The Comments Said My Husband and Son Hated Me

Six years married, and my billiondollar CEO husband still gets down on one knee to wash my feet. Our fiveyearold prince crouches next to him and rubs my calves.

In this house, that's an ordinary Tuesday night. Except the comments say I'm the villainess. The one who abuses the male lead and his son.

They say that when the real female lead shows up, those two will throw me out on the street just to make her smile.

Then they'll walk her into my hospital room and stand over my bed, smiling at the legs that will never work again.

I looked at the two cold faces in front of me, one big and one small. For the first time in six years, I didn't dare give them another order.

What I didn't know yet: the second I pulled my hand back, those two icebergs looked worse than I did. Chapter 1 Milo's little eyebrows pulled together.

Whatever was happening inside that small head, he could not work out why his mother changed her mind every ten seconds. "Mommy, is the water too hot?" I put my foot back in the basin.

My face burned. "No. I'm done. Nothing needs rubbing. Stand up." I swallowed and looked over at my husband, down on one knee beside him. "You too.

Get up." Damon took it better than Milo did. Six years of me switching moods midsentence seemed to have trained him.

He rose without a word and went to get a towel. [The more humiliating that kneeling looks right now, the better the payback is going to feel later.] [A little prince rubbing her legs.

A billiondollar CEO washing her feet and drying them. This woman has a death wish.] I watched the words scroll by and said nothing. So. I was the villainess.

My husband and my son were the male lead and the kid lead of this world. I wasn't only supposed to step aside for the female lead.

Milo existed at all because the author didn't want her going through labor pain, so she loaded the pregnancy onto me first. The disposable one.

Then the female lead would arrive, glowing, and inherit my husband and my son. She would save them. She would show them there were gentle women in the world who weren't me.

The three of them would live happily ever after. My hands curled into fists. Fine. Damon I could give up. Ours was a merger marriage and there was never anything underneath it.

But Milo… I looked at the little boy standing off to the side, waiting to be told what to do. He had his father's face, feature for feature. But he crawled out of my body.

He was mine. I was not about to hand him over and let another woman wear the dress I sewed. I cleared my throat. "Sweet boy.

If Mommy and Daddy got divorced, who would you go with?" Milo blinked. Then the eyebrows pulled together again, and he did his father's voice, flat and cool. "Mommy.

Don't make pointless hypotheticals." That shut me up. I looked up into Damon's cold amber eyes. Nothing moved in them. Still water in a dead pond.

He came forward, bent, dropped to one knee, and lifted my foot out of the basin. "Don't say things like that in front of him—" Milo nodded like a tiny adult and turned for the door. "I'm going to bed." The comments howled. [What is she even thinking?

Those two faces came off the same mold. Obviously the disgust levels match too.] [At least the male lead can fake it.

The baby's got it written across his whole forehead.] I stared at those two lines and kept my head down. By the time the comments thinned out, I noticed Damon still hadn't moved.

Still on one knee. The towel still in his hand. The water in the basin had gone cold a long time ago. Probably annoyed that I'd lost my mind again. Chapter 2 [LMAO.

Forget whether she'd even agree to a divorce. Say it happened. The baby would never go with her. Go with her and do what?

Wait on her like a dog?] [Her entire purpose is to throw tantrums at the world, get dumped, then lose the use of her legs and die ugly so the rest of us get our payoff.] My heart slammed once.

I took the towel straight out of Damon's hand. "I've got it." His brows drew in a fraction. He let it go. Lying in bed, I tried to digest what the comments had handed me.

I pushed the hem of my robe up and looked at my own legs. Long. Pale. Even. This long, this even. I was not going to lose them. After a while I made a decision.

First I had to stop working my husband and my son like rented help. The comments were right about one thing. I couldn't stop the male lead and the female lead from meeting.

Even if I made Damon fire her, they'd run into each other at the next intersection. But if my son saw a gentle mother instead, maybe when the divorce came he'd choose me.

I was still working through it when I looked up. Damon had come out of the bathroom. A towel around his waist. Water still tracking down his chest.

He saw me lying there with my robe pushed up and both legs bare, and his hand stopped moving in his hair. Whatever came into his eyes then, it wasn't cold.

I was busy being a good mother in my head. Then I looked up again and he had already pulled the outfit out of the closet. The one I bought him. Black lace in his left hand.

Purple in his right. The tips of his ears were red. His face stayed blank, waiting for me to pick. The comments lost their minds. [WHY IS THE SCREEN BLACK.

What exactly is a paying premium subscriber not allowed to see?] [Villainess, truce, I'm done insulting you.

Just turn the camera on so we can all appreciate your husband's chest.] [Sabrina Langford. Share the husband with the class. Build some goodwill. Camera.

Now.] Somewhere in that flood of horny commenters, a few book purists were still holding the line. [I can't accept it.

I know how the baby got here, and I still say the male lead was forced. Can she really not see that he goes cold every single time, that he hates every second of it?] [Same.

He turned her down the first time and she still makes him put those things on to feed her own kink. It's disgusting.] [Relax.

I just remember that the legs currently draped over him won't exist much longer, and I feel better.] I took a breath, looked at my husband about to change, and dragged the blanket over my legs. "I'm… not in the mood tonight.

Let's get some sleep." The air in the room stopped moving. The comments erupted. [Oh? Sun's out.] [He does not look happy. What did she do this time?] [What do you think.

She made him dress up, he said no, she's sulking. Look at his knuckles on that lace. The man is enduring.] I could see for myself that his face had gone somewhere bad.

Especially after "not in the mood." Two full shades darker, and I wasn't imagining it. He'd always dragged his feet about changing. I used to have to coax him into it.

Now, with all those words flying past my eyes, I barely breathed. "Understood." Damon's voice was like the rest of him. Cool. Restrained. The black lace stayed in his fist.

He held it a long time and never let go. Chapter 3 He tossed the outfit back into the closet, lifted the covers, and got in.

Under the blanket I gave my own thigh a squeeze and let out a long breath. Still here. Love you, legs. See you tomorrow. I woke up to full daylight.

When I came out of the bedroom, the two of them were already in the living room, one big and one small.

I'd barely sat down before Damon got up to bring me breakfast from the kitchen.

Milo hauled the milk over with both arms wrapped around the carton, climbed onto a stool, and got ready to pour for me.

The comments were already going. [Honestly she earned her ending. There's a whole staff in that house and she insists the male lead and the baby serve her.

She invents problems.] [Right? All that talk about teaching the baby good service habits so a wife will want him someday.

Does a little prince need help finding a wife?] [And the part about the male lead setting an example for his son. She just likes torturing them.

Control freak.] Something jumped behind my eyebrow. I reached out and caught Milo's little arm.

He looked up at me, confused. "I put a spoon and a half of sugar in it this time." I took the carton, poured it into my own glass, and drank two big swallows. "Mommy can do small things like this herself.

Go eat your breakfast." He kept looking at me like the math wasn't working. Then he turned around and climbed back into his own seat.

Damon came out of the kitchen with an apologetic line between his brows. "We're out of mayo. Miss Jo already went to buy more—" I took the sandwich out of his hand. "It's fine.

It works without mayo." Nobody at that table said a word. Even the housekeeper stared. Damon looked down at his empty palm. The line between his brows got deeper. "Mommy.

You didn't throw the sandwich at Daddy's face." My son blinked at me. I breathed in. Was I really that bad before?

The comments answered for me. [Why did the villainess flip personalities overnight? Isn't she the queen of morning rage?

Last time there was no mayo she chucked the whole sandwich across the room.] [Look how spooked the baby is. That cold little face can't hold.

He thinks his mom's possessed.] I bit into the sandwich and didn't dare look up again. A shred of lettuce slid out and landed on my thigh.

I frowned at the stain spreading on my loungewear. A napkin came down over my leg, and a hand came into view behind it. Long fingers, sharp knuckles. Damon's hand was big.

It covered most of my thigh. My pupils shrank. In my head I watched those legs turn invisible, sprout wings, and wave goodbye.

I brushed the lettuce off before he could move again, and looked straight up into his cool eyes. "Small things like this, I've got." I made myself smile and turned to my son. "You don't have to rub my legs or pour my milk anymore.

Mommy can do it." Milo's brows crushed together. His voice came out cold. "Mommy. Are you sick?" I had no answer for that. This child. I'm nice to him and he diagnoses me.

I got through the whole meal quietly. No fuss, no napkins fetched, no milk poured. Milo looked up at me several times, and each time the little frown was deeper.

Damon's eyes drifted over me and away, over and away. He never put the napkin down. He was still holding it when he left the table.

Chapter 4 The second Damon left the house with Milo, I threw myself into the couch.

I looked at the enormous wedding portrait hanging dead center on the feature wall and rubbed my temples. I had a crush on Damon before the merger marriage was ever discussed.

He was an iceberg. Every girlfriend I had went at him and came back with nothing. I have my own pride. I don't chase people. Especially not up a wall of ice like that.

Right when that small flicker of interest was about to die of natural causes, our families tied the two of us together. I still remember how giddy I was that first week.

And I still remember standing outside his study and hearing him talk to a friend. "Sabrina Langford is famous in our circle for being spoiled rotten.

You poor bastard." Damon's voice was mild. I heard him say it. "It's a straight trade. That's what a merger marriage is." The flicker went out for good.

I'd been performing sweetness for a few months. I quit performing and let him have the real me. Like he said. A straight trade.

Everything in that house, from the appliances down to the rugs, got picked the way I wanted it. Damon never once objected. Only the giant wedding portrait.

When I said I wanted it in the middle of the living room, his brows moved. "It doesn't go there. It's ugly." I choked on that for weeks. He didn't dislike the portrait.

He disliked me. But cold men make patient husbands. He let everything slide. So I escalated. I started directing him. Do this for me, do that for me.

Make him wear things he hated, purely because it amused me. Sometimes he was unhappy. His way of showing it was to frown, lightly. Damon frowning is a beautiful thing.

The man already looked like something out of a museum.

I loved watching that face crease, like a marble saint stepping down out of an old painting, like the still picture had finally decided to have an expression.

All those years of him letting me do whatever I wanted, I sometimes caught myself thinking he loved me.

Then I'd look at that iceberg face, see him give the housekeeper the exact same expression he gave me, and understand that I was just ovulating again. "Miss Jo.

Get someone to take that portrait down." I pointed up at it. A girl who still had illusions about Damon Vance hung that thing on the wall the month we married. We took two that day.

The other one never went up, and after a while I forgot where it even went. Six years. That girl has since figured out that in Damon's eyes I am no different from anyone else.

I could live in a loveless marriage.

What I couldn't live with was the comment feed running like a security camera, broadcasting what the male lead and the female lead were doing at that exact moment. [She just brought him a coffee and he looked up at her.

I'm going to be sick, I ship it so hard.] [She saved the wrong file and didn't even notice. What a little idiot.

He's going to think it's adorable when he sees it.] I closed my eyes and decided to nap. When I opened them, thunder was rolling outside and the rain was coming down in sheets.

My phone buzzed. Damon. "Did you fall asleep in the living room?" His voice was flat. I made a small sound. He took two seconds, then spoke. "I'm working late.

If it runs long I won't come home. Have Milo sleep with you tonight." Before I could answer, the comments started flying.

Chapter 5 [He IS working late, but our girl's at the office too. Rainy night, a handful of NPCs, and the two leads. Tell me that isn't loaded.] [This is why I love a power couple.

Cold workaholic alpha CEO, career woman who runs her own show. Nothing like a certain kept trophy wife.] [Exactly.

Scared of thunder, needs a body in the bed, and if the husband's out she drafts the kid. Grown baby.] The grown baby in question let out a long breath. "No need.

Focus on your work…" I didn't finish. I looked up and Milo was standing a few feet away with his little face set, and I had no idea how long he'd been in that doorway listening.

When my eyes moved, the camera drifted two seconds with them. My son said nothing. He slid his backpack off, quiet about it, and went to his room.

Damon was the one who spoke. "The wall behind you—" I turned.

While I was asleep, they'd taken the wedding portrait down. "Where's the portrait?" I told him the truth. "Had someone throw it out. Go do your work. Bye." He didn't answer.

His face changed and I missed the whole thing, because I was frowning at the bare wall trying to solve a decorating problem. Maybe I should hang something to fill it.

Empty like that, it did look bad. After dinner the thunder was still going. I rubbed my eyes until they stung.

When I opened them again, a very small boy was standing in front of me holding a storybook like a briefcase. "Come on.

I'll put you to sleep." The truth is I'm not that afraid of thunder. I hate what that kind of weather does to a room.

So every storm put me in a foul mood, and I used to take it out on Damon in bed. [This woman is exhausting. A fiveyearold has to tuck her in.

The world's turned upside down.] [And zero selfawareness. The baby's face is one inch from open disgust. Husband's working late so she can't torture him, time to torture the son.

Can we PLEASE move the romance along.] I looked at Milo. No expression. That wooden little face, identical to his father's. "It's okay. Mommy can sleep by herself." I waved him off.

He bit his lip. Something in it looked hurt. "But Daddy said I had to stay with you." I was getting a headache.

Before I could say anything else, a car horn cut through the rain in the driveway. I froze. So did the comments. [Why is he home?

What about the female lead?] Milo clutched his storybook like a man who'd spotted a rescue boat