The Billionaire's Stepsister and His Broken Wife

The Billionaire's Stepsister and His Broken Wife

Rabbit

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My husband's stepsister locked my five-year-old son in a car under the brutal summer sun. He was barely conscious when I found him, his small face streaked with tears and sweat. The doctors said a few more minutes could have been fatal. But my husband, Coleman, wasn't worried about our son. He was worried about his stepsister, Casey. He ordered me to go to a party with her that night, to smile for the cameras and tell everyone it was just a simple, regrettable accident. "A scandal like this could ruin her career," he said, his voice cold. He called our son "resilient" and my horror "dramatic." When I refused, he leaned in close, his voice a vicious whisper for my ears only. "Have you ever once wondered why I married you? You were the perfect object lesson. The perfect, stable, boring tool." Our marriage, our life, our son... it was all a performance. A long, elaborate piece of theater designed to make his stepsister jealous. The world stopped. Then, a cold, sharp clarity took its place. I looked him in the eye and said, "Okay. I'll go. I'll do exactly as you ask." He just didn't know that I was going to be the perfect wife one last time. And that the first thing I did when I walked into our house was call the most ruthless divorce lawyer in the city.

Chapter 1 No.1

My husband's stepsister locked my five-year-old son in a car under the brutal summer sun. He was barely conscious when I found him, his small face streaked with tears and sweat. The doctors said a few more minutes could have been fatal.

But my husband, Coleman, wasn't worried about our son. He was worried about his stepsister, Casey. He ordered me to go to a party with her that night, to smile for the cameras and tell everyone it was just a simple, regrettable accident.

"A scandal like this could ruin her career," he said, his voice cold. He called our son "resilient" and my horror "dramatic."

When I refused, he leaned in close, his voice a vicious whisper for my ears only.

"Have you ever once wondered why I married you? You were the perfect object lesson. The perfect, stable, boring tool."

Our marriage, our life, our son... it was all a performance. A long, elaborate piece of theater designed to make his stepsister jealous.

The world stopped. Then, a cold, sharp clarity took its place.

I looked him in the eye and said, "Okay. I'll go. I'll do exactly as you ask."

He just didn't know that I was going to be the perfect wife one last time. And that the first thing I did when I walked into our house was call the most ruthless divorce lawyer in the city.

Chapter 1

The air in the Mercedes was thick and silent, heavier than the summer heat outside.

Blair Clark sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. Her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white.

In the rearview mirror, she could see her son, Leo. He was five. His face was pale, his small chest still rising and falling a little too fast. His favorite blue dinosaur toy lay forgotten on the seat beside him.

An hour ago, Casey had locked him in her car under the brutal summer sun.

He'd been flushed, his small face streaked with tears and sweat, barely conscious when Blair found him.

Now, Casey was sniffing softly in the back seat, leaning against Coleman.

"I just forgot," Casey whispered, her voice trembling. "The call was so important, and I just... I forgot he was there. I feel so awful."

Coleman, Blair's husband, murmured back to her. His voice was a low, soothing rumble that Blair knew was never meant for her. "It was an accident, Casey. That's all. He's fine now."

He didn't look at Blair. He hadn't looked at her since they left the emergency room.

The doctor had said Leo was lucky. A few more minutes could have been fatal. Dehydration. Heatstroke.

Blair's entire body was a single, rigid line of tension. She felt nothing. It was a terrifying, hollow space where panic and rage should have been.

Coleman finally turned his head, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. His expression was cold, impatient.

"Casey feels terrible enough as it is," he said. His voice was clipped. "There's no need to make it worse."

Blair didn't answer. She just kept staring at the road.

He took that as defiance.

"Blair. She's my sister. She made a mistake."

Stepsister, Blair thought. They weren't blood. A fact that seemed to matter to no one but her.

The car pulled into their long, gravel driveway. The house was large and modern, all glass and sharp angles. It had been her dream home once. Now it felt like a cage.

Before Coleman could even turn off the engine, he was speaking again.

"Casey has a brand event tonight. She's the guest of honor. It's important for her image."

He paused, waiting.

Blair remained silent.

"People talk," he continued, his voice hardening. "Rumors are already starting. A 'family emergency.' We need to get ahead of this."

"Get ahead of it?" Blair finally spoke. Her own voice sounded foreign, brittle.

"Yes. You'll go with her. You'll smile for the cameras. You'll stand by her side and show everyone that we are a united family. That it was a simple, regrettable accident."

The hollow space inside her began to fill. It was a cold, creeping sensation, like ice water filling her veins.

"You want me to go to a party," she said, flatly. "After what happened to our son."

"I want you to protect this family," he shot back, his voice rising. "Casey's career is taking off. A scandal like this could ruin her. Do you understand what that would do to her? To my father's memory? He loved her like his own."

His deceased father. The man he worshipped. The ultimate justification for everything.

"She almost killed our son, Coleman."

"Don't be dramatic," he snapped. "He's fine. A little shaken up. Kids are resilient."

Casey started crying again in the back, loud, theatrical sobs. "I'm so sorry, Coleman. I didn't mean it. Blair, please, I'm so sorry."

Coleman's face softened instantly as he looked at her in the mirror. He then turned back to Blair, his expression once again like stone.

"You will do this," he said. It wasn't a request. "You will go and you will fix this. You're good at that. It's what a perfect wife would do."

His words hung in the air. The perfect wife. The perfect partner. The founder of her own successful marketing firm, who had put her career on hold to raise their son and support his ambitions. The woman who knew how to smooth over any crisis.

That was her role. Her function.

She looked at him then, really looked at him. The handsome face, the sharp suit. The man she had loved with a blinding, all-consuming passion. The man she had believed was her partner, her savior after her own family had imploded. He had promised her a lifetime of stability. A fortress against the world.

"And if I don't?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet.

His jaw tightened. He leaned across the console, his face close to hers. The smell of his expensive cologne was suffocating.

"Have you ever once wondered why I married you?" he hissed, his voice low and vicious, for her ears only. "So smart, so capable, so... stable."

He practically spat the last word.

"Casey needed a push. To see what a real partnership looked like. I needed to show her what she was missing. You were the perfect object lesson. The perfect, stable, boring tool."

The world stopped.

The hum of the engine, the sound of Casey's crying, the chirping of crickets outside-it all faded away into a deafening roar in her ears.

He had never loved her.

Their marriage, their life, their son... it was all a performance. A long, elaborate piece of theater designed for an audience of one. For Casey.

The coldness in her veins solidified. It became something hard. Something sharp.

She saw everything with a sudden, brutal clarity. The way he always took Casey's side. The "business trips" that were actually vacations with his stepsister. The endless stream of money and attention he poured into Casey's social media career.

It wasn't just a preference. It was the entire point.

She was the prop. Leo was a prop.

A faint smile touched Blair's lips. It was a horrifying, empty thing.

"Okay," she said.

Coleman blinked, taken aback by her sudden compliance.

"Okay," she repeated, her voice steady now. "I'll go. I'll do exactly as you ask."

She would be the perfect wife. One last time.

She got out of the car, walked into the silent, cold house, and went straight to her office. She closed the door, her hands moving with a calm, deliberate purpose. She pulled out her personal laptop, not the one he sometimes used.

She opened a browser and typed a name into the search bar.

A top divorce lawyer in the city. One known for being a shark. For handling high-conflict, high-asset cases.

She dialed the number.

A crisp, professional voice answered. "Law offices of Amelia Vance. How may I help you?"

Blair's voice was a whisper, but it was unwavering.

"I need to make an appointment," she said. "As soon as possible. My name is Blair Clark."

She was declaring war. He just didn't know it yet.

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