Abuse My Kid? Meet My Wrath

I froze.

My skin went cold. I stared at Patrick, trying to process it—he actually cheated. Spent my money on his side chick and deliberately swapped their kid with mine.

I started shaking, full-on shaking.

But Patrick? Thought I was speechless because I understood. "Della's a good kid," he said. "Go home, apologize, bring her a few gifts. She'll get over it."

I laughed. "Get over WHAT, exactly? She's your bastard kid—living off MY money, eating MY food—and still acts like I OWE her?"

Patrick stiffened. "Wh-What do you mean 'bastard kid'? What are you trying to say?"

"Oh, Patrick Sheeter... I've been way too nice. You really thought I wouldn't figure it out? That I was THAT dumb?"

Something flickered in his eyes—guilt, maybe. But he still tried to act like the victim. "You just don't want to support Della anymore, so now she's suddenly my 'bastard kid'? Seriously? That's messed up."

His voice cracked as he got louder. "She's just a kid! You want her growing up with THAT kind of shame on her back?"

I didn't bother replying. Just pulled out my phone, hit speaker, and called my PI.

"I need a full check on Patrick Sheeter. See if he's been cheating. And six years ago... was the baby swap really a mistake—or was it planned?"

Patrick lunged for my phone, but too late—the call was already over.

He jabbed a shaky finger at me. "How far are you taking this? You're seriously gonna blow up this family and turn all the kids against you?

"Don't say I didn't warn you—our sons LOVE Della. Keep pushing, and they'll drop you.

"Apologize to Della, transfer Elise to another school, and follow my lead. It'll all smooth out."

I didn't move.

He inhaled deep, dialing up the fake concern. "Babe, you don't get how parenting works. It takes time.

"And this 'bastard kid' nonsense? No proof. Stop throwing money at PIs. When the boys show up and see you like this, what're you even gonna say?"

I laughed, low and sharp. "Say WHAT? I don't owe anyone an explanation.

"You abused MY daughter and tried to hand my company to your side chick's brat. And I'm the one who needs to explain myself?"

Before he could fire back, a voice cut in from behind.

"You DO owe Dad an explanation!"

Our sons had arrived.

Ash—the eldest—stepped in front of Patrick. "Mom, how could you say that about Dad and make Della cry? You DO owe them an explanation!"

Bruce, my second son, pointed at Elise. "It's YOU again. You piece of trash. Always lying, always stirring up drama between Della and Mom. Scheming little brat. Why don't you just die already?"

Clint—the youngest—looked me dead in the eye, full of disgust. "Thanks to your favoritism, Della almost ended her life. And you're still standing here? Go home right now and tell her she's the only princess in this family. If something happens to her, I'll never forgive you!"

My heart thundered. My sons—blindly defending a cheating father and his side chick's kid.

I gritted my teeth. "Do you even know the kind of people you're defending?"

They hesitated, confused. Doubt flickered across their faces.

I didn't say a word. Just held out my phone and opened the report my super-efficient PI had already sent.

Right there on the screen: Della was Patrick's illegitimate daughter.

And six years ago, that baby swap? Totally intentional. Patrick's move.