Save That Evil Billionaire And Her Stepson

Aileen woke to pale sunlight filtering through the curtains. The alcohol had done its job—her head was pounding, but her mind was sharp.

Morning light spilled across the massive dining room.

Aileen walked through the archway. She had showered and changed into a simple silk slip dress.

Archer was sitting at the far end of the long mahogany table. He was wearing a dark, custom-tailored dress shirt. He was reading the financial section of the newspaper.

Aileen's steps slowed down. Her heart started a heavy, rhythmic thumping against her ribs.

Archer heard her heels clicking against the marble floor. He didn't look up. He didn't even shift his gaze. He completely ignored her existence.

Aileen pulled out a heavy dining chair at the opposite end of the table, putting as much physical distance between them as possible. She sat down.

The butler appeared silently at her side. He placed a cup of black coffee and a plate of dry toast in front of her.

Aileen looked up. "Thank you—"

A blaring, red warning siren exploded in her brain. Warning! Out of Character behavior detected!

Aileen snapped her mouth shut. She forced the polite smile off her face, replacing it with a mask of pure ice.

She raised her right hand and shoved the bone china coffee cup away from her.

She pushed it hard. The dark brown coffee sloshed over the rim, splashing violently across the pristine white French tablecloth.

The loud clatter of the cup hitting the saucer echoed in the quiet room.

Archer finally lowered his newspaper.

His gray-blue eyes locked onto her. They were freezing cold, filled with a heavy, calculating scrutiny.

Aileen dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands under the table. She forced her eyebrows to pull together in a deep scowl.

"It's too hot." she snapped, making sure her voice sounded shrill and demanding.

Archer's lips curled into a slow, mocking sneer. "What pathetic game are you playing today for attention?"

Aileen's palms were slick with sweat. She kept her chin tilted up, maintaining the arrogant posture.

"The service in this house is a joke," she fired back, her tone dripping with condescension. "I've seen third-rate Hollywood sets with better catering."

The mention of Hollywood changed the air in the room. The disgust in Archer's eyes deepened, turning into something dark and volatile.

He stood up abruptly. He slammed the newspaper down onto the table.

He ripped the linen napkin from his collar and tossed it onto the coffee-stained tablecloth like it was garbage.

Archer walked toward her. His long legs covered the distance in seconds. The physical presence of the man was suffocating.

Aileen's body screamed at her to lean back, to run, but she locked her ankles around the legs of her chair and stayed put.

Archer stopped right beside her. He placed both hands on the back of her chair and leaned down, trapping her in his shadow.

He lowered his head until his mouth was inches from her ear. "If you ever throw another tantrum in front of my son," he whispered, his voice dropping to a lethal, quiet register, "I will drag you to the asylum myself."

Aileen bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper. She tilted her head up, meeting his furious gaze without blinking.

"I carried him for nine months," she spat back. "He's my son."

Archer let out a harsh, breathy laugh that held absolutely no humor. He pushed off her chair, standing up straight.

He didn't look at her again. He turned and walked out of the dining room, his strides long and angry. As he crossed the threshold, the sneer vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, calculating frown. He couldn't figure out what new angle she was playing, but he made a mental note to have his security team tighten their surveillance; the Riggs family reputation could not afford another one of her public, unhinged scandals.

Aileen watched his broad back disappear down the hallway. The moment he was out of sight, her shoulders slumped.

She opened her hands under the table. Her palms were covered in sweat, and four deep, red crescent moons were dug into her skin.

She stared down at the ruined white tablecloth. A heavy wave of exhaustion washed over her.

She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and looked up at the terrified butler.

"Pour me another cup." she ordered coldly.