The Billionaire And His Son Want Me Back by Juliette Vaughan

Chapter 1

"Mrs. Vanderbilt, the food's gone cold again. Should I reheat it?" The housekeeper's cautious tone carried a hint of impatience as she glanced at Paisley Sutton.

Paisley sat alone at the large dining table, the vast space around her amplifying her solitude. She glanced at the time and then at the housekeeper, whose frustration was over her face. "Just clear it away," said Paisley with a faint smile that barely masked her weariness.

It was her birthday today, yet neither her husband nor son had bothered to come home. The stark absence of their presence made the silence in the room deafening.

The housekeeper began clearing the table with swift, almost annoyed movements, muttering under her breath, "Mrs. Vanderbilt, not to be rude, but why go to all this trouble? You knew neither your husband nor your son would be back tonight, yet you insisted on preparing a whole feast.

"Reheating this food three times tonight? It's exhausting. Honestly, as a wife and mother, you're not exactly winning any awards. Otherwise, why would they both avoid you like this?"

"You're right. I've failed spectacularly," Paisley replied with a bitter smile. The words stung, but she no longer had the strength to argue. In this house, even the housekeeper had no qualms about being openly dismissive toward her.

She understood that the housekeeper's attitude mirrored the Vanderbilt family's treatment of her. She scoffed internally, 'If my husband and son don't respect me, why would anyone else?'

Seeing Paisley's quiet despair, the housekeeper softened slightly, a flicker of pity crossing her face. With a sigh, she muttered, "People always cling to things that don't belong to them. If I were you, I'd let go. Let it all go. You'd be doing yourself a favor-and maybe even others."

Paisley didn't respond, but the words lingered, sinking deep into her mind like stones dropped into a still pond.

The room remained quiet, save for the clinking of dishes being cleared away. The chandelier overhead cast a soft, golden glow, but it only emphasized how hollow the space felt. Paisley's chest tightened, her heart weighed down by the emptiness she'd grown accustomed to.

The housekeeper finished clearing the table and retreated to her quarters, leaving the vast dining room eerily silent.

Paisley turned off all the lights, her movements slow and deliberate, as if each step required effort. Cradling the cake box, she climbed the grand staircase and returned to her bedroom. The space was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into her soul rather than her skin.

She settled onto the plush sofa by the window, the moonlight spilling in faintly, casting soft shadows on the walls.

Carefully, she opened the cake box. Inside was a delicately crafted dessert meant for celebration, though the atmosphere couldn't feel less festive.

She removed the cake, placed a single candle on top, and lit it. The flickering flame reflected in her tired eyes in an overwhelming darkness.

Just as she was about to gather her thoughts, a sharp WhatsApp message shattered the silence in the room. The sound was jarring in the quiet space, its abruptness making her heart jump. She hesitantly reached for her phone, only to find it was a video message.

She clicked on it, and the screen revealed a scene from a VIP hospital suite. Her husband, Dominick Vanderbilt, and her young son, Grayson Vanderbilt, sat by the bedside of a gorgeous, frail-looking woman. Paisley recognized her instantly. It was Marissa Prescott, Dominick's childhood sweetheart, to whom Dominick had once been engaged. This video was from her.

"Dom, I'm so sorry to keep you here so late," Marissa's weak voice came through, punctuated by soft, deliberate coughs.

Dominick replied, his tone warm and gentle, with a tenderness Paisley hadn't

all day,' Paisley thought, a faint, self-deprecating smile curling her lips. She couldn't even remember the last time Dominick had spoken to her

twisted in her chest as she wondered when his voice, once a source of comfort, had turned into a weapon. Now, it seemed, every

the video. His small, chubby body crawled up onto the bed, snuggling into Marissa's arms.

"I love having Marissa around. I wish she was my mommy." The

as she set the phone down. The candle on the

almost a whisper. "Happy birthday to me." Dominick returned home well past midnight. The house was

the master bedroom, his steps brisk and

neatly packed suitcase, and on the low coffee table in front of her lay a divorce

clipped and

feel the tension between them crackle like static in the air. She didn't have the energy to entertain his accusations, nor did she

her ground, her voice quiet but unwavering, "Dominick, I

as he loosened his tie and tossed it

the small cake sitting on the coffee

birthday today?" His tone carried faint disbelief, laced with a trace of guilt. He'd forgotten,

divorce agreement closer to him, her expression unwavering. "Sign it. Let's

were the one making a scene. "Why?" he demanded, his tone accusatory. "Because I forgot your birthday? Don't you think that's a

agreement with a hint of mockery in his

one page at a time,

sneered, "You ask for nothing? You're going to leave empty-handed? Paisley,

Paisley's lips, though her heart felt heavier with every

in Harrowfell, no place to go. That's why he's so confident, so sure he can keep draining me of every last

venom, 'What an arrogant, self-satisfied

calm, her

mirthless laugh. "Where I go is none of your concern. All you need to do is sign the

you really thought this through?" She didn't

like a blow. For a moment, Dominick faltered, his mind clouded with a fleeting sense of unease. Her once-soft eyes

and massaged his temple, the weariness in his expression growing more pronounced. "Fine. Divorce it is," he said, his tone heavy with frustration. "But

Paisley could react, a small voice pierced the tension. Grayson had woken at some point and now dashed into the room, clutching Dominick's

little face twisted with anger as he yelled, "I'm staying with

snapped, his voice sharp enough to

words tumbling out in a storm of emotions. "You're just a useless housewife. Grandma and

you hadn't come between Daddy and Marissa,