Loving My Billionaire Stepson
SYNOPSIS:
Before meeting Elliot Winter, Michelle's life was a routine of beatings from her drunk dad and juggling part-time jobs. He was handsome, loaded, and had a smile that could melt ice.
There was also a twenty-year age gap between them, Michelle didn't care because their relationship was the only ray of sunshine in her rather bleak world. And when he popped the question she was more than happy to say yes. Michelle thought she had found her happily ever after, but she couldn't have been more wrong. With each year that passed Elliot became more of a stranger and less of the man she had fallen for, neglecting her and looking the other way when his mother treated her poorly, that was until the day their 5th anniversary rolled around, she caught him in bed with her sister.
Her love is replaced by hate, a swooning affection now burning rage. Well, two could play that game. That night, she dials her stepson's number with a single text that will change their lives forever.
'I need you tonight'
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Chapter 2
Michelle's pov
By the time I reached Golden Cove's lobby, I was already second-guessing myself. This could easily be Beatrice pulling a prank, but every time my resolve threatened to dissolve into emptiness
Then I reminded myself yet again that I was not here because I took my annoying mother-in-law's words to heart.
I've had a suspicion for months now.
Maybe even years.
He'd changed.
Not overnight, it happened gradually... Like water trickling out of a broken vessel.
He stopped kissing me good morning and stopped asking how my night went. There was no more breakfast in bed.
Yeah, it started from the little things.
Then slowly, it was him forgetting my big occasions, raising his voice at me, coming back home from the office while pretending he didn't smell like booze, women's perfume, and bad decisions.
We had several conversations–some of them arguments–I told him I wanted to go back to the time when he loved me and showed it.
I missed the man that I met working afternoon shifts at the coffee shop when I was eighteen.
He showed up every day by eleven, he'd make the same order–black coffee and a chocolate muffin-his eyes never left me while he was there, and I'd often come over to see his cup at least still half full. His subtle way of telling me that he was coming here for more than just the coffee.
One sunny afternoon I got courageous and I did something out of character. I wrote my number on a tissue, pressed my lips on it, and shyly handed it over to him along with his coffee.
He finished his coffee that day.
I was worried, thinking things would get awkward between us all or he would never show up again. He was well-groomed and put together but anyone with a working pair of eyes could tell that there was a huge age gap between us, how big it was was what I didn't know.
He didn't show up for a week afterward.
That week was torture, I'd lift my head every time the bell at the entrance dinged. My heart was sleeping with hope, only for it to come crashing down when it was just another random customer.
Soon my expectation began to wane, and I was beginning to accept that maybe I had ruined a good thing before it could even start.
That night, I was getting ready for bed and also to put my one-sided feelings to rest.
That was when I got his text at 10:00
'You up?"
Those two words changed the trajectory of my life.
Regular texts with him became the highlight of every day for me, it made endless shifts bearable, even the bruises I got from my drunk Dad hardly hurt that much when his name lit up my phone.
We got to talking more intimately after a while.
He was going to be forty in a month or so.
He asked if that bothered me.
I'll admit, at first it did, but he always told me that I was so mature for my age and I wasn't like other reckless 18-year-olds. It made me feel good, like I was no longer the little girl who was getting beaten down and humiliated every day by her own father.
Our relationship progressed and after going through some struggles he popped the question and I was more than happy to say yes.
I lived like a princess in the first years of our marriage, waited on hand and foot. Back then when the results came back negative, he'd book me a vacation to unwind. If I had a headache he would leave his million-dollar company just to remain by my side and cuddle me all day. He showed me off like a trophy, a prize he was happy and lucky to win.
Back then even if his mom disapproved of me she never tried anything funny.
Now things were clearly different.
And I wanted to know why.
Why did he never look at me with the same loving affection as he used to do in the past why was I suddenly no longer welcome? Why were all those grandiose acts of love in the past?
And when I reached room 102 I saw it.
Or rather on the carpeted hallway.
Elliot, my husband, my first and only love had his hand intimately wrapped around another woman's waist. He whispered something in her ear, and she laughed way too loudly, leaning towards him with a broad smile. When they got closer I noticed that the woman was not a stranger, beyond the hair extensions, makeup up and designer clothes I recognized her.
Natasha Grey
A college dropout who was my cleaner a couple of months back, I paid her extra because she was friendly and bubbly. I didn't have any friends anymore because none of them supported my relationship with Elliot so I cut them off.
Maybe I should have listened.
Natasha had quit a few weeks back, told me that she was going back to college. But from the looks of things she had already graduated from the uni of home wrecking.
They were so absorbed in each other that they didn't even notice me until we were about 10 ft apart, that was when Natasha saw me, she didn't look ashamed. Not one bit, in fact she cozied herself closer to my husband, a triumphant smirk plastered on her face.
How could they?!
"Michelle?" Elliot called out confusion clouding his tone."What are you doing here?"
"Is that all you have to say to me?" I said as the tears started pouring down my face, there he stood with an apology not even an explanation. Just asking that ridiculous question like I was the one who had been caught cheating.
The anger didn't allow me to think I marched over to him and slapped him right across the face.
"B*sterd!" I hissed then turned to leave rushing into the empty elevator before I could completely shatter.
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9.3
My husband, Deegan, plunged a needle into my heavily pregnant belly. He said it was a mild sedative to "slow things down." The truth was a brutal betrayal.
His brother's widow, Karmen, was also due, and her son had to be born first to secure the family inheritance. He was sacrificing our child for money.
He locked me in a panic room, leaving me to suffer through agonizing contractions alone.
His sister found me, not to help, but to kick me and let her venomous snake sink its fangs into my arm.
As I lay bleeding out, my baby dying inside me, he had all the life-saving medical equipment moved to Karmen's private clinic, leaving me with nothing.
He called me a manipulative actress, a gold-digger trying to steal the inheritance. The man who swore to protect me left me to die on a cold floor, choosing a birthright over his own child.
But I didn't die. My billionaire father saved me, and I was reborn from the ashes of my grief. Years later, when Deegan stormed into my boardroom, convinced he could drag his "dead" wife home, I looked at the pathetic man he'd become. I slowly pulled the wedding ring from my finger and let it fall to the floor.
"The woman who loved you died that night."
7.9
Jace Maddox is a billionaire tech CEO known for his cold heart and strict routines. Behind closed doors, he's a man haunted by betrayal, grief, and secrets too heavy to share.
River Hale is an ex-military bodyguard with nothing left to lose. Disgraced and angry, he's hired to protect the one man he can't stand, Jace Maddox.
When a dangerous scandal threatens to destroy Jace's empire, the only way to survive is a fake relationship. A staged romance to control the media.
But fake feelings start to feel real.
As secrets unravel and enemies close in, both men must face their pasts, and the truth about what they've come to mean to each other.
8.8
After years trapped under the cruelty of her stepfather's control, Isabella knew the rules of surviving in a world ruled by men like Marco Deluca - never be noticed, never be wanted. But when she becomes a witness to something she was never meant to see, Vincenzo spares her life for reasons he doesn't understand.
Drawn to her quiet strength and fearless gaze, he finds himself willing to burn his empire to keep her safe. But loving him means stepping into a world that destroys everything it touches... and she might be the only thing he can't afford to lose.
9.0
I married the CEO of the powerful Powers Corporation, and everyone saw me as the perfect trophy wife. They assumed my days were filled with nothing but shopping on Fifth Avenue.
But this prestigious family was a house of cards. My husband's siblings were spoiled, useless children threatening to bring the entire empire down with their stupidity.
His brother, Braden, was a parasite who mistook his trust fund for "freedom." His sister, Chelsea, was a brainless socialite being used as a pawn in a public scandal by a con artist.
Even the family's ruthless Chief of Staff, a man meant to be their shield, looked at me with utter contempt, viewing me as just another problem to be managed.
They all saw a fragile doll. They had no idea that their weakness was an insult to the family name, and I was not going to stand for it.
It was time to discipline the children. The first lesson began at 3,000 feet, when I kicked my brother-in-law out of a plane mid-flight. His rehabilitation—and my takeover of this family—had just begun.
9.0
Once a pampered princess, Alaina now clutched a deactivated American Express card, staring out at Central Park. Her family’s fortune was gone, her life, over.
Her family's Hamptons estate, a four-generation legacy, was seized by Dyer Capital. The name hit her: Hardin Dyer, the poor boy she’d once scorned, had returned.
Hardin marched in, serving a divorce agreement. He'd orchestrated her family's downfall for revenge, giving her 24 hours to vacate his property. Penniless, her father faced prison, needing $50 million. Her mother forced her to beg Hardin, who sneered, offering the money for her body. Alaina ripped up the contract.
Hours later, her father had a heart attack. Desperate, she became "Lexi," a club girl enduring humiliation. In the Viper Room, Hardin's lackeys demanded she lick whiskey off his shoe for $10,000. Hardin watched. Outside, her brother Ashton's hand was threatened for a $3 million debt. Spirit shattered, Alaina returned, knelt on broken glass, offering to sign. But Hardin declared her family "dead," offering $10 million for her body, commanding her to use her mouth.
In a furious act of defiance, Alaina threw whiskey in his face, snatched the check, and fled. Yet, when he finally took her, a searing, foreign pain and blood on the sheets revealed a shocking truth: he had never touched her three years ago. Why had he let her believe such a monstrous lie?
7.6
I was the ultimate trophy wife, a polished ornament in Francisco Zimmerman’s billionaire empire. For three years, I perfected the "Zimmerman Wife Smile," playing the role of the devoted partner while smoothing the Egyptian cotton of his shirts.
The illusion shattered when I stood outside his study and heard him laughing with his mistress, Annalise.
"She’s just a vase that only knows how to smile," Francisco’s voice was cold, devoid of any warmth. "As long as I pay the maintenance fees on time, she stays obedient."
I walked out that night with nothing but a canvas bag and the clothes on my back. But Francisco wasn't finished with his "asset." He froze my bank accounts and used his massive influence to blacklist me from every interior design firm in New York. He tracked my phone, watching me struggle from the shadows, waiting for me to starve so I would crawl back to his mansion.
He even showed up at the dive bar where I was playing piano for rent money, mocking my desperation.
"You have technique, but no heart," he sneered, tossing a silver coin into my tip jar as if I were a beggar. "You're hollow, Iris. Just like your pride."
I couldn't believe this was the same man whose life I had saved during a bloody night in Macau. To him, I wasn't a wife; I was a stock price that needed stabilizing. The more I fought for my independence, the tighter he pulled the net, determined to break my spirit until I had no choice but to return to his gilded cage.
Then, the morning sickness hit. I realized I wasn't just carrying my own life anymore—I was carrying his heir. If Francisco found out, he would never let us go; he would turn my child into another "performance bonus" for his brand.
Looking at the sonogram, I knew a divorce would never be enough to escape a man who thought he owned the world.
"I'm not going back," I whispered, staring at his yacht moored in the harbor. "To save this baby, Iris Potter has to die."