Wedding My Stepsister? I’m Dating His Rival CEO

Isabella’s POV

The day I buried my father, my husband, Xavier Blackwood, was conspicuously absent.

Instead, my stepsister, Scarlett Montgomery, sent me a photo. There he was—on his knees, pressing his lips to her swollen belly.

Guess who’s finally going to be a father.

My lungs seized. My fingers trembled.

No. This couldn’t be real.

I blinked through the haze of tears, praying it was some twisted prank.

Then the second image loaded: Scarlett in my silk robe, in my bedroom, snapping a selfie while Xavier slept soundly behind her in our bed.

My legs gave out.

Right there, atop my father’s freshly turned grave, I collapsed.

That evening, Xavier strode in with Scarlett and her designer luggage in tow.

“She needs to stay here,” he announced, voice smooth as poisoned honey. “The pregnancy makes it risky for her to be alone.”

I didn’t scream. Didn’t beg. Didn’t shed a single tear.

I just met his gaze and uttered five lethal words:

“I want a divorce, Xavier.”

His grip on Scarlett’s suitcase tightened. “That’s not happening.”

So I reached for my phone and dialed the one man Xavier feared more than hell itself—

His brother. Sebastian Blackwood.

The man who once swore to me, “If Xavier ever betrays you… come to me.”

Xavier wanted to destroy me? Fine. I’d annihilate him first.

Isabella’s POV

The funeral procession had barely ended when my phone buzzed. A message from Scarlett—my stepsister, who’d also “conveniently” missed burying our father.

The photo loaded slowly, each pixel carving deeper into my chest. Xavier, my husband of three years, cradling Scarlett’s stomach with reverent lips. The caption: Guess who’s finally going to be a father.

My vision swam. This had to be edited. A cruel joke.

Then came the second image—Scarlett’s smirking reflection in our bedroom mirror, drowning in my La Perla robe, Xavier’s sleeping form sprawled across our 1000-thread-count sheets.

The truth detonated like a grenade.

My husband. My stepsister. A baby.

My knees hit the damp cemetery grass as sobs wracked my body. The freshly packed soil drank my tears as I mourned—not just my father, but the corpse of my marriage.

I should’ve seen it. The lingering touches. The whispered conversations. The way Xavier’s eyes tracked her like a predator.

My phone vibrated again. Xavier this time.

—Couldn’t make it. Urgent business. We need to talk.—

I already knew what “urgent business” meant.

Midnight. The front door clicked open.

Xavier entered with Scarlett clinging to his arm, her Louis Vuitton suitcases rolling behind them like obedient pets.

“Scarlett’s staying with us,” he declared, as if announcing brunch plans. “Doctor’s orders—stress could harm the baby.”

Scarlett’s glossed lips curved in a viper’s smile. “I begged Xavier to wait until after the funeral, but… you understand, don’t you, sis?” Her manicured hand fluttered over her stomach. “Family comes first.”

Xavier’s gaze softened—a look he hadn’t given me in months. “She’s your blood, Isabella. You’d never endanger your own niece or nephew.”

I stared at the marble floor, counting veins in the stone to keep from screaming.

He stepped closer, reeking of Scarlett’s Chanel No. 5. “What happened was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

My laugh scraped raw. “She’s carrying your child. That’s not a mistake—it’s a calculated betrayal.”

“Actually,” Scarlett simpered, “we’ve decided you’ll raise the baby. Since you can’t conceive.”

Xavier nodded eagerly. “This is fate fixing things for us, Bella. You’ve always wanted—”

“Get out.” My voice cracked like thin ice.

Scarlett gasped, clutching her belly. “Xavier, maybe I should—”

“You’re not going anywhere.” His hand clamped my wrist. “This is your home too.”

I yanked free. “I’m filing for divorce.”

Xavier’s expression darkened. “Try it. I’ll have you declared mentally unfit before the ink dries.” His thumb brushed my cheekbone—a mockery of tenderness. “Who’d believe a barren hysteric over me?”