He spared her one brief, indifferent glance. To him, she was just another woman who’d married him for his money—no different from all the others who tried to get close. If she hadn’t saved his daughter, she never would’ve become Mrs. Knight.

“Let’s eat,” he said, already moving toward the dining room. The coldness in his tone stung. Layla’s heart ached, but she swallowed it down, mocking herself inwardly. Of course he couldn’t stand her. She’d saved his kid’s life and then demanded cash, and now here she was, living as his wife. Any decent person would feel sick about it.

She didn’t have the highest opinion of herself, but she’d needed a husband—any husband—to escape her parents forcing her into something far worse. Being Avianna’s stepmother was a thousand times better than ending up with someone who made her skin crawl. At least her husband was easy on the eyes, and Avianna actually liked her.

“Sis, Daddy said you’re staying and that you might even become my mommy—is it true?” Avianna’s bright eyes were full of so much hope it made Layla’s chest ache. Warmth spread through her as she held the girl’s little hand. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ll be right here to take care of you.”

“Yay, that’s wonderful!” Avianna beamed. “Since Daddy said you could be my mommy, can I call you Mommy?”

Layla nodded, stroking the girl’s hair. “Of course.” She’d already decided to be a stepmother; letting Avianna call her Mommy only felt right.

They sat across from Sebastian at the massive dining table. He didn’t say a word the entire meal and vanished as soon as he’d finished. Watching him go, sadness coiled in Layla’s chest. But maybe it was for the best—if her husband didn’t want her, he wouldn’t want her body either. She wouldn’t have to stomach any wifely duties.

That night, after tucking Avianna into bed, Layla considered just sleeping there. But a shadow appeared in the doorway. Sebastian’s voice was low and final. “Come out. We need to talk.” She slipped out of bed and followed him to the master bedroom.

He gestured toward a set of documents on the coffee table. “Here’s an agreement. Sign it.” Layla picked up the prenup and confidentiality papers and signed without a second glance. He watched, one eyebrow rising slightly. “You’re not even going to read it?”

She met his eyes, her voice steady and empty. “I understand exactly what this is, Mr. Knight. Don’t worry—I won’t breathe a word about being your wife, and I definitely won’t spend your money.”

She couldn’t go back to her hospital job now; all she could do was accompany her sister Abby to her treatments. Seeing Abby’s frail body, her bald head, her face so pale, was like a knife to the heart every single time. Cancer demanded relentless chemo, and eventually a stem cell transplant that would cost somewhere between forty and fifty thousand dollars. The weight of it was suffocating, and Layla felt like she was drowning under it.

But Abby stayed optimistic, always flashing a bright smile no matter how awful she felt. “Sis, I sent a story to a publisher. They might accept it, and then money won’t be so tight,” she said, her voice weak but laced with stubborn hope.

Layla hugged her gently, fighting the urge to break down. “Just rest when you’re hurting, okay? Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I’m alright. It’s only chemo that’s really bad,” Abby whispered. “But if I can earn a little from writing, it might ease your load.”

She was a minor without a diploma—no one would hire her. So she’d turned to writing online, hoping to lighten her sister’s impossible burden. She knew Layla was already supporting their younger sister and had just handed their mother several thousand dollars. Even with a rich husband, that couldn’t last. Abby saw the strain, and it broke her heart.

Layla blinked back tears, her jaw tight. She’d do anything to keep Abby alive. Her sister was so young, with so many years ahead. She could not lose her.

“Sis, I’ve been craving your ravioli. Could you maybe bring me some next time?” Abby asked, already dreading the brutal chemo session ahead and hoping to spare her sister the sight of her suffering.

Layla nodded fast. “I’m off today, so I’ll head home now and make them. You want mushroom and pork filling, right?” Abby smiled, weak but real.

Leaving the hospital, Layla stopped by the supermarket. Her phone buzzed—Mathias Knight. He sounded genuinely worried. “Why didn’t you show up for work? Did my family fire you?”

He couldn’t believe Layla would mess up his meds, and even if she had, it wouldn’t have been on purpose. He knew about her money problems and the weight she carried.

Guilt tightened her throat. “I’m sorry, Mathias. I should’ve taken better care of you.”

“But I didn’t switch your medication. If I ever get the chance, I’d go back to that hospital in a heartbeat.” It was obvious she’d been falsely accused. Mathias understood instantly. “Don’t worry. I’ll set things straight with my family and get you cleared so you can come back to work.”

Relief flooded her. “Thank you so much.”

“No need. We’re friends,” he said. Rumors had flown around about Layla being married, supposedly with some husband seen at the hospital, but Mathias didn’t buy a word of it. If she really were married, why keep it a total secret? He’d checked everywhere and found no record.

The truth was, Sebastian had quietly locked down all evidence of their marriage—he didn’t want the connection muddying up his life or giving Layla any extra advantage.

He’d married her, yes, but he’d sworn to himself this wasn’t a real marriage. Still, being around Layla had started to unsettle him in ways he both hated and craved. He liked having her near, but he kept a cold guard up, reminding himself over and over: she married you for the money. Don’t be a fool.

That afternoon, Layla made the ravioli and arrived at the hospital just as Abby’s chemo began. She stood frozen at the door, watching her sister lying there, tears streaming, choking back vomit from the agony. Layla’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces. She couldn’t stand seeing the illness tear through her like that. She crouched by the doorway and wept silently, helpless.

When the treatment ended, she waited until the doctor finished before slipping inside to be with her sister. Wanting to soak up every minute, she called Monica to pick up Avianna and stayed with Abby late into the night.

By the time she dragged herself back to the Knight Estate, Avianna was already asleep. But in the dim living room, Sebastian sat waiting. Surprise flickered through her exhaustion. “Mr. Knight, why are you still up?”

He glanced over, noticing not her usual nervous energy but the redness rimming her eyes. She’d been crying. “What’s going on? You’re supposed to be resting at home. Why are you back so late?” His voice was curt, but under it, something else lingered—something he refused to name. He’d been waiting, and he hated himself for it.

Layla scrambled to hide the truth, not ready to dump her family’s mess on him. “Weren’t you the one telling me to get my license? I was out practicing, then grabbed dinner with some college friends.”

He saw right through it. Monica had already mentioned she’d spent the afternoon making ravioli and taken a box out—but she hadn’t gone to Mathias at the hospital. So who were they for? A hot twist of frustration coiled in his chest.

“You’re home now. Go get some rest,” he dismissed, voice flat.

She caught the edge in his tone and her pulse quickened. Had her late return really bothered him? Did Mr. Knight actually worry, or wait up for her? If so, maybe that wasn’t a bad sign. Before heading to bed, she apologized softly. “I’m sorry. I’ll come home earlier next time. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Sebastian’s reply came sharp and cold. “Your business is your own. I’m not about to lose sleep over you.”