Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 08

Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 08: The Starving Parasites

“Mom!”

A frantic voice shattered the quiet evening air. I stopped on the pavement, just a few yards from the entrance of my new high-rise apartment building.

Liam lunged from behind a concrete pillar. Mia trailed right behind him, dragging a scuffed designer suitcase across the concrete.

I took a sharp step backward. My eyes swept over them, taking in their disheveled appearances.

Liam wore a stained graphic hoodie. His usually immaculate hair stuck up in greasy tufts. Mia looked even worse. Her mascara smeared beneath her eyes, and her expensive silk blouse hung wrinkled and uneven.

They looked nothing like the polished, arrogant teenagers who had mocked me just two days ago.

“Where have you been?” Liam demanded, his voice cracking. “We’ve been waiting out here for three hours!”

“The doorman wouldn’t let us inside,” Mia whined. She pointed a shaking finger at the glass lobby doors. “He said we weren’t on the guest list.”

“You aren’t,” I stated.

I did not move toward them. I did not offer a hug. I kept my posture rigid and my expression cold and unreadable.

“We need your credit card,” Liam ordered, stepping closer. “The hotel kicked us out at noon. My card declined at the front desk.”

“Go home,” I said simply.

“We can’t!” Mia shrieked. “Chloe locked the apartment door on us! She packed our bags and shoved them into the hallway!”

“She said Dad’s accounts are frozen and she isn’t running a charity,” Liam added. His face flushed with anger. “That woman is a complete psycho. She actually threw a vase at me!”

“She yelled at me for using her expensive shampoo,” Mia sobbed. “You need to pay for a suite at the Plaza right now. I am exhausted.”

I stared at the two of them. They did not ask how I was doing. They did not apologize for the lies. The only thing they cared about was their immediate comfort.

“Ask your father to book the room,” I suggested.

“Dad is in jail!” Liam screamed, throwing his arms up. “The police won’t even let us see him! We have absolutely nowhere to go!”

“That sounds like a logistical issue,” I replied.

“You’re our mother!” Mia cried out. She stomped her foot against the pavement.

“Am I?” I tilted my head.

I smiled. A genuine, bright smile formed on my face. The sheer audacity of their demands actually amused me.

Liam reached out to grab my coat sleeve. The yellow glow of the streetlamp caught the silver face of his Rolex.

Mia wiped her running nose with the back of her hand, flashing her diamond-studded Cartier bracelet.

My vision zeroed in on those expensive watches.

I remembered the exact weeks I bought them. I sat at my home office desk until three in the morning, balancing nightmare corporate ledgers to earn extra commission. I gave myself migraines staring at spreadsheets so my teenagers could wear luxury on their wrists.

I looked at their outstretched fingers. The illusion shattered completely.

These were not my children. They were leeches. Blood-sucking parasites demanding their next meal.

“Give me your phone,” Liam ordered, his tone shifting from panic to pure entitlement. “I’ll transfer the money myself. Just unlock your banking app.”

“Touch me,” I warned softly, “and I will have you arrested for assault.”

Liam froze. His hand hovered inches from my arm. He saw the cold, dead emptiness in my eyes and finally backed away.

“Mom, please,” Mia begged, her voice dropping. “I’m hungry. We haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Chloe knows how to cook,” I answered. “Have her bake you a roast.”

“I hate her!” Mia yelled. “She called us spoiled brats!”

“She isn’t wrong.”

“Dad said you stole everything!” Liam shouted. He pointed an accusatory finger at my face. “He said you drained the accounts on purpose!”

“Your father is a thief,” I corrected him. “I merely took back what belonged to me.”

“Half that money belongs to us!” Mia shrieked. “We deserve our trust funds!”

“Not a single penny belongs to you.”

I raised my right hand and snapped my fingers.

Two massive security guards in black suits immediately pushed through the glass lobby doors. They marched down the front steps, their expressions grim.

“Ma’am, is there a problem?” the taller guard asked, positioning himself between me and the teenagers.

“These two are trespassing,” I instructed. “Keep them behind the perimeter line.”

“Yes, Ms. Miller.”

The guards stepped forward. They grabbed Liam and Mia by their shoulders, forcefully shoving them backward toward the public sidewalk.

“Get your hands off me!” Liam roared, struggling against the guard’s iron grip.

“Mom, stop them!” Mia wailed. She tripped over her suitcase, scraping her knee against the concrete.

I watched her stumble. I felt absolutely nothing. No urge to help. No motherly instinct to soothe her pain. The emotional core inside me had turned to solid ice.

“You smiled for the camera,” I reminded them. My voice carried clearly over their shouting. “You held her bastard son on the beach. You covered up his affair for months.”

Liam stopped struggling. He stared at me in horror.

“You changed mothers a long time ago,” I said smoothly. “Go ask her for your allowance.”

“You’re a monster!” Mia shrieked from the sidewalk. “I hate you! I wish you were dead!”

I turned my back on them.

My shoes tapped against the pavement as I walked away. I ignored the chaotic screaming fading behind me. The glass doors slid open, welcoming me into the quiet, temperature-controlled sanctuary of the building.

The lobby smelled of fresh lilies and expensive floor wax.

I walked straight toward the private elevator bank.

Sebastian Thorne stood waiting by the brass call button. He wore a sharp navy suit today, his posture relaxed as he leaned against the marble wall.

“A brutal show out there,” Sebastian noted. His dark eyes studied my face for any sign of regret.

“Parasites don’t deserve pity,” I replied.

“You didn’t flinch once.”

“I ran out of tears yesterday.”

Sebastian pushed off the wall. He reached into his leather briefcase resting on a nearby console table.

“Your son has a terrible temper,” Sebastian remarked. “He takes after his father.”

“Julian is rotting in a holding cell,” I said. “He can’t coddle them anymore.”

“About that,” Sebastian murmured. His tone shifted, losing its casual edge.

He pulled a thick manila envelope from his bag. He held it out to me.

I took the envelope. The paper felt heavy in my hands. “What is this?”

“Julian made his first move from jail,” Sebastian explained.

“He doesn’t have a dime for a lawyer.”

“He secured a public defender. A very aggressive one.”

I ripped the top of the envelope open. I pulled out a stack of legal documents stamped with the county court seal.

“He filed an emergency motion an hour ago,” Sebastian said, his gaze locking onto mine.

I scanned the bold text at the top of the first page. The legal jargon blurred together for a second before the true meaning snapped into focus.

“Custody?” I whispered, my brow furrowing in confusion.

“Julian plans to use child custody to blackmail you into dropping the corporate fraud charges,” Sebastian stated flatly.