The Villainess Stepmother's Ruthless New Life

The limousine ride to the Sterling Estate was silent.

The partition was up, separating them from the driver. Jones stared out the window at the passing blur of Manhattan.

Gloria pulled out her phone. She needed to assess the damage.

She opened her banking app. FaceID logged her in.

Checking Account: $500.42.

Gloria stared at the screen. Five hundred dollars. Not five hundred thousand. Just five hundred.

Panic clawed at her throat. The memories of the gambling debts were real. Five million dollars owed to people who didn't send polite letters. They sent men with baseball bats.

She was broke. She was married to a billionaire, and she couldn't afford a decent pair of shoes. With trembling fingers, she quickly opened a browser, navigated to a high-end children's outfitter, and ordered the most ridiculously over-engineered backpack she could find, along with a matching set of platinum-plated pens. She selected 'Rush Delivery: 30 minutes' and paid with her Amex, praying it wouldn't be declined. The lie had to become the truth before Arthur got home.

The car slowed, turning through the massive iron gates of the Sterling Estate.

The limestone mansion loomed ahead, a fortress of wealth and coldness.

The car stopped. The driver opened the door.

Gloria stepped out. The staff was lined up on the steps to greet them.

Mrs. Higgins, the head nanny, looked distressed. Her uniform was disheveled, and there was a stain on her apron that looked suspiciously like chocolate sauce.

"Madam," Higgins said, wringing her hands. "Master Gustavo is... home early."

Gloria remembered the plot. Gustavo was kicked out of preschool today for biting another child.

Crash.

The sound of shattering porcelain echoed from the foyer.

Gloria winced. That sounded expensive.

She walked up the steps, Jones trailing behind her.

Inside, the foyer was a war zone.

A Ming vase-or what used to be a Ming vase-lay in shards on the black and white marble floor.

Standing in the center of the destruction was a five-year-old boy.

Gustavo Sterling.

He was chubby, red-faced, and currently holding a cricket bat that was almost as big as he was.

"I wanted ice cream!" he shrieked. The sound was piercing.

Jones rolled his eyes and headed for the stairs, trying to bypass the chaos.

Gustavo saw him.

"I hate you!" Gustavo yelled.

He grabbed a heavy die-cast toy car from the floor and hurled it.

It wasn't a toddler's weak throw. It was fueled by rage.

The metal car sailed through the air and struck Jones squarely on the shin.

Thwack.

Jones stumbled, his face twisting in pain. He didn't cry out, but he stopped moving. He looked down at his brother with a mixture of resignation and loathing.

In the book, Gloria would have scolded Jones for being in the line of fire. She would have cooed over Gustavo and given him the ice cream.

Gloria felt a surge of anger. It wasn't at Jones. It was at the monster standing in the middle of the room.

She dropped her purse. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

The sound startled Gustavo. He looked at her, bat raised.

"Gustavo Sterling!" she barked.

The staff gasped. Mrs. Higgins covered her mouth. Madam never raised her voice at the Little Emperor.

Gustavo stopped screaming. He blinked, confused.

Gloria marched over to him. Her heels clicked like gunshots on the marble.

She didn't stop until she was towering over him.

She snatched the cricket bat from his hands. He was too shocked to hold onto it.

She tossed the bat onto a sofa.

"Pick up the car," she ordered. Her voice was low and dangerous.

Gustavo blinked again. His bottom lip wobbled. "No! You pick it up!"

He stomped his foot. "I want ice cream!"

Gloria loomed over him, her shadow engulfing his small form.

"Pick. It. Up."