Chapter 1
Everyone in Manhattan’s elite circles knew my billionaire husband was two decades older than me.
Winston had never married me for love. He married me to babysit his wild children, keep the mansion in order, and play the elegant young wife by his side. In return, I got a multi-million-dollar monthly allowance and absolutely zero pressure to produce heirs of my own.
It was, on paper, a perfect arrangement.
So of course I said yes.
Then the live-feed comments started appearing in the corner of my vision like some deranged little prophecy machine, and suddenly the whole arrangement came wrapped in a massive red flag.
The true heroine is coming back.
Their biological mother is returning tonight.
Her plan: kick out the evil stepmother, reclaim the children, and take back the fortune.
I nearly laughed.
“Listen up, brats,” I said, waving my stepkids over with one lazy flick of my hand. “Go dig out the black card your father hid in the ceiling and the gold bars stuffed in his loafers. We’re hitting the most exclusive club in the city tonight, and we are not leaving a single cent for that two-faced woman.”
At my command, the two teenagers sprawled across the sofa sprang to life.
Phoenix’s eyes gleamed with feral excitement. “You mean the AmEx Centurion hidden in the study ceiling panels?”
Kendall sat upright so fast she nearly threw her nail polish across the room. “And the gold bars inside his vintage loafers in the closet?”
I nodded slowly, a strange wave of maternal pride rising in my chest.
Blood really was thicker than water.
They knew his hiding spots better than I did.
“Grab everything,” I said. “Tonight, we max it out. Daddy’s paying.”
The live-feed comments exploded.
Live comment: Is this stepmom psychotic? She’s about to get thrown out with zero alimony and she’s doing this?
Live comment: Brooke is literally arriving at the gates right now with a DNA test. This is Allera’s death throes.
Live comment: Just wait until Winston gets home and sees the mansion trashed. He’s going to throw that wicked woman onto the pavement himself.
I sneered, staring at the half-burned silk scarf I had just fished out of the fireplace. If they wanted an evil stepmother, I might as well play the role properly.
Ten minutes later, Phoenix was clutching the black card like it was a sacred relic while Kendall cradled the gold bars against her chest with a devotion usually reserved for newborns.
“Mom,” Kendall asked, almost vibrating with excitement, “which club are we hitting?”
“The most exclusive VIP lounge in the city,” I said, sweeping toward the door. “We’re drinking until we can’t feel our faces. And Kendall, remind me to order you the most expensive male models they have.”
Her face lit up.
Phoenix grinned. “You’re my favorite parent.”
“I’m your only competent one,” I corrected.
We swept out of the mansion like a glamorous crime syndicate.
The second our car disappeared down the driveway, a battered yellow cab screeched to a stop in front of the gates.
A woman stepped out trembling in a cheap white sundress, tears already running down her cheeks.
Brooke.
The legendary biological mother herself.
She stared at the dark, empty driveway, and the tearful reunion speech she had clearly rehearsed died in her throat.
A sea of question marks flooded the comments.
Live comment: Wait, where is everyone?
Live comment: Didn’t the spoilers say the whole family would be home to welcome her?
Live comment: Where the hell did they all go?
At that exact moment, my stepchildren and I were already settling into Manhattan’s most exclusive private lounge.
Top-shelf liquor covered the glass tables. Two rows of male models prettier than boy-band idols waited nearby like decorative art installations. Phoenix was popping bottles of vintage champagne. Kendall was inspecting the lineup of men with the seriousness of a military general reviewing troops.
I slouched into the velvet sofa and stared at the flood of missed calls from Winston lighting up my phone.
Then I powered it off.
If he thought he was going to leave me with nothing, he was out of his mind.