I’m The Spoiled Princess With Three Dads Chapter 01

I’m The Spoiled Princess With Three Dads Chapter 01

My name is Lily Hart, and I’m the most spoiled five-year-old princess in Crescent City.

I have three dads.

It started when my mom used a fertility clinic that mixed up the sample labels.

Three donors’ specimens got combined, so any one of them could be my biological father.

We tried paternity tests three times.

All three came back as “lab errors.”

The court finally handed down something unprecedented: joint legal custody with equal parenting time. Three dads, one me.

Big Dad Jonathan Hart is a real estate mogul. He bought me an entire floor in the Lakeshore District as my personal playroom.

Dad Two Michael Reeves is a top-tier litigator. When I hit a kid in kindergarten, he wrote a twenty-page liability waiver and handed it to the kid’s parents.

Doc Dad Dr. Daniel Pierce is a brilliant surgeon. I scraped my knee once, and he rolled out three different surgical units just to clean it.

Three houses on rotation, three cars picking me up, three platinum cards with no preset limits. If I asked for the moon, they’d figure out how to lasso it.

Until one day, while I was watching cartoons, text started floating across the screen.

[This biological daughter is way too high-maintenance. No wonder all three dads fall for the foster daughter later.]

[Exactly. The foster daughter’s so well-behaved. She rubs Jonathan’s shoulders. She brings Michael tea. What does Lily do? Just spends money.]

[Chapter thirty-eight, when Lily gets sent to boarding school—I cried. Not one dad came to get her.]

[The foster daughter wins everything in the end. Inherits all three estates. Lily doesn’t even get invited to the funeral.]

I stared at the screen. My potato chips scattered all over the floor.

The next morning, when Big Dad’s driver came for me, I didn’t lie in bed yelling “five more minutes, no, ten.”

I got dressed by myself. I pulled my hair into a lopsided ponytail—crooked as a bent nail. I put on my own backpack.

At lunch, when Dad Two brought my meal, I didn’t pick through it like I usually did. I ate every bite, even the broccoli.

That evening, Doc Dad picked me up. I didn’t beg to go to the toy store. I didn’t ask to ride on his shoulders. I just took his hand and walked home quietly.

That night, the three dads held an emergency video call.

“Something’s wrong with Lily.”

“We need to figure this out.”

“Did someone say something to her?”

Sophie Warren didn’t know any of this.

She’d already arranged for a kid at kindergarten to whisper to me, “Your three dads are going to stop loving you real soon!”

She was already on their radar before she even made her move.

—

That evening, I was curled up in the beanbag chair in Doc Dad’s living room.

The coffee table was loaded with snacks—chips, Jell-O cups, cherries, pudding cups. Every single one had been my request.

The TV showed pigs jumping in mud puddles. Every time they jumped, my feet swung along.

The housekeeper brought me warm milk with honey. “Come on, little princess, have some milk. Don’t just eat snacks.”

“No.” I buried my face in a throw pillow. “I want bubble tea. Brown sugar with boba.”

She sighed and sent someone out to get it.

I felt pretty pleased with myself, crunching on chips and reaching for a second bag when more text drifted across the TV screen.

[This biological daughter is so obnoxious.]

I froze. Huh? Who’s talking?

I was alone in the living room. I thought I was seeing things, so I took a sip of milk.

Then more text appeared.

[Exactly. The foster daughter’s so much more considerate. Lily just eats and spends and throws tantrums.]

[The foster sister is the real angel.]

[Later all three dads favor the foster daughter. Serves her right.]

[The saddest part is when Lily gets sent off to boarding school.]

My little hand trembled. Chips scattered everywhere.

I didn’t fully understand what “foster daughter” meant. But I knew what “boarding school” was.

That chubby kid in my class who always cried—he got sent to some “boarding” place, and came back skinny and quiet.

[None of the dads showed up for her.]

[Serves her right. She was such a brat.]

Those words floated and floated until my eyes went blurry.

I hugged my pillow and sat on the floor, my bottom lip slowly pushing out.

Doc Dad, Dad Two, Big Dad… they were going to stop wanting me?

They’d like a “foster sister” instead?

Someone who rubbed shoulders and brought tea and ate quietly—not like me, who only made noise and cried and asked for things.

My eyes burned. I held it in.

The text said I was too spoiled. So I’d stop being spoiled.

I put away the snacks one bag at a time, neatly back in the cupboard. I drank the milk—honey-sweet, but today it tasted bitter.

At dinner, Doc Dad came out of his study and stopped short in the living room.

“…Lily?”

“Yeah.” I slid off the couch and walked over shyly. “Doc Dad, I’m hungry.”

Daniel stared at the spotless coffee table for a solid three seconds. Then he crouched down and touched my forehead. “Are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you making a fuss?”

“I…” The words got stuck.

Doc Dad’s eyes curved like little crescent moons. I didn’t want him to stop loving me. “I want to be a good girl,” I whispered.

Daniel froze. I thought he’d smile. But he didn’t.

He picked me up, holding me tight, and pressed his nose against my messy ponytail. “…Lily. You’re acting too good today. That’s not normal.”

That night, I didn’t let the housekeeper stay with me. I wrapped myself tight in my blanket and let two tears slip onto the pillow.

I wiped them off right away—didn’t want anyone to find out.

Next morning, Big Dad’s driver came for me.

I didn’t yell “five more minutes!” like I always did. I put on my dress myself—missed two buttons but was too scared to call for help.

I did my own ponytail, all crooked like it’d been chewed by a dog.

Driver Frank waited by the door for twenty minutes. When he saw me walk out with my backpack on, his glasses nearly slid off his face.

At noon, Dad Two brought lunch to kindergarten. I used to hate broccoli—always picked it out and stuffed it into his pockets.

Today, I ate every single grain of rice. Michael stared at the empty lunch box like he’d seen a ghost.

That evening, Doc Dad picked me up. I didn’t ask for the toy store. Didn’t ask for a shoulder ride. Just held his hand in silence. His palm was sweating.

At ten o’clock, the three men hopped on a video call.

“Something’s wrong with Lily.”

“She did her own buttons—didn’t ask for help until the third one.”

“She ate the broccoli.”

“She told me she wants to be a good girl.”

Three faces darkened like a storm front.

“Did someone say something to her?”

“Find out. Now.”

They didn’t know that at that exact moment, a white sedan was pulling into Big Dad’s garage.