Roman Her Accidental Billionaire Husband chapitre Chapitre 1

ROSALINE’S POV

“You are a heartless bitch. You should have just died along with your miserable mother. Why are you still living and tormenting my son? Just die, you whore,” my stepmom spat venom. Initially, I thought of brushing it off and heading to work, but the mention of my late mother as ‘miserable’ struck a nerve. I could put up with being called a bitch, a whore, or whatever, but insulting my late mother is something I can never accept.

“Listen carefully because this will be the last time I say this to you,” I declared, turning around with a menacing look. “The next time you call my mom miserable, I’ll make sure you and that useless son of yours are kicked out of this house. I’ll see to it that you leave empty-handed.” Grabbing my handbag, I made my way to the door, but the crazy woman grabbed my arm and yanked me back. In an instant, I spun around, eyes ablaze with anger.

“How dare you touch me?” I demanded, yanking my arm free from her grasp. In an instant, she crumpled to the ground, clutching her cheeks and wailing loudly. ‘What is happening?’ I asked myself, bewildered. Then, my dad’s voice cut through the chaos:

“Rosaline, what the heck did you do to your mum?”

As my dad descended the stairs, it dawned on me that his witchy wife was playing mind games. I smiled inwardly and turned to face my dad.

“She’s not my mom, and I didn’t do anything to her. If that’s all, I’m off to work.”

“Don’t you dare leave this house, young lady,” my dad ordered, unwittingly stepping into the tangled web of his wife’s theatrics.

I let out an exasperated sigh and sank into the plush couch, crossing my legs as I observed the theatrical scene unfolding before me. Dad was playing the doting husband, helping his wife onto one of the cushions. Gripping her unproductive, manicured hands, he asked with concern etched on his face, “Honey, what did she do to you?”

Feigning an exaggerated yawn, I showed my frustration, absolutely over their lovey-dovey charade. All I wanted was to escape this house and bury myself in work. There were piles of files begging for my attention.

“I was just telling her to try and get along with her younger brother, but she cut me off and warned me not to mention my miserable son in front of her again. When I tried to caution her, she... she... slapped me,” the witch narrated, her voice dripping with crocodile tears.

Dad shot me a fiery look, his eyes burning like a raging volcano. “When did you become like this, Rosa? How could you slap your mum?” he demanded angrily.

I stared right back at him, unfazed by the anger that used to send shivers down my spine. “I have said this before, but you keep making me say it again. This woman is not my mum; she’s just your wife.” I didn’t bother defending myself, knowing he wouldn’t believe a word I said. This wasn’t the first time, and he always sided with his witch.

“Rosaline Robinson, watch your tongue. I won’t stand here and watch you make rude remarks about your mum,” he warned, his voice trailing off as I angrily stood up.

“For Christ’s sake, Dad, she is not my mu—”

SLAP!

I held my stinging cheek in disbelief. My father had slapped me, all because of a woman after our money — no, my mum’s money. Holding my reddened cheek, I glared at the witch smirking beside my dad. She got what she wanted. As she began to cry again, my dad lowered his gaze to her. Without sparing them another glance, I stormed out of the house, leaving the drama behind.

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