I Raised His 99 Children to Save My Son Chapter 01

I Raised His 99 Children to Save My Son Chapter 01

On the seventh year of my marriage to Westshire City’s notorious playboy Kian Steele, he had fathered ninety-nine bastards with different women.

Together, they formed the most infamous institution in the city—Steele Academy Preschool.

I raised every one of those children myself. I built their lives from the ground up and became headmistress of that preschool.

The front page of The Westshire Insider changed week after week. They called me insane, obsessed, a woman so desperate to keep Kian Steele that I’d willingly degrade myself to become the dumping ground for his illegitimate offspring.

No one knew the truth.

I swallowed seven years of humiliation and disgrace for one reason only—to save my dying son. The boy lying in a hospital bed, hanging by a thread.

Kian and I had an agreement. He could do whatever he wanted, sleep with whoever he wanted. Just leave the cord bl0od behind to save my son.

On my son’s seventh birthday, Kian walked through the gate of Steele Mansion without warning. A pregn@nt woman hung off his arm.

“Camille’s fragile. I can’t have her living just anywhere,” he said, “From now on, you’ll serve her personally during her pregnancy.”

He tossed a cheap plastic airplane at my feet. “Birthday present for the boy.”

“Relax. This time, I’ll make sure you get the cord bl0od to save that precious son of yours.”

I looked up at the man I’d loved for ten solid years. Then I threw the plastic airplane straight into the tr@sh.

Kian Steele. My son died three months ago.

Who exactly is this garbage supposed to be for?

…

The day Kian’s ninety-ninth bastard child was born—

Camille had sneaked a blast of cold air against doctor’s orders and got a headache. Naturally, Kian pinned the entire blame on me.

He stood in front of me, holding the vial of cord bl0od. The only thing standing between my son and death. He walked straight to the window of that thirtieth-floor penthouse and threw it out without a second thought.

“Helena. I’ve told you before. I despise vicious women.”

“She just gave birth to my child. You know her body is weak, but you tried to take her life. This is exactly what you deserve.”

I watched as my son’s only lifeline slipped away, the life-saving serum gone forever. I crumpled to my knees by the window, my heart cold and dead.

Kian leaned down close. His fingers brushed my cheek.

“Guess your sick little brat will just have to wait a little longer.”

To make sure I learned my lesson, he had me tied to the window frame. I spent the entire night there, exposed to the freezing wind.

The cold cut through me until I couldn’t feel my limbs. My emergency alert pendant shrieked over and over again.

I screamed myself hoarse, begging Kian to let me go. Let me see my son.

He ignored me.

Instead, he slep//t with the little nurse from the delivery room right there in front of me.

Enjoying himself while I froze.

That was the night I missed my son’s final moments.

I never even heard him call me “Mommy” one last time.

And now, here stood Kian, still giving orders like nothing had happened.

“Take Camille to pick out a room. She’s sensitive to the cold. Make sure it’s the East Wing suite with full morning light.”

Camille clung to Kian’s arm, smug as ever. She pointed up toward the second floor. Toward the master suite. That was my bedroom.

“Kian, I want that one. That won’t upset Helena, will it?”

Before I could open my mouth, Kian answered without hesitation. “If you like it, it’s yours.”

My fist clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. I pulled the divorce papers from my bag—the ones I’d prepared weeks ago—and hurled them at Kian’s chest.

“Kian Steele. If you’re so eager to give another woman my bedroom, you might as well sign these too.”

He glanced down at the divorce papers scattered on the floor. And then, of all things, he looked amused.

“Helena. Are you jealous? Throwing a tantrum?”

He gripped my chin between his fingers, studying my face with that mocking curiosity.

“So weird. Seven years and I’ve never seen you this defiant. I have to admit, this rebellious streak? I kind of like it.”

I wrenched my chin out of his grip. “Your ‘like’ makes me sick.”

Before we married, I’d been a fool. I’d dreamed of a lifetime with Kian. Just the two of us. A love that was only mine.

After the wedding, I learned the truth. Kian’s affection was worthless.

He could like a half-na//ked bartender one night and a random college girl in tight jeans the next. He even chased after lonely, married housewives.

Seven years of marriage. Countless affairs. Each one ground away another piece of my love, another shred of hope.

Now my son—the only reason I had left to endure—was gone. The last thread tying me to Kian had snapped.

Kian, oblivious, assumed I was just being difficult. His smile widened.

“Looks like I’ve neglected my wife too long, and my wife’s pouting at me. Camille’s pregn@nt and can’t keep me company…So why don’t I properly worship you tonight?”

He leaned in closer. His breath reeked of Camille’s perfume. It was nauseating.

I slapped him across the face with everything I had.

“Take your mistress and get out!”

“As long as you haven’t signed those divorce papers, no one sets foot in my bedroom.”