Marked by Desire: Stealing My Mother's Man

Isolde Black – POV

I hate London.

Or perhaps, I hate myself there.

I could have stayed. I received tempting job offers, the promise of a new life, a fresh start far away from everything. Yet somehow, I found myself boarding a plane to New York, returning to the very place I had once escaped. Back to a house that never felt like home. Back to a mother who was never truly a mother-or perhaps she was, but the distance between us had erased that bond. And back to a man I had never met yet already despised me.

Vlad Montgomery.

I had heard plenty about him. About his power, his wealth-vast enough to make him one of the most influential men in this cursed city-his ruthlessness in the business world, and, most importantly, his deadly cold demeanor. And his hatred for me.

I had never met him, yet I was certain he didn't want me here. He wouldn't be pleased to have me in his home, not even as his future wife's daughter. In fact, I'd bet he didn't even know what I looked like.

But that didn't matter.

There was no room for doubt-my return to New York was inevitable. I had to go, if only to help my mother prepare for her birthday celebration. And, of course, for her upcoming wedding to Vlad.

Strangely, I felt both excited and apprehensive. I had missed New York-the crisp yet soothing whisper of its breeze.

I had left for London to pursue my university studies, spending three years there since passing my entrance exam with distinction. That achievement had earned me a scholarship abroad, and I had been proud of myself.

Now, my mother was about to marry-at nearly fifty-to a man in his forties whose face, lineage, and background remained a mystery to me.

Just before my departure, she had told me about her relationship with this man and her decision to marry him. Of course, I had been one of her biggest supporters, sharing in her happiness. But at the time, I had been too preoccupied with my studies. My travel documents and arrangements had already been finalized, and my schedule was tight. She hadn't been upset, merely assuring me that the wedding would take place once I returned from London-small and intimate, with only his family in attendance.

And now, it seemed I would be attending my mother's wedding after all.

Throughout my time at Oxford, she had sent me money every month for my living expenses, tuition, and everything else. But I had never dared to ask whether that money came from her own funds or from the man she was about to marry.

A week ago, I received an invitation to her birthday celebration-today was the day. My mother was born on August 26th, and I loved New York summers. Fortunately, I had already taken time off from my studies.

Yet, I wasn't looking forward to meeting this unknown man-my mother's fiancé, the stranger I knew nothing about. But I would meet him, eventually.

Sitting cross-legged on my hotel bed, I absentmindedly adjusted the clothes inside my suitcase. I hadn't returned for him. I hadn't even returned for my mother.

I came back because this had always been my plan-graduate, then return to where it all began, even if only for a short while. A brief stop before deciding where life would take me next.

The night before, I had been too distracted to set my phone alarm, and because of that, I had nearly missed my flight to New York. My eyes flew open in shock when I realized the time-it was already eleven in the morning, and I was supposed to board at ten to arrive in New York by ten at night.

Luck was not on my side.

My mother called to check on me, asking if I was ready. I reassured her warmly before hanging up-I was just about to board.

I didn't want her to worry or wait anxiously, especially when I was bound to be late. It would be embarrassing to keep her and her fiancé-this man I knew nothing about-waiting.

The journey took twelve hours and twenty minutes. I disembarked, exhausted, dragging my suitcases behind me.

Or so I told myself throughout the flight.

Stepping out of the airport gates, a wave of hot air slammed into me, a brutal reminder that summers in New York could be suffocating. Raising a hand, I hailed a cab, ignoring the flood of messages from my mother that had begun lighting up my phone.

I met a tall man dressed in a formal black suit. I couldn't make out his features, as he was also wearing a black mask.

He bowed respectfully while I focused on reading the sign in his hands.

Welcome back, Isolde.

I squinted slightly, reading the words before offering him a small smile and a wave. My mother must have sent him.

"I sent you a driver."

"Isolde, your ignoring me is unacceptable."

"We're waiting for you. Don't be late."

I sighed. Her way of speaking to me, as if I were one of her employees, hadn't changed.

Throwing my bag into the back seat, I gave the driver the address-only to realize he already knew it. Of course, he did. Vlad Montgomery's mansion. The place that was supposed to be my home but had never been anything more than a gilded cage-a prison my mother had meticulously crafted for herself, the queen of her own domain.

The ride took longer than I expected, but when the car finally stopped in front of the massive iron gates, the sight before me was nothing short of breathtaking.

A towering mansion. Majestic. Imposing. Cold.

No warmth. No sense of home. Just sheer luxury, power, and detachment.

A remarkable mansion-what else would one expect from the owner of a high-end perfume empire?

As I walked toward the black iron gates, my steps were random and unsteady. The darkness was so deep that I stumbled for what felt like the hundredth time.

I stepped inside, my strides steady despite the invisible weight pressing against my chest. The moment I reached the grand hall, I heard her voice.

"Finally, you've decided to show up."

I turned slowly.

My mother stood at the base of the spiraling staircase, clad in an elegant black dress. Her blonde hair was styled to perfection, and her sharp gaze swept over me, assessing, evaluating-as if determining whether I was fit to be here.

"Mother." My voice was calm, devoid of warmth or feigned emotions.

She descended the stairs with measured steps, her smile just as manufactured as always. "Welcome back, Isolde."

"Mother."

She approached, and before I could avoid it, she pressed a cold kiss to my cheek.

"I expected you to have better manners after your years in London."

I bit back a smirk. Nothing I did would ever be enough for her.

Before I could respond, the sound of confident footsteps echoed through the hall.

I turned-and saw him.

Vlad Montgomery.

He stood at the entrance, tall and formidable, broad-shouldered and effortlessly refined in a dark suit tailored to perfection. His slate-gray eyes locked onto mine-cold, unreadable.

Handsome. Undeniably so.

He said nothing. He didn't move. He merely stood there, gazing at me as though I were an unwelcome intruder.

I raised an eyebrow slightly, silently challenging his icy demeanor. I already knew he didn't like me, but he wasn't even trying to hide it.

"Vlad, this is my daughter, Isolde," my mother introduced me in a smooth, polite tone, as if presenting a mere acquaintance at a formal gathering.

There was a pause. Two seconds of silence. Then, finally, he spoke-his voice deep and clipped.

"I know."

One word.

No greeting. No pleasantries. No acknowledgment.

Our eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, the air in the room felt heavier.

Then, with a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, I said, "Pleasure to finally meet you."

His jaw tightened slightly, as if my words irritated him.

"You're late."

A flicker of amusement sparked within me. Did he expect me to apologize?

"Oh, my apologies," I drawled, the sarcasm unmistakable. Then, in a cooler tone, I added, "I wasn't aware I was on your schedule."

His eyes narrowed slightly. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

My mother, clearly satisfied with herself, led me toward the lavish living room. She didn't seem to notice how my gaze lingered on the man who had just disappeared behind the door.

There was nothing inappropriate about our exchange. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And yet...

Something about the way he looked at me made something deep within me stir.

Isolde Black's POV

Everything was going as usual. Perhaps I saw warmth and affection in my mother's eyes, but deep inside, there was something strange-I wanted to deal with my unsteady emotions.

After resting in my room, my mother came in. I stood up to embrace her. Even if we had been apart for a while, she was still my mother, my entire family-the only person I knew in this world.

"Take it easy, Isolde. I missed you more."

I pulled away slowly, taking in her appearance with admiration. She wore an exquisite nightgown. Even in sleepwear, she exuded obscene wealth.

"Mother, what's with the sudden change in your wardrobe? You really look rich now!"

She playfully smacked my shoulder, whispering,

"It's just nightwear-don't exaggerate. If Vlad saw me outside dressed like this, I'd die on the spot."

I chuckled softly. Her fear of Vlad was oddly intriguing. My mother wasn't a weak woman, and she was much older than him. But was Vlad Montgomery truly so sadistic and powerful that even his own woman feared him?

If my mother had become weak, I was not. I feared no man on this earth.

Why should I fear a man?

Was I born to be afraid?

No. He should be the one fearing me, not the other way around.

Curious, I asked,

"You were supposed to arrive here at ten. Why were you late?"

I lowered my head hesitantly.

"I overslept, Mother. I'm sorry-I didn't realize the time."

"It's alright. What matters is that you're safe and well."

"Get some sleep and don't make any noise, sweetheart. Vlad doesn't usually sleep at night, so he roams the estate."

Her words, her whisper, and the way she looked at me unsettled me a little. But I brushed it off quickly and acted naturally.

"I'm not a child, Mother. I'm twenty-three years old."

She huffed in mild exasperation before replying,

"I know, Isolde. But he's meticulous about everything. If I could, I'd introduce you to him properly, but our conversation was brief. It's late, and he'll be angry if I disturb him. You'll meet him at the party instead."

"Fine, as you wish. I understand."

The night passed slowly. The bed did little to lull me into sleep. I missed my hotel room's bed, but here I was, in the mansion of the man who would soon be my mother's husband. For now, I had to be grateful-to myself and to the life that was about to change, thanks to his obscene wealth.

---

At the Party

I turned in the direction of my mother and spotted a tall man beside her-undeniably, devastatingly handsome beyond imagination. He sipped his drink from an elegant crystal glass, watching me intently.

To be honest, he looked different now that he was standing there, smiling. Last night, he had been handsome, but the cold, brooding look on his face had prevented me from appreciating his striking features. My mother's friend was truly something else.

His eyes were sharper than my dress. Damn, he looked good!

"Isolde, come here, my daughter. From now on, Vlad Montgomery will be like a father to you."

My mother spoke cheerfully, holding my hands. His eyes never left mine, and I... I didn't look away either. We stared at each other boldly.

He extended his hand, breaking the intense eye contact that had stirred chaos in my heart, and spoke in a deep, husky voice that my ears had never had the pleasure of hearing until today.

"Welcome to the party, little one-or should I say, daughter?"

I hesitated, glancing at his hand before murmuring softly,

"I'm not little, and I'm not your daughter, Vlad Montgomery."

My mother nudged me lightly, chiding,

"Are you really going to refuse to greet someone older than you?"

Clearing my throat awkwardly, I shook his hand briefly. His touch was warm, soft, and...

Hot.

If my mother knew I was mentally swooning over her man, she'd throw me out without hesitation.

He spoke again, his alluring voice laced with mystery.

"Are you alright, Isolde?"

He said my name. He actually said my name while his hand still held mine. I quickly withdrew it, my fingers trembling slightly, and feigned indifference.

My mother chuckled, stepping closer to him before turning to me.

"Finally, I get to introduce you properly to my future husband. His name is-"

He cut her off swiftly, all while devouring my features with his gaze. I smiled faintly and averted my eyes from him within seconds.

His name suited his face-and his devastatingly good looks. Adjusting my dress at my waist, I moved to stand beside Marie, my childhood friend.

I glanced at my mother, who was engrossed in conversation with Vlad, her hand wrapped around his arm. But he... he didn't seem interested in her or their conversation.

He was looking at me.

What's his deal? Is he a pervert?

The evening dragged on painfully. Even as he conversed with the guests, I couldn't stop stealing glances at him. He was so handsome, so charismatic, so refined. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him-or from his broad, sculpted frame. I was content just watching.

The evening dragged on painfully. Even as he conversed with the guests, I couldn't stop stealing glances at him. He was so handsome, so charismatic, so refined. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him-or from his broad, sculpted frame. I was content just watching.

We cut the cake, and I shared a warm embrace with Marie and my mother. I gave her the luxurious gift I had brought from London, as I always did. Vlad, on the other hand, presented her with an extravagant diamond set. I swear I had never seen anything like it in my life. It looked absurdly expensive-damn.

"My love, Isolde, if you're tired, go to your room and get some rest. You too, Marie."

"Alright, let's go."

I wasn't fully paying attention to them. My mind was too distracted, too dazed.

"Isolde."

My mother called my name, snapping me out of my trance.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming. Goodnight, Mother."

She waved at me as I turned and walked away, stumbling slightly. It hadn't dawned on me that I had downed ten glasses of tequila throughout the party.

"You're drunk, Isolde."

I shook my head, half-conscious.

"I'm not. I'm just... shocked, Marie."

She eyed me suspiciously.

"Shocked by what, exactly? Your cheeks are burning red. Come on, hurry-we're almost there."

Isolde Black's POV

I furrowed my brows tightly as my gaze locked onto his. For a fleeting moment, we simply stared at each other in silence.

I let out a soft, startled gasp when he bent down gently, lifting me into his arms and pressing his hands against my thighs. Instinctively, I clung to his neck, distracted by the rare intensity of his features, while he used his foot to push the door open, intending to enter.

"Bring her a glass of soda, Mary."

I heard Mary's footsteps retreating, and I groaned inwardly. Being alone with him made me feel uneasy... I was drunk, for heaven's sake.

"You were angry, weren't you? That's why you decided to drown all your negative energy in drinking throughout the party."

His voice was rough as he spoke, just as he carefully placed me on the bed, removing my unbroken heel with deliberate slowness. He straightened up again, his gaze fixed on me with quiet contemplation.

"Tell me."

I was stunned... No, I was drowning in the storm of his eyes, devouring me over and over. When I finally snapped back to reality, I stammered,

"I didn't realize... I'm sorry."

He shifted his gaze away, looking unimpressed, then moved closer, kneeling beside me. Damn it, what is he doing? Is he trying to make me faint? His voice was calm, deep, and undeniably masculine as he said,

"You look like your mother."

His words took me by surprise, and I was about to respond when Mary's untimely entrance made me hesitate. He took a step back, standing tall as Mary handed me the glass of soda, looking concerned.

"Here, drink this. I already informed your mother."

I sipped slowly, my gaze dropping in embarrassment. He remained standing, towering over me, watching intently.

"Isolde, are you okay?"

My mother's breathless voice reached me as she stepped closer.

"I'm fine, Mom, there's no need to worry. It was just one glass, you know I'm not used to these drinks yet."

"Add a zero, you little liar."

His sudden, slightly menacing tone made all three of us turn to him in confusion. Well... I understood exactly what he meant, but I feigned ignorance.

"What are you talking about, darling?"

He spared my mother a brief glance before shifting his gaze back to me.

"Your daughter had ten glasses, sweetheart."

My mother gasped in shock, looking at me.

"Really? I had no idea!"

I averted my gaze in embarrassment. I was in no condition to get up and punch his annoyingly handsome face.

"I just got carried away with the music, Mom."

His deep voice cut through the air, clearly meant to provoke me, and I shot him a glare.

"I didn't see you dancing, little one."

My hands clenched behind my back in frustration, and I muttered, "I'm sorry, Mom. I won't get drunk again."

She sat beside me, pulling the blanket over my bare legs as she whispered softly, "It's alright, sweetheart. Now, get some rest and finish your drink. The headache will fade soon."

Mary added suddenly, "See you later, Isolde. Goodnight."

I waved at her. "Goodnight."

Turning my head, I saw him move closer to my mother, wrapping an arm around her waist before glancing at me quickly. Why does he have to be this handsome?

"Let's go, darling. Let's leave her to rest."

She smiled at him warmly, taking his hand. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

I nodded in understanding, watching as they turned and left the room together.

Damn it, what kind of night was this? My mother's husband was ridiculously attractive, my dress made me look like a harlot, and Mary's sudden arrival had thrown everything off balance!

What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I flirt with my mother's friend the moment I saw him? This is beyond humiliating!

Lost in my thoughts, berating myself, I suddenly heard the door creak open slowly.

I caught sight of him again. And oh, how I wish I hadn't.

The moment my eyes landed on him, I wanted nothing more than to keep staring forever, undisturbed.

He leaned against the doorframe, his voice a low, almost irritated whisper.

"Don't forget to take off that dress. It's uncomfortable, and it won't help you sleep."

My eyes widened in disbelief. I was about to protest, but he silenced me with another remark, his tone even firmer than before.

I looked away, flustered, nodding in understanding.

He let out a rough sigh, then withdrew his head and shut the door behind him, leaving me burning with the unbearable urge to see him again-this man, whose devastating handsomeness was almost unreal.

"Go to sleep, girl. Enough with the foolish fantasies."

I sat up halfway and pulled off the dress with ease. Given its revealing design, removing it was effortless.

"No... It's not him. It's not him."

I tossed the dress carelessly onto the floor, shaking my head, now clad only in my undergarments. Wrapping myself in the blanket, I grumbled softly,

"He's going to be my mom's husband, for heaven's sake."

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to fall asleep, willing exhaustion to take over.

What are you doing?!

I gasped in shock as his finger thrust into my core, his gaze unreadable, impossible to decipher. My eyelids fluttered, my body tingling from the unexpected wave of pleasure that surged through me, as if I was on the verge of begging him not to stop.

Are you even aware of what you've done to me?

That dress you wore tonight drove me insane, little one.

He pushed deeper, moving his finger in slow, deliberate motions, the slick sound echoing in the room.

Why did you return from London and suddenly make me notice this sinful body without warning?

His voice came in a husky, breathless growl.

You turned me into a madman with that outrageously tempting figure of yours.

The pace of his movements quickened, making my lips part in desperate need. The overwhelming pleasure was enough to reduce me to nothing but a trembling mess before him.

Did you like it?

I blinked in frustration as I felt him withdraw his finger from within me-only to find nothing.

He wasn't there.

My eyes darted around in panic, but all I saw was the ceiling above me.

Was it... a dream?

I buried my face in my hands, then sat up abruptly, releasing a mortified, silent scream.

"I had an erotic dream... about my mother's husband!"

I grabbed the blanket in frustration, yanking it off me and hurling it at the door.

"I'm going insane because of him!"