The Billionaire's Black Card: My Stepson Won't Let Me Leave

I transmigrated. I woke up inside the damn billionaire romance book, playing a background character. The evil stepmom to the future cutthroat billionaire CEO, to be exact.

After all, this terrifying billionaire currently waddles around as a literal toddler. In the novel, this stepmom screams red flag—toxic, golddigging, and obsessed with status.

She actively destroys the kid's life. So she meets a miserable, tragic end. Wow. Chapter 1 My survival instinct kicked in. I zipped up a suitcase and bolted for the door.

I spun around—and froze. A chubbycheeked little boy blocked my path. Rowan.

He glared at the suitcase in my grip, his tiny features twisting into a perfectly executed sneer. "Leaving?" Wow. The kid had attitude. "Don't." Yeah, right.

Like I was taking orders from a kindergartener. I ignored him, wrestling the jammed zipper on my overstuffed bag.

He cleared his throat. "Parentteacher conference is this afternoon. Here. The allowance Vance just gave me." A crisp tenthousanddollar check fluttered into my palm.

My throat suddenly went dry. I swallowed hard, staring at the zeroes. I nodded, plastering on a bright smile. "You got it, kiddo!" I definitely wasn't a gold digger.

Staying for a parentteacher conference? Just pure, overwhelming maternal instinct. Obviously. The conference wrapped up. The check was safely tucked in my pocket.

I whipped out my phone, thumb hovering over the Uber app, plotting my grand escape. A sleek, extended black Maybach glided up to the curb, tires kissing the pavement.

The tinted window purred down. Well, well, well. If it isn't my billionaire husband. Vance. Without a single word, he tossed a black box straight into my chest.

A white camellia sat perfectly centered on the lid. My mouth fell open, a string of curses already forming on my tongue. "You—" I choked on the word. Chanel. I popped the lid.

The newest, impossibly rare limitededition bag nestled inside the pristine tissue paper.

My mouth literally watered at the sheer financial flex. "Report," Vance demanded, his voice a low rumble. "How is my son doing?" I scrambled into the plush leather seat, tripping over my own feet.

I laid it on thick, spinning a glowing review of Rowan's classroom performance. I didn't even have to lie. That main character energy was already working overtime.

The kid was a certified, terrifying little genius. A microscopic shift softened Vance's hard jawline. A hint of approval. "Good. Take care of him." He flicked his wrist.

A matte black credit card landed in my lap. "Swipe as you please." The weight of unlimited plastic almost blinded me.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up. "For… me?" Vance slowly turned his head. He looked at me like I was an idiot. My brain shortcircuited for a full three seconds.

Forget running away. If I could just survive coparenting with a miniature tyrant, I was set for life. Unlimited funds.

A ridiculously gorgeous husband who almost lived at the office. Monthly sixfigure allowances to play house. This wasn't a death sentence. This was the dream.

I mentally mapped out my luxury shopping spree. Then, a tiny face—a carbon copy of Vance's sharp features—shoved its way into my line of sight.

Rowan jutted out his chin. "I'm hungry." The cuteness aggression took over.

I reached out, pinching his soft, squishy cheek. "Mommy's gonna cook for you!" Rowan slapped his hands on his hips, summoning every ounce of his toddler authority. "Stop pinching my face!" I beamed at him, nodding enthusiastically. "Got it, sweetie." I pinched his other cheek.

Rowan fell dead silent, glaring daggers at me. Twenty minutes of kitchen chaos later, I slammed a plate on the counter. Rowan stared down at the charred, unrecognizable lump of egg.

His tiny brows pulled into a tight frown. "Are you trying to poison me?" I let out a dry, forced laugh, my toes curling against the hardwood floor.

I'd calculated every angle of this billionaire lifestyle—except the fact that I couldn't boil water to save my life.

Chapter 2 "How about you take over?" I floated the idea, smoothly swiping the radioactive lump of charcoal off the counter. My culinary skills were nonexistent.

No need to humiliate myself further. Besides, this kid had main character energy working on overdrive.

His skill tree was lit up brighter than Times Square on New Year's Eve, practically blinding my poor, untalented eyes.

Rowan shot me a look of absolute disdain. "What exactly is your purpose here?" his eyes screamed. The absolute disrespect! But I bit my tongue.

And no, it wasn't to secure my billionaire bag—it was because this grown woman refused to beef with a toddler. "Forget it. I'll make homemade pasta.

Just wait." Rowan broke the standoff, marching toward the kitchen with a heavy sigh of defeat. I pumped my fist in the air behind his back.

Having a child prodigy for a stepson was basically a cheat code. Pots and pans crashed around the kitchen like a war zone.

I sank into the plush living room sofa, firing up a mobile game. I stole a quick glance at the kitchen. The kid operated like a Michelinstar chef.

I went back to aggressively throwing the match for my teammates. A steaming bowl slid across the dining table before my match even ended.

Rowan crossed his arms, channeling major dad energy. "Put the game away. Eat." "You got it!" I didn't even look up. My thumbs furiously mashed the screen. "Push! Push the lane!

You bots! Great, we're wiped." I tossed my phone onto the table in defeat and grabbed a fork. I scooped a huge bite of Rowan's masterpiece.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Getting tilted over a braindead game completely ruins my appetite." Was this kid raised by Gordon Ramsay?

His tongue was laced with straightup venom. But damn, the food hit the spot. "Doesn't bother me!

This is incredible." I shifted gears, showering him with the brightest, most obnoxious smile I could muster. "Perfect texture. The broth is out of this world.

Our little Rowan is a culinary genius! Mommy needs to give you a reward!" I lunged across the chairs, pinning the squirming toddler in place.

I ignored his look of horror and planted a loud, wet kiss right on his squishy cheek. "So good!" "Hey!

You got spit all over me!" He yelled, hurriedly scrubbing his face with a napkin. His tiny face flushed a furious shade of red, almost glowing against his pale skin.

He tried to act tough, but the sheer panic in his eyes was priceless. I swooped in and peppered his face with three more rapidfire kisses.

He felt like a warm, angry little marshmallow. A blushing, flustered main character.

If he was this cute now, he was going to ruin a terrifying number of lives when he hit his twenties. I polished off the last bite and tried to slip away.

Rowan’s voice cracked like a whip, halting me in my tracks. "I cooked. You do the dishes." His chubby little finger pointed dead at the dirty bowl.

He locked eyes with me, his expression unimpressed. "You married into the Vance family. It's time you embraced your tradwife duties." What?

It took me a solid moment to process that. He tapped the table. "Tradwife duties. Maintain the house. Serve the family. Understand?" Oh, I understood perfectly now.

Chapter 3 He scrunched his tiny brows together, radiating boomer energy. I leaned in, deciding to push his buttons. "I'm drawing a blank here.

Why don't you educate me, Rowan?" A deep flush immediately crept up his neck. He glared, tiny fists clenched. "Tradwife rules are tradwife rules! Just wash the damn dishes!" "Wow.

You don't even know what it means, and you're yelling at me." I stuck my tongue out at him. His face went full tomato.

He stomped his little foot, grinding his teeth. "I do too know! It's just—it's just—" "Just got so hungry you accidentally swallowed the definition?" "You—!" The dam broke.

He burst into frustrated, hiccuping sobs, humiliated. I collapsed back into my chair, cackling so hard my ribs ached. Real tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

A fiveyearold parroting toxic, misogynistic garbage? Yeah, absolutely not. Time for a reality check. "Watch me!

I'll look it up right now!" Realizing the tears weren't working, he scrambled off the chair, lunging for his iPad.

I scooped him up, pulling him into my lap. "Those rules are just toxic brainwashing.

Why would you even Google that garbage?" He crossed his arms, sniffling. "That's what the country club aunties always say!" "Okay.

And when they demand I follow these archaic rules, do they also demand you follow the Perfect Toddler Code of Conduct?" Rowan froze. I seized the opening. "Look.

Those aunties throw a million rules at me, but they let you do whatever you want. It's called a double standard. They're hypocrites who let themselves off the hook.

You tracking with me?" He gave a slow, hesitant nod, his gears visibly turning. "Now," I continued, keeping my tone level. "If you want to play the tradwife game, we can both restrict ourselves.

But if you can't follow a million strict rules, what gives you the right to force them on me? If you want to lock down my freedom, two can play that game.

I'll start writing rules for you. Mutual destruction." This kid was the future ruthless billionaire lead.

If those gossiping boomers poisoned his brain now, he’d be a giant red flag as an adult. He squirmed in my lap, suddenly avoiding my gaze. A heavy silence stretched out. "Fine.

You make a point," he finally mumbled. "But you still have to wash the dishes." Unbelievable. He was like a dog with a bone. "Wash them.

Or I'm telling Dad!" He hopped out of my lap, reclaiming his lost ground.

He slapped his hands on his hips, puffing out his little chest. "Do the dishes right now, or I'm snitching!" Look at him, trying to avenge his bruised ego.

Like that actually scared me. A wicked grin stretched across my face. "Oh, please do! You want me to dial his number for you?" Rowan stared at me, shortcircuiting.

I laughed, leaning forward. "Go on, snitch! Actually, tell him I'm an awful stepmonster. Convince Vance to divorce me!" Sure, Rowan was a cute, squishy kid right now.

But if he still morphed into the novel's psychotic villain, my head would be on the chopping block. The only way out? Divorce Vance ASAP and vanish off the grid.

Once I was out of the picture, the main character's villain era wasn't my problem. Plus, I had zero dating experience, let alone knowing how to raise a kid.

I was basically a walking catalyst for his villain origin story. "Divorce?" Rowan scoffed.

He crossed his arms, shooting me a lethal sideeye. "I'm just going to tell Dad to freeze your black card. You're the first woman who ever dared to reject him." Holy hell.

Did he just drop a classic CEO dialogue on me? I stared at the ceiling, defeated. Like father, like son. A minibillionaire tyrant in the making. Chapter 4 Life went on.

That black card was my lifeline. I needed to build a huge investment portfolio before filing for divorce. Capital equaled freedom.

I grabbed the dirty bowls and marched straight into the kitchen, a woman on a mission. Once my net worth skyrocketed, nobody could hold my fate hostage with a piece of plastic.

But reality hit hard. I was useless with my hands. Those aesthetic TikTok moms made washing dishes look like a breeze. Me? I fought the dishes, and the dishes won.

Soapy water drenched my shirt. Ceramic shattered against the porcelain sink. Bang. Crash. I lost count of the casualties. Rowan stood frozen in the doorway, staring in horror.

Another bowl slipped from my fingers, shattering into a dozen pieces.

He finally found his voice, trembling slightly. "Are you doing this on purpose?" "I swear, I'm not." I held up three fingers, dead serious. "I literally don't know how to wash dishes." Before transmigrating, I breathed finance.

I outsourced everything to a housekeeper. It was a flawless system: she got paid, I kept my precious time, and I never had to touch a sponge. Winwin. Rowan just stared.

His unimpressed gaze almost burned a hole through my skull. I let out an awkward laugh. "How about we just buy a dishwasher? Problem solved." Time is money.

I could be researching angel investments instead of scrubbing plates. "You are… uniquely incompetent." The kid's sheer contempt slapped me right in the face.

Heat rushed to my cheeks.

I jutted out my chin, doubling down. "The bowls are too slippery!" "Just admit you have zero motor skills." "You little brat!" I snapped, lunging forward with wiggly fingers, threatening a tickle attack.

Rowan kept his chin tipped up, holding onto his arrogant facade even as he shrieked and squirmed away from my hands. "Hmph!

Watch and learn, dummy!" He dragged a step stool to the sink. Dead serious, the fiveyearold basically gave me a TED Talk on soaptowater ratios and scrubbing techniques.

I stood there, taking mental notes. Ugh. A grown woman getting schooled by a kindergartener. Peak embarrassment.

After wrestling Rowan down for his afternoon nap, I locked myself in my bedroom. I immediately dumped that tenthousanddollar allowance straight into the stock market.

I was a Wall Street shark in my past life. The financial systems in this billionaire novel mirrored the real world perfectly. My knowledge was pure gold here.

I locked in my stock picks. Then, I whipped out Vance's black card and bought three luxury condos. Swiping that matte card felt like tapping into an infinite money glitch.

Perfection. The realtor almost cried tears of joy. I grinned so hard my cheeks ached. Vance’s family was obscenely wealthy.

No wonder women tore each other apart for a shot at marrying into this world. Securing the ring was an instant oneway ticket to the top of the food chain.

With this black card, I owned the world. Shopping spree completed. I hummed a catchy pop song all the way back. The only downside to this megamansion?

I literally needed a golf cart just to get from the front gate to the front doors. I strolled into the cavernous living room—and froze.

My billionaire husband was already home. "Sit." Vance flicked his hand, gesturing to the velvet sofa opposite him. Escape was impossible.

I plastered on a bright, blinding smile and almost glided to the seat. "Can I make you some tea?" He let me swipe his limitless card. I needed to play the devoted wife.

It was the least I could do. "I heard from Rowan." Vance waved off my offer, cutting straight to the chase. "You want a divorce?" My fake smile shattered into a million pieces