Replaced By His First Love: My Son Wants A New Mommy

Malcom’s eyes moved across the galleria floor with practiced subtlety, scanning the crowd even as he maintained perfect attention on Mr. Chen’s questions. He wasn’t looking for Emily out of concern. He was looking for her out of calculation.

He needed to ensure she wouldn't show up and ruin an interaction that was currently going so smoothly. Emily had a particular talent for arriving at exactly the wrong moment with exactly the wrong expression—that wounded, searching look she carried around like a second handbag.

Mr. Chen was old money in the truest sense — traditional, family-oriented, and notoriously selective about who he partnered with. Malcom had studied him like a general studies his opponent. Family values were not just a preference for Mr. Chen; they were a requirement.

And Monica was excelling.

She stood beside him now, laughing softly at something Mrs. Chen had said, her arm lightly linked with the older woman’s. She looked every bit the elegant, well-traveled, poised wife.

Malcom hadn’t planned for her to appear, but he wasn’t surprised. Jason had a habit of telling Monica everything, and she had always possessed an uncanny talent for appearing exactly where she was needed.

Mrs. Chen had not let go of Monica’s arm in nearly ten minutes. The lunch invitation was another excellent sign. Mr. Chen had already laughed three times — genuine laughter, not the polite kind reserved for boardrooms.

Jason, sensing the atmosphere the way only children could, had straightened his posture and was behaving with surprising poise. When Mrs. Chen addressed him, he answered clearly and sweetly. The older woman had pressed a hand to her heart, visibly charmed.

Malcom allowed himself one quiet breath of relief.

As for Emily… he still hadn’t spotted her. Good. She had probably wandered off or returned to the car. She was excellent at disappearing quietly when the situation required it.

She would understand. She always did, eventually. This deal was too important.

Monica caught his eye briefly over Mrs. Chen’s shoulder. Something passed between them — not guilt, simply the quiet understanding of two people who had always fit together seamlessly. Malcom looked away first.

---

Several floors above the galleria, in the sleek executive suite of Luxe & Legacy Group, the afternoon moved with clinical precision.

It always did when an important man like Xavier was present.

Assistants straightened their postures. Directors spoke more carefully. Even the air seemed to hold its breath around the man who acquired companies the way other men collected rare art — deliberately, ruthlessly, and with absolute certainty of their future value.

Xavier was in the final stages of folding Luxe & Legacy into his growing empire. He had no intention of signing anything until he was personally satisfied.

As he passed the design review boardroom, something on the projection screen through the half-open door stopped him mid-stride.

The entire entourage behind him halted instantly.

Xavier pushed the door open without announcement. The room fell into immediate, tense silence.

He crossed to the screen, eyes locked on one particular design. A collar necklace of extraordinary beauty — gemstones arranged in a way that felt both architectural and organic, as if the piece had been grown rather than made. Beside it, a matching couture sketch that spoke to the same vision.

He picked up the nearest tablet and zoomed in, studying the clasp details, the stone cuts, and the precise handwritten notes in the margins about fabric weight and movement.

Something tugged at his memory.

“These designs,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Where did they come from?”

The creative director recovered first. “From an independent designer we’re reviewing, sir. She goes by Crystal professionally. We were discussing bringing her on as part of the acquisition package.”

Xavier’s eyes narrowed slightly. He knew that name.

He set the tablet down with deliberate care, then looked at the anxious executives.

“Would you be bringing the designer of that piece on board?” he asked.

“Absolutely, Mr. Vane,” the director assured him quickly. “We plan to offer her a full contract.”

Xavier was quiet for a long moment, the room hanging on his silence.

Finally, he gave a single, decisive nod.

“Bring her on. Full contract. Whatever terms she needs.” He turned toward the door. “And yes… we can proceed to the final stage of the acquisition.”

******

******

Emily

Her name, she informed me with great solemnity, was Amber.

"Amber," I repeated. "That's a beautiful name."

She considered this, apparently decided I had passed some preliminary assessment, and climbed more firmly into my lap with the unselfconscious confidence of a child who has decided she is staying.

She was perhaps four years old. Maybe five, but small for it. She had the kind of face that adults instinctively lean toward — enormous dark eyes, round cheeks still carrying the last softness of babyhood, and an expression of absolute candour that children lose somewhere around the age of seven when they begin to learn that honesty has social consequences. Her pigtails were listing badly to one side. Someone had tried with the ribbons and mostly failed.

She reached into the pocket of her little pinafore and produced a small cloth rabbit, slightly loved into shapelessness, and held it up for my inspection.

"This is Button," she said.

"Hello, Button," I said gravely.

Amber seemed very pleased by this.

The nanny hovered at a careful distance, having given up on extraction and settled into a posture of watchful resignation

​"Where are your parents, love?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle as I smoothed down one of her stray pigtails. "You can't just go around calling every woman you meet your mom."

​The words felt a little heavy in my throat as I said them. I knew firsthand how much it hurt when a child tried to give that title away to someone else; I knew that Amber's real mother, wherever she was, wouldn't like it. I had literally just watched my own son do it to me less than two hours ago.

​"I don't... have one..." Amber whispered, her bright eyes suddenly dropping to her tiny shoes.

​A sharp pang of sympathy hit me right in the chest. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry."

She looked up at me with those enormous eyes, and then, with the extraordinary resilience of children who have already made their peace with enormous things, she smiled.

Reached into her other pocket and produced a second item, a small plastic gem, faceted, the kind that comes in craft kits, bright as a ruby under the lobby lights.

She pressed it into my palm with great ceremony.

"For you," she said.

I closed my fingers around it. "Thank you, Amber. I'll keep it safe."

She nodded, satisfied, and settled more deeply against me.

"I don't like her," she said then, in a smaller voice, almost a mumble into Button's ear. "So I ran."

I didn't have to ask who she meant. I looked up.

The woman walking toward us was absolutely stunning. She possessed the kind of fierce, striking beauty that belonged on a high-fashion runway—impeccable tailoring, perfect posture, and a face that was engineered for a camera. She looked like a supermodel who would be brilliant at her job, but the moment her cold, irritated gaze landed on the child, it was glaringly obvious that she was completely inept with children.

​This woman was clearly the reason Amber had bolted.

​"I don't like her," Amber muttered again, shrinking back slightly and hiding her face against my blazer.

​"There you are, Amber," the woman said, her voice smooth but entirely devoid of warmth. She stopped in front of us, crossing her arms as she looked down at the little girl, completely ignoring my presence. "Come on, we can go now. If you behave, I'll take you to get that ice cream you wanted."

​She threw out the offers like a corporate negotiator trying to settle a minor dispute, but Amber wasn't buying it. The little girl stubbornly tightened her grip on my arm, shaking her head.

​Seeing the child's blatant resistance, the stunning woman rapidly lost her patience. The beautiful facade cracked, revealing a harsh, ugly annoyance underneath.

She snapped her fingers and looked sharply at the nanny. "Grab her and bring her to the car. We don't have time for another one of her tantrums."

​The nanny flinched and stepped forward to pull Amber away. Seeing the genuine distress on the little girl's face, I couldn't just sit there

"Wait," I said, before I could stop myself.

The woman looked at me. It was not a warm look.

"She's clearly not comfortable," I said carefully.

"Perhaps if we just give her a moment—"

"I appreciate the concern," the woman said, in a tone that appreciated nothing of the sort.

"But this really isn't any of your business, is it?"

It was said pleasantly enough. The pleasantness made it worse.

The nanny stepped forward and gently but firmly detached Amber from my arm. Amber went without screaming, which somehow made it sadder — she simply went still and small the way a child does when they already know resistance won't work.

Mom!" Amber cried once.

​I took a step forward, my protective instincts flaring up, but the receptionist at the front desk gently caught my attention.

​"Miss Crystal," the woman said kindly, her voice low and cautionary as she guided me away from the scene.

"I think it's best you let things be. Her father is incredibly influential in this city and in this very building. I know for a fact that she will be well taken care of, but getting involved will only cause trouble for you."

​She gave me a meaningful look, silently reminding me of why I was standing in this lobby in the first place.

I was here to secure a lifeline for my dormant career. I couldn't afford a public scandal with an elite tycoon before I even had a foot in the door.

​I looked down the hall, watching the stunning woman stride away without a single backward glance at the crying child.

She was his girlfriend, clearly, but she didn't care about Amber. She only cared about the man who held the influence.

I let out a long, heavy sigh, my chest aching with a familiar, suffocating feeling of helplessness.

​"Miss Crystal?"

​A sharp, professional voice broke through the fog of my thoughts, tearing my eyes away from the empty hallway.

"I apologise for the wait. The board has reviewed your collection and they'd like to move to a collaboration agreement today, if you're available." She smiled — a real one. "They were quite unanimous, which I'm told is something of a record."

I stood. Smoothed my blazer. Straightened my spine.

Was this for real?

But it was.

The folder in my arms was heavy.

I wasn't dreaming.

Clutching the folder to my chest, I pushed through the glass revolving doors. The crisp afternoon air hit my face, and for the first time in an eternity, I could breathe.

Then, a panicked scream shattered the city noise.

"Amber! No! Stop!"

My head snapped toward the sound. Amber had broken away from her nanny again, Her lopsided pigtails flew wildly in the wind as she ran blindly.

At that exact second, a sleek, black luxury sedan rounded the corner, accelerating aggressively.

The driver couldn't see her on time she was too small, hidden by the concrete pillars.

She stepped straight off the curb into its direct path.

"Amber!" The name tore from my throat.​