Never Again, Mr. Sterling

The son I’d nearly died giving birth to looked me dead in the eye after seven years of calling the woman who ruined my life his mother, and spat: “You’re not even fit to shine Chloe’s shoes.”

My husband Arthur stood right beside him, sneering. “Even your own kid doesn’t believe you. Just accept it.”

I’d always thought if I just humbled myself enough, I might earn even a scrap of pity from this father and son.

I’d fought tooth and nail to get my son back, begged him on my knees to choose me, even when I found out my husband was planning to carve out my kidney alive to keep that woman happy — I still clung to the stupid, desperate hope he’d feel even a flicker of regret.

It broke for good when my seven-year-old son, desperate to please his “new mum”, stuffed the evidence she’d planted to frame me right into the sofa cushions with his own two hands.

That all shattered the night he forced me to kneel and serve for him and that homewrecker while they slept together.

In that moment, I was done being the doormat everyone trampled into the dirt.

The anesthesia from my C-section hadn’t even worn off yet. I made the nurse help me up, and with my drainage bag still attached, I dragged myself to the nursery on the second floor and shoved the door open.

The crib was empty.

All that sat on the mattress was a check for twenty million dollars.

“Arthur, what is this? Where’s my baby?” I stared daggers at the poised, aristocratic man standing by the floor-to-ceiling window.

He glanced away, gaze drifting out the glass. “You know Chloe can’t have children. I’ve signed the adoption papers. The boy is hers now.”

Just then, the door clicked open. In walked Chloe — Arthur Sterling’s young stepmother, and his secret mistress, barely a few years older than me. She sauntered in on stiletto heels, her cloying, heavy perfume so strong it made my stomach heave. She flicked a nail at the check and smirked, smug and triumphant.

“Take the money. It’s pocket change. My body can’t carry a baby, so I needed your womb to do the job for me. Thanks, by the way — you gave me a perfect, healthy son.”

I went ice cold. I’d almost died bringing this baby into the world, and he was nothing more than a gift to butter up his stepmother?

I grabbed the check, crumpled it into a tight ball, and hurled it at his face with every ounce of strength I had left.

Arthur’s face darkened instantly, his gaze sharp as shards of ice.

“Have you had your little tantrum yet? That check pays for your womb and your silence. Let’s be honest — the only real thing you’re good for is giving Chloe an heir.”

For seven years — two thousand five hundred and fifty straight days — I fought.

I blew through every last dollar I had, hiring the sharpest lawyers money could buy, trying to crack through the walls of Arthur’s untouchable corporate empire.

But every single time, all I got was roughed up by his estate security and another stack of lost court rulings.

Until today.

Leo was recovering from an appendectomy at Chloe’s countryside villa. A few hours earlier, a frantic text from the long-time housekeeper had dropped my stomach straight through the floor: Mrs. Chloe got sick of his post-surgery crying and gave him three times the prescribed painkillers. The young master is unconscious.

My engine roared through the dark night. I slammed the gas pedal to the floor and raced straight for Chloe’s villa.

When I pulled up to the iron gate, that stupid wooden sign was still hanging there: Evelyn and dogs not allowed inside.

I snapped. I grabbed the gas can from my trunk, doused the pile of junk by the entrance, and lit it on fire.

As flames erupted into the sky, I grabbed a crowbar, kicked that pathetic sign to splinters, and smashed straight through the floor-to-ceiling glass patio door.

Shards of glass sliced open my arms instantly — cuts so deep you could see bone, blood pouring down my skin.

I couldn’t feel a thing. I stormed into the bedroom and scooped up Leo, who was seizing all over, his lips turning purple.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s got you.” Blood soaked through the steering wheel as I floored it, blowing through a dozen red lights straight to the ER.

In the sharp, stinging reek of antiseptic, Leo finally fluttered his eyes open after having his stomach pumped.

I lunged forward, breathless with relief, reaching out to touch his face.

“Get away! You’re a crazy woman!”

Seven-year-old Leo screamed, scrambling back into the far corner of the bed, staring at me like I’d come to hurt him.

“Mom Chloe was right! You’re a crazy woman who hates seeing me happy! Why do you keep ruining my life?!”

I froze, my outstretched hand shaking so hard I could barely hold it up. “She gave you three times the right dose. You could have died…”

“You’re lying! Mom Chloe just gave me too much by accident! Go away! If it wasn’t for you, Mom Chloe would love me already! Stop coming around!”

It felt like a knife was twisting straight through my heart. Years of brainwashing had made him blame me for every bad thing in his life.

Seven years of clinging to hope, of fighting to get my son back — all of it crumbled to dust under the weight of my own child’s hatred.

I pulled my bloodied hand back, a bitter, hollow laugh catching in my throat. “Say ‘mom’ to me. Just once. Then I’ll disappear forever.”

Leo didn’t hesitate. If anything, he sounded annoyed, like he couldn’t wait to be rid of me.

“Mom.”

“There! Now get out!”

Fine. Just fine.

I stared at his young, soft face, forcing a smile that felt worse than crying. “Fine. From this moment on — whoever’s son you are, whether you live or die — it’s none of my business.”

It was dark by the time I got back to Sterling Manor.

The grand hall was lit up bright as day, Arthur surrounded by a crowd of family members. When he saw me walk in alone, battered and disheveled, his brows pulled tight. “Where’s Leo?”

Before I could answer, a small figure came flying down the stairs and launched himself straight into Chloe’s arms without a second of hesitation. He looked up at her and yelled, “Mom!”

Arthur’s gaze cut into me like a blade. “What did you do to him?”

Chloe wrapped her arms around Leo, fawning over him like she was worried sick, but her hands were rough and careless. The thick diamond bracelet on her wrist caught on a lock of his hair and yanked hard.

The boy hissed in pain, but bit down hard on his lip and didn’t dare make a sound.

Even with my heart already shattered, mother’s instinct kicked in. I lunged forward. “You’re hurting him!”

Chloe let out a shrill, dramatic scream and threw herself backward.

Crack!

Arthur shoved me hard to the floor. Old and new injuries alike screamed as my body crashed against the cold marble.

“You vicious woman! Stealing your own child? You’re completely deranged!”

“Chloe is your elder! She loves Leo like he’s her own! What is wrong with you?!”

A flood of curses and jeers rained down from the relatives circling me. Someone even stepped forward and grabbed me by the collar.

“That’s enough.” Arthur waved everyone off, his face cold as stone. He grabbed my arm and hauled me roughly to my feet. “Upstairs. Now.”

The study door slammed shut behind us.

Arthur unbuttoned his suit jacket, his voice tight with suppressed rage. “Have you had enough of your little tantrums? Do you have any idea you almost burned Chloe’s villa to the ground?”

I sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall ahead. “Leo was poisoned. She gave him an overdose just to shut him up.”

“It’s not your place to interfere!” he cut me off coldly. After a beat, he added, “Everyone knows Chloe is Leo’s legal mother. You had no right to humiliate her in front of the whole family.”

I finally turned to look at him — this man who had once been my entire world, who I’d worshipped like he hung the moon. Now all I saw was a stranger, cruel and unrecognizable.

“Arthur, I want a divorce.”

He froze mid-turn.