The Billionaire’s Notorious Villainess Stepmother Chapter 10
The Final Reckoning
Sebastian stepped forward.
Cassandra tried to cut him off.
“Alistair, thank God you’re home.”
Her voice cracked perfectly.
“That woman destroyed everything. She terrorized me, she stole my jewelry, she turned the children against me—”
Alistair did not touch her. He let her cling to his shirt and watched her.
“She’s unstable,” Cassandra sobbed. “She pulled alarms in the middle of the night, she fired staff without permission, she froze my accounts—MY accounts, Alistair—”
“Cassandra.”
One word. Enough.
“She’s spending your money recklessly, she threatened your grandmother—”
“Cassandra.” Quieter this time.
She finally stopped. Looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.
Alistair removed her hands from his shirt.
Then he turned to Sebastian.
“Come here.”
Sebastian walked forward with his shoulders back and chin level.
Three months ago, this boy couldn’t hold eye contact with an adult.
Now he stood in front of the most powerful man in Manhattan without flinching.
Alistair studied him for a long moment.
“Tell me everything.”
Sebastian didn’t hesitate. His voice was steady, clear, plain. No drama. No begging.
He told his father about the empty trust fund.
About Tristan choking him.
About Clara’s ruined toys, the thin blankets, the bare rooms, and the staff who answered only to Cassandra.
About the mornings Clara went hungry.
Then he lifted his chin and showed the fading bruise along his jaw.
I placed the photos on the table. Every bruise. Every report. Every receipt.
Alistair looked at them.
His face did not change. But his hand curled into a fist so tight his knuckles cracked.
Cassandra saw it. Her tears dried up fast.
“He’s lying,” she said. “She coached him. She’s been brainwashing them for months—”
“Clara,” Alistair said.
Clara looked up from my lap. She’d been quiet through all of it, fingers twisted in my sleeve.
“Baby. Is what Sebastian said true?”
Clara nodded. Small but certain.
“Mommy fixed it,” she whispered. “Mommy made Cassandra stop.”
Cassandra’s face crumbled. “Alistair, you can’t believe a five-year-old over—”
Alistair opened the audit file and set it on the dining table.
The sound was soft. Somehow, it was worse than a shout.
No one moved.
“I trusted you,” he said.
His voice was low and controlled. That was worse than shouting.
“I sent money every month. I called every week. I asked you directly, are my children okay? And every single time, you said yes.”
“They WERE okay—”
“Three million dollars, Cassandra.” He tapped the table once. “You think I don’t check my own accounts? You think I wouldn’t notice after Vivienne froze half your life?”
Cassandra’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
He had already known before he walked in.
He had come home ready.
“My wife didn’t ruin you,” Alistair said. “That was her mercy.” He looked at me. Then back at Cassandra. “Mine ends tonight.”
Cassandra nearly fell. She grabbed the edge of a chair to stay upright.
“You have until sunrise,” he said. “Take nothing bought with Blackwood money. Not a ring, not a bag, not a coat, not a dollar. If I see your face in this villa after dawn, security will remove you.”
“Alistair—please—where am I supposed to—”
“That is no longer my problem.”
She looked around the room. At the security staff, who would not meet her eyes. At Lady Margaret, who said nothing. At me.
I sipped my wine.
Cassandra turned and walked out. Her heels clicked down the marble hall. Then she started running.
The front door slammed.
No one moved.
Then Clara tugged Alistair’s hand. “Is she really gone, Daddy?”
He lifted her up. Pressed his forehead against hers.
“Yeah, sweetheart. She’s really gone.”
Over Clara’s shoulder, he looked at me again. It was not just gratitude.
“We still need to talk,” he said. “Tonight.”
I set down my glass. “I’ll be waiting.”
—