9. Maisie
MAISIE
I wake to my phone buzzing on the nightstand. One message. Then another. Then three more in quick succession.
My stomach sinks before I even look at the screen.
I reach for the phone, squinting at the brightness. Marcus sleeps beside me, one arm draped across my waist.
The texts are all from Dorothy.
You're making the biggest mistake of your life.
He'll get bored of you soon.
Everyone will know what a whore you are.
You're ruining your reputation.
I'm ashamed to call you my daughter.
Each message lands like a physical blow. I know I should delete them, block her number like Marcus suggested. But I can't stop reading.
More texts flood in while I stare at the screen.
This will destroy you both.
Is he really worth losing your family?
People are already talking.
My hands shake. I set the phone down on the nightstand, but it immediately buzzes again.
Marcus stirs beside me. His arm tightens around my waist. "Morning."
"Morning." My voice sounds hollow.
He props himself up on one elbow, gray eyes studying my face. "You read them."
Not a question.
I nod, guilt washing through me.
Marcus reaches across me, picks up my phone, glances at the screen. His jaw tightens as he scrolls through Dorothy's messages. Then he sets the phone back down.
"Block her."
"I will. I just?—"
"Now, Maisie."
The command in his voice makes something in my chest loosen. I take the phone, navigate to Dorothy's contact, select the block option.
"Done."
Marcus pulls me against him, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Good girl."
I go to campus for my morning classes at Westbridge, trying to focus on Professor Johnson's lecture on narrative structure. But my mind keeps drifting.
What if Dorothy actually did call the Dean's office?
What if people at the university find out about Marcus and me?
My phone vibrates in my bag. I ignore it, but anxiety eats at me anyway.
Between my first and second class, I check my phone. Unknown number. My finger hovers over the decline button, but something makes me answer.
"Hello?"
"I called your Dean's office." Dorothy's voice is sharp, triumphant. "Told them you're in an inappropriate relationship with a much older man who has authority over you."
My blood turns to ice. "You did what?"
"They should know what kind of student they have. One who sleeps with her stepfather."
I end the call, hands shaking so badly I nearly drop the phone.
She called my school. Actually called them.
I send Marcus a frantic text: She says she called my school.
His response comes within seconds: She's bluffing. Trying to scare you. Focus on your classes.
But I can't focus. The rest of my second class passes in a blur of anxiety. What if it's not a bluff? What if the Dean calls me in for a meeting? What if I get expelled?
My phone rings as I'm walking to the parking lot. Marcus's name on the screen.
I answer immediately. "Hey?—"
"Your mother just showed up at my office." His voice is tightly controlled, anger simmering beneath the surface.
"What? How did she know where you work?"
"She caused a scene in the lobby. Security escorted her out."
I stop walking, pressing my free hand to my forehead. "Oh god. Marcus, I'm so sorry?—"
"Don't apologize. This isn't your fault." He takes a breath. "She demanded to see me. Started making accusations loudly in front of colleagues. Called me a predator. Said I was sleeping with my stepdaughter. Security had to physically remove her."
Humiliation burns through me. "Did anyone—did they believe her?"
"It doesn't matter what they believe. The building has security footage of her trespassing and causing a disturbance. I'm documenting this too."
"I'm coming home."
"Good. I'll be there in an hour. And Maisie? Stop reading her messages. She's trying to break you down."
That evening, I make the mistake of checking Facebook.
Dorothy has posted multiple times today. Vague accusations that make my stomach turn.
When your own daughter betrays you with someone you trusted.
Some men are predators in disguise.
Be careful who you let around your children—they're not always safe.
The posts don't name names. But they're clearly about Marcus and me. Comments from Dorothy's friends fill the threads, asking what happened, offering support.
I screenshot everything with shaking hands and show Marcus when he sits beside me on the couch.
His expression doesn't change as he scrolls through them. "Send those to me. For the lawyer."
"People are going to figure out who she's talking about."
"Let them. We have documentation of her harassment, trespassing, assault, and now defamation." He sets my phone down, taking my hands in his. "She's digging her own grave, baby."
But the public nature of it makes my chest tight with anxiety. What if someone from the university sees it? What if they put the pieces together?
My phone buzzes. Another unknown number.
I let it go to voicemail. Then another call comes through. I silence it.
A text appears from yet another unknown number: I have evidence you were inappropriate with her when she was underage. I'm going to the police.
I show Marcus.
"She's lying." His voice is flat, certain. "I never touched you inappropriately before you turned twenty. Didn't even saw you as a woman then. She has no evidence because nothing happened."
"But what if the police investigate anyway? What if they believe her?"
Marcus's hand cups my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Then they investigate and find nothing. I haven't done anything illegal. Neither have you. We're both adults. She can't manufacture evidence that doesn't exist."
But the threat terrifies me anyway, and I'm becoming emotionally exhausted.
Dorothy has found new numbers to call from, new ways to text. The harassment is relentless.
This will destroy both of you.
Is he really worth losing your family?
Come home and I'll make this all go away.
The last message burrows under my skin. The offer is tempting in its simplicity.
Just go back. Appease her. Make the nightmare stop.
When Marcus gets home from work, I'm crying on the couch.
He's beside me immediately. "What happened?"
"I can't take this anymore." My voice breaks. "She won't stop."
"I know. But my lawyer is filing the restraining order tomorrow. This will end."
I shake my head. "What if it doesn't? What if she keeps escalating? What if she actually hurts your career or my education?"
"She can't?—"
"Maybe we should take a break." The words spill out before I can stop them. "Just for a while. Until she calms down."
The silence that follows feels like a physical weight.
Marcus goes very still. "What?"
"Just temporarily. I could stay with a friend, or at the dorms. Give her what she wants. Then maybe she'll stop."
His expression shows devastation he's trying to control. When he speaks, his voice is careful. "Is that what you want? To leave?"
"No. But I don't know what else to do."
"You could trust me to handle this. Like I said I would."
"I do trust you. But what if it's not enough? What if she destroys everything?"
Marcus stands, putting physical distance between us. "So you'd rather give in to her manipulation. Let her control your life again."
The hurt in his voice cuts through my panic.
"You'd choose appeasing your abuser over being with me."
"That's not—I'm not choosing?—"
"Yes, you are. That's exactly what you're doing."
His words hit me like cold water. I see what I'm actually suggesting. Reverting to my old patterns. Letting Dorothy's threats dictate my choices. Choosing temporary peace over my own happiness.
Running from the relationship I want because it's easier than fighting.
The realization is painful.
I stand, crossing to him. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
My voice breaks. "I was doing exactly what she's trained me to do. Prioritizing her feelings over mine."
Marcus turns to face me, his gray eyes searching mine. "So what do you want? Really want?"
"You. This. Us." The certainty fills my chest. "I don't want to leave."
Marcus pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly. His voice is rough with emotion. "Then don't. Don't let her win."
"I won't. I'm sorry I even suggested it. I was just scared."
"I know. But we face this together. You don't run, and I don't let her destroy us."
We hold each other for several minutes. When Marcus pulls back, his hands frame my face. "I need you to trust that I can protect us. Can you do that?"
"Yes. I trust you."
The moment shifts. Need replacing fear.
Marcus kisses me with desperate intensity. All the fear and hurt from the past days channeling into physical need.
I respond with equal desperation, my hands fisting in his shirt.
We don't make it to the bedroom.
Marcus lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He presses me against the wall of the living room.
Our clothes come off frantically. Buttons pop. Fabric tears.
Marcus holds me pinned against the wall, my legs around his waist. His cock presses against my entrance.
"Tell me you're not leaving."
"I'm not leaving—I'm yours—please?—"
He thrusts into me hard and deep in one stroke. "Fuck—yes?—"
"Ahh—Marcus—god?—"
He sets a brutal pace immediately, fucking me against the wall with raw intensity. Each thrust punctuated by possessive words.
"Mine—you're mine?—"
"Not going anywhere?—"
"Never leaving me?—"
I can only hold on, nails digging into his shoulders. "Yes—yours—only yours?—"
My back scrapes against the wall with each thrust, the slight pain adding to the overwhelming sensation. Marcus's hands grip my ass, holding me in place as he pounds into me.
The angle has his cock hitting deep, almost too deep. "Oh fuck—Marcus—so deep?—"
"You feel that? Feel how deep I am? This is where you belong. On my cock. In my house. Mine."
He carries me to the couch without pulling out. Lays me down, hooking my legs over his shoulders.
The new angle lets him go even deeper. "Ahh—fuck—yes?—"
My head thrashes on the couch. "Marcus—I can't—too much?—"
"You can take it. You'll take everything I give you."
His thrusts become harder, faster, almost punishing in intensity. One hand wraps around my throat—not squeezing, just holding possessively.
My pussy clenches around his cock. "Yes—yes—don't stop?—"
"Never stopping. Never letting you go. You're mine forever. Say it."
"Yours forever—I'm yours forever?—"
The declaration seems to break his last bit of control.
Marcus's hand moves to my clit, rubbing it roughly. I'm already close, the intensity overwhelming.
"Marcus—I'm—oh god?—"
"Come. Come on my cock right fucking now."
The command triggers my release.
"Marcus—fuck—yes?—"
My pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him. My whole body trembles, orgasm tearing through me.
Marcus thrusts deep and holds himself there. "Fuck—Maisie—taking it—take all of it?—"
His cock pulses inside me, flooding me with cum. He grinds against her, making sure every drop stays inside.
Both of us shaking through the intensity.
When the waves finally subside, Marcus collapses on top of me. Both breathing hard, hearts racing.
He lifts his head to look at me. "Don't ever suggest leaving again."
Not quite a request.
I touch his face. "I won't. I promise. I'm sorry."
"I love you. Even when you're scared and doubting. But I need you to trust me."
"I do. I love you too."
We kiss, tender now after the intensity.
Eventually move to shower together. The domestic intimacy of washing each other soothing after the emotional upheaval.
Around ten PM, we're in bed. Both exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster.
My phone has been silent for hours. I blocked all the unknown numbers Dorothy used.
Marcus has his laptop, checking emails before sleep. The villa is quiet, peaceful.
I drift toward sleep, finally feeling secure again.
Then we hear it. Loud pounding on the front door.
Marcus and I both freeze.
The pounding continues, then Dorothy's voice. "Maisie! Maisie, I know you're in there!"
Her words are slurred. She's drunk.
More pounding. "Come out here right now!"
Marcus gets out of bed, pulls on pants. "Stay here."
But I follow, pulling on a robe.
We go downstairs. Marcus checks his phone. 11:07 PM.
Dorothy's voice outside. "I'm not leaving until she comes out! You hear me?"
Neighbors' lights are turning on.
Marcus looks at me. "Call the police. Tell them there's an intoxicated woman threatening property damage."
I nod, pulling out my phone.
As I dial, Dorothy's shouts become more unhinged.
"You're going to regret this!"
"Both of you!"
"I'll burn this fucking house down if that slut doesn't come out!"
I freeze mid-dial. "Did she just?—"
Marcus's expression is grim satisfaction. "Yes. She did. That's a terroristic threat. Finish calling."
I speak to the 911 operator, report the situation. The operator asks if we feel in danger.
Another shout from outside. "I'll fucking burn it down! I'll destroy everything!"
"Yes. She's threatening to burn the house down."
While waiting for police, Marcus makes a quick call. His police lieutenant friend. Clearly had this number ready for exactly this situation.
Brief conversation. "She's here. Drunk. Making threats. Yeah, it's all on camera. Thanks."
Marcus's security system has captured everything. Audio and video of Dorothy's threats.
He shows me on his phone. Clear footage of Dorothy pounding on the door, screaming threats.
I feel a mix of emotions. Relief. Guilt. Fear.
This is it. The point of no return with my mother.
Marcus seems to read my thoughts. "This is what needed to happen. She forced this."
We hear sirens approaching. Blue and red lights flash through the windows.
Dorothy's shouting stops abruptly.
Marcus takes my hand. "Stay close to me. Let me do most of the talking."
We watch through the window as police cars pull up. Dorothy in the front yard, visibly intoxicated, starting to realize the situation she's in.
Marcus's expression is coldly satisfied. "She crossed the line. Now she faces the consequences."
I feel both terrified and relieved. This confrontation will end it, one way or another.
We watch the police approach Dorothy. The final showdown about to unfold.