The Villainess Quits: My Ice-Cold Billionaire and Son Are Obsessed

I married a man who loathes me. We bred his mini replica. I ordered them around like personal servants. I thrived on their obedience.

Until glowing text flashed across my vision. [The author finally kicks the toxic wife to the curb!] [She tortures the male lead and his kid 24/7.

Thank God a car crushes the spoiled rich bitch.

Complete lowerbody paralysis.] [Picturing the new family of three mocking the crippled villainess at the hospital gives me life.] Panic seized my chest. My leg jerked.

Water erupted. The sudden kick hurled water right into Alaric's face. Drops splattered Holden. The kid froze. His hands still gripped my calf.

Two identical sets of brows furrowed in unison. My heart hammered against my ribs. I swallowed hard.

Chapter 1 "Mom, is the water too hot?" I awkwardly lowered my dripping foot back into the warm basin. "No. I'm done. You don't have to massage me anymore.

Stand up." I swallowed hard. My gaze shifted to my husband, who remained resting on one knee. "You too. Get up." Used to my erratic mood swings, Alaric barely reacted.

He simply rose to his feet and grabbed a towel.

More glowing text drifted past my vision. [The humiliation the male lead and the little guy just suffered on their knees… the payback is going to be epic.] [Making the little heir rub her legs and the billionaire founder massage her arches?

She practically has a death wish.] I stared at the scrolling words in stunned silence. So, I played the toxic villainess.

My husband and my son starred as the golden protagonists of this twisted reality. I wasn't just a stepping stone for the true female lead.

The author had only used me as an incubator because they hadn't wanted their precious heroine to suffer the pain of childbirth.

In the end, this saintly woman would swoop in, inherit my billionaire husband and my son, and "save" them. She would show them what a real, kind woman looked like.

Then, their perfect little family of three would live happily ever after. My nails bit into my palms. Fine. Alaric meant nothing to me.

Our marriage survived as a sterile business arrangement anyway. But Holden… I looked down at the little boy standing quietly to the side.

He mirrored his father perfectly, but he came out of my body. I endured the agony of bringing him into this world. I refused to hand him over on a silver platter.

I cleared my throat, forcing a casual tone. "Baby, if Mommy and Daddy ever got a divorce… who would you want to live with?" Holden froze.

His little brows instantly pinched together, perfectly mimicking his father's stoic displeasure. His voice dropped, sounding entirely too cold for a fiveyearold. "Mom.

Don't make pointless hypothetical assumptions." I was left completely speechless. I choked on my next breath, my head snapping up to meet Alaric's chilling amber eyes.

His gaze mirrored a stagnant, dead pool.

He stepped forward, gracefully dropping to one knee again, and lifted my dripping foot from the basin. "Don't talk about things like that in front of the kid." Holden nodded, turning on his heel with the stiff maturity of a little adult. "I'm going to sleep." A flurry of mocking comments filled my vision. [What is this villainess smoking?

Father and son are cut from the exact same cloth. They loathe her equally.] [Alaric can at least mask it. Holden doesn't even try to hide his disgust.

Walking red flag.] [Lmao, bold of her to assume she has a choice. Even if they divorce, why would the kid go with her?

To be her lapdog and serve her?] [Her only purpose in this plot is to act unhinged, get dumped, get her legs shattered, and die miserably for our entertainment.] My heart gave a hard jolt.

A sharp spike of panic gripped my chest.

I snatched the towel right out of Alaric's hands. "I said I'll do it." Alaric's jaw tightened, a faint crease appearing between his brows, but he kept his mouth shut.

Later, lying in the dead of night, I stared at the ceiling, my brain frantically processing the holographic text.

I threw back the silk duvet and hiked up my nightgown, staring at my bare legs. Long. Flawless. Perfectly toned.

A violent shudder ripped through me at the thought of them crushed and paralyzed. Hell no. After hours of agonizing over the plot, I made a concrete decision.

First step: stop treating my husband and son like my personal servants. If the comments spoke the truth, I couldn't stop the inevitable meeting between Alaric and the female lead.

Even if I forced Alaric to fire her, the universe would just make them bump into each other at the next intersection. It was fate.

But Holden… If he saw me as a gentle, loving mother—maybe, just maybe—when the divorce papers finally got signed, he would actually choose me.

Chapter 2 A single white towel hung dangerously low on Alaric's hips.

Stray droplets of water tracked down the hard, flushed lines of his chest, pooling in the deep, sculpted V of his abdomen.

The moment he caught sight of me sprawled on the mattress—silk nightgown bunched around my thighs, legs bared to the cool air—his hand froze in his damp hair.

His pupils blew wide, swallowing the amber in his eyes until they were pitch black.

I was too busy agonizing over my new 'Mother of the Year' rebrand to notice the heavy shift in the room's oxygen.

When I finally looked up, Alaric was already standing by the open closet. He held the "special" outfits I had ordered for him. Blackandwhite lace dangled from his left hand.

Sheer purple mesh was clutched in his right. The tips of his ears burned a faint, telltale red. He kept a straight face, silently waiting for my input.

The glowing comments in front of me erupted into chaos. [Wait, why did the screen go black?! What is this VIPonly restriction?] [Sloane, I take back every bad thing I said.

Turn the camera back on and let us thirsty girlies appreciate those pecs.] [Sharing is caring, Sloane!

Stop gatekeeping the husband!] Mixed in with the thirst comments were the hardcore fans of the original plot. [I can't even. We all know how Holden was conceived.

It's so obvious the male lead is being forced. Does the villainess not see how dead his eyes are every time they hook up?] [Right?

He rejected her the first time, but she forces him into these kinky outfits to satisfy her twisted obsession. Total red flag. So gross.] [Whatever.

Her legs are getting crushed in a few chapters anyway. That calms my rage.] A sudden chill racked my spine. My gaze locked onto the delicate lace in Alaric's tightening grip.

I grabbed the heavy duvet and yanked it up, entirely burying my legs. "I… I'm not in the mood tonight. Let's just go to sleep." All the heat got sucked right out of the room.

The comments cheered. [Oop, the sun is shining again.] [Wait, the male lead looks pissed. What did the villainess do now?] [What else?

She demanded he dress up and then shut him down. Look at his knuckles turning white around that lace. He's literally suffering in silence.] I sneaked a glance at Alaric.

His expression was downright lethal. The second I dropped the "not in the mood" bomb, his jaw locked so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. The temperature in the room plummeted.

In the past, I had to coax and manipulate him into wearing those outfits.

Now, with the holographic death threats hovering in my face, I barely dared to inhale. "Understood." His voice scraped out, a rough, gravelly rasp stripped of all warmth.

He shoved the lace blindly into the closet, killed the lights, and slid under the covers. Beneath the thick duvet, my fingers traced the smooth, unbroken skin of my calves.

I exhaled a shaky breath. Safe. Love you, legs. Let's survive another day. I stepped out of the bedroom the next morning to find my two icebergs already waiting in the living room.

The second I sank into my dining chair, Alaric pushed away from the table, silently heading to the kitchen to toast my bagel.

Holden lugged a heavy gallon of milk toward me, his little chest heaving with the effort. He scrambled onto a step stool, fiercely concentrating as he poured it into my glass.

The comments started rolling in again. [The villainess absolutely deserves her fate.

They have a house full of staff, but she forces the billionaire and his heir to wait on her hand and foot. Pure narcissistic control.] [Exactly!

And her excuse? 'Teaching Holden how to be a provider so his future wife won't dump him.' Does the literal heir to an empire need to beg for a woman?] [She claims she makes the male lead do it to 'set a good example' for the kid.

Bullshit. She just loves flexing her dominance and gaslighting them.] Chapter 3 My brow twitched. I shot my hand out, grabbing Holden's little forearm.

Holden blinked up at me, pure confusion flashing across his tiny features. "I put a scoop and a half of sugar this time." I took the heavy gallon jug from his grip.

I poured the milk myself, taking two huge, unladylike gulps. "Mommy can handle the small stuff from now on. Eat your breakfast." Holden stared.

He was clearly struggling to process this sudden change in my behavior. But he eventually spun around and scrambled back into his chair. Alaric emerged from the kitchen.

A rare, hesitant tension pulled at the corners of his mouth. "We're out of the truffle aioli.

I already sent Dorothy to grab some…" I snatched the breakfast sandwich straight out of his hand. "Whatever. I don't need the spread." A heavy quiet settled over the dining room.

Even Dorothy, returning from the hallway, shot me a bewildered look. Alaric stared at his empty palm.

The hard crease between his brows deepened. "Mom… you didn't throw it at Dad's face…" Holden blinked, genuinely shocked. I dragged in a sharp breath. Was I really that unhinged?

The floating comments happily supplied the answer. [Wait, did the villainess get a software update? Isn't her morning rage legendary?

Last time they ran out of aioli, she literally chucked the plate at his head.] [Look at our little guy. He's so traumatized his stoic mask slipped.

He probably thinks she's possessed.] I bit into the sandwich, swallowing hard. Guilt clawed at my throat, forcing my eyes away from the holographic text.

A rogue piece of spinach slid from the bread. It landed dead center on my bare thigh. My nose crinkled in automatic disgust at the stain on my silk loungewear.

A napkin settled over my bare skin. A second later, a large, fiercely structured hand entered my peripheral vision. Alaric's hand spanned the entire width of my thigh.

The scorching heat of his palm bled right through the thin paper napkin. My pupils snapped wide.

A vivid hallucination flashed behind my eyes—my flawless legs shattering, turning translucent, and sprouting wings to literally fly away and say goodbye. Panic spiked.

I quickly flicked the spinach onto the floor, jerking my leg away before his thumb could brush the sensitive skin.

My head snapped up, crashing straight into Alaric's frigid, amber gaze. "I can wipe my own leg." I forced a stiff smile, turning to my son to break the awkward tension. "You don't need to massage me or pour my drinks anymore.

Mom's got it." Holden's features hardened into a deep, tiny scowl. His voice rang out, stripped of any childish warmth. "Mom.

Are you sick?" The question punched the air from my lungs. This kid. I acted like a decent human being, and he diagnosed me with a mental illness.

I chewed in absolute silence for the rest of the meal. No tantrums. No demanding napkins. No forcing them to serve me.

Holden kept throwing me suspicious glances, his frown deepening with every passing minute.

Alaric's subtle gaze kept sliding over my frame, lingering on my skin, before slowly pulling away. I waited until the heavy oak front door clicked shut behind them.

Then, I collapsed against the plush velvet sofa. I pinched the bridge of my nose, staring up at the massive, gilded wedding portrait dominating the living room wall.

Truth be told, I harbored a massive crush on Alaric way before the ink dried on our marriage contract. But the man was a walking glacier.

Every single girl in my inner circle had crashed and burned trying to get his attention. I had my pride. I refused to play the desperate, chasing game.

Especially not for a cold fortress like him. Right when I had managed to successfully bury that fleeting crush, our families chained us together with a multibilliondollar merger.

I still remembered the suffocating rush of adrenaline right after the wedding.

I practically floated down the hall—until I paused outside his home office and caught him talking to Lance. "Sloane is notorious in our circle for being an absolute nightmare.

You drew the shortest straw, man." Alaric's reply sliced through the heavy wood door, cold and completely detached. "We both get what we need.

That's how business marriages work." Chapter 4 The tiny spark of hope inside me completely died out.

After months of playing the obedient, perfect wife right after the wedding, I finally hit my breaking point.

I dropped the act, letting my unfiltered, most authentic self bleed through. If we were just a transaction, as he said, then I was going to cash in. I gutted the house.

I replaced everything from the large sectional down to the Persian rugs, entirely catering to my own aesthetic. Alaric never blinked. Only once did his stoic mask slip.

When I demanded the oversized, gilded wedding portrait be hung dead center in the living room, a faint crease appeared between his brows. "It ruins the flow.

It's an eyesore." A sour, ugly feeling twisted my gut. It wasn't the portrait he hated looking at. It was me.

But Alaric’s freezing detachment also meant he simply didn't care enough to fight me. So, I pushed harder. I barked orders.

I forced him into ridiculous outfits he despised, desperately trying to pull a reaction out of him. Sometimes, his jaw would lock. He would give me that same, faint frown.

I was obsessed with that frown. He looked like a god carved out of ice—untouchable and perfectly still. That tiny crease between his brows was the only proof he was actually human.

His silent indulgence over the years twisted my reality. Sometimes, I actually deluded myself into thinking he cared. Then I would look at his dead, amber eyes.

The exact same blank stare he gave the housekeeper. Yeah. Just my ovulation hormones gaslighting me again. "Dorothy.

Get someone in here to tear that down." I pointed a shaking finger at the massive wedding portrait.

Six years ago, a naive, hopeful girl practically buzzed with excitement as she watched them hang it up.

Six years later, that girl finally realized she was nothing but a ghost in Alaric's eyes. Honestly, I could stomach a loveless marriage.

But these floating, holographic comments acted like a live security feed straight into my husband’s office. It was driving me insane. [Willow just poured Alaric his coffee.

He actually looked up at her! I am shipping them so hard right now.] [Our girl totally missed a typo in the quarterly report. Such a clumsy cutie.

Alaric is going to find it adorable~] I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face in the sofa cushions. I forced myself to sleep.

When my eyelids finally snapped open, thunder was shaking the floorboards.

Heavy rain lashed relentlessly against the floortoceiling windows. "Fell asleep in the living room?" His voice was a low, staticky rasp coming through the phone.

I hummed a faint acknowledgment. He paused. I could hear the faint rustle of papers on his end. "I'm working late. I might just crash at the office.

Have Holden sleep in your room tonight." Before I could even open my mouth, the comments scrolled quickly across my vision. [He's definitely working late, but guess who else is at the office?

Just the two of them alone in a massive, empty skyscraper while it pours outside. The tension is about to go crazy.] [I live for this power couple dynamic.

A ruthless, workaholic CEO and a fiercely driven career woman. Not like some pathetic trophy wife.] [For real. Scared of a little thunder, so she needs a babysitter.

If her husband isn't there, she forces her kid to sleep with her. What a giant baby.] My lungs burned. A bitter laugh scraped up my throat. "No need.

Just focus on your work—" The words died on my tongue. My head snapped up. Holden stood dead still in the hallway, his tiny face locked into a severe, icy glare.

I had no idea how long he had been standing there listening to my side of the call. As we locked eyes, the glowing text shifted slightly, mirroring my perspective.

My son didn't say a single word. He quietly slipped his heavy backpack off his shoulders, turned his back on me, and disappeared into his bedroom.

Over the phone, Alaric finally broke the silence. Chapter 5 "The wall behind you…" His voice crackled through the phone's speaker. I twisted around.

The massive wedding portrait had vanished from the living room wall. "Where is the painting?" he demanded. "I had someone throw it out in the trash," I replied, deadpan. "Focus on your work.

Hanging up." Alaric didn't utter a single word. His face darkened instantly through the screen. I barely noticed. I just stared at the massive, empty space on the wall.

I needed to buy something new. It looked completely bare. After dinner, the storm still raged. Thunder rattled the glass panes. I rubbed my burning eyes.

When I blinked them open, a tiny boy stood dead center in the living room. He clutched a thick children's book to his chest, his face completely serious. "Let's go.

I'm here to tuck you in." Honestly, the thunder didn't terrify me. The suffocating atmospheric pressure just drove me insane. Every single storm, my mood plummeted.

I usually used it as an excuse to make Alaric's life a living hell in the bedroom. The neon text flared across my vision. [The villainess is so annoying.

Forcing a fiveyearold to tuck her in? The sheer entitlement.] [She has zero selfawareness. Holden's face literally screams disgust.

She can't torture her husband since he's working, so she tortures the kid. Can we speed up the slowburn between the leads already?] I stared at Holden.

The kid maintained a perfectly blank mask. A carbon copy of his father. "No need. Mom can sleep by herself." I waved him off. Holden's teeth sank into his lower lip.

A flicker of genuine hurt cracked his stoic facade. "But Dad told me to stay with you." A dull ache throbbed in my temples.

Before I could formulate a rejection, headlights slashed through the heavy rain outside. A car horn blared in the driveway. I froze. The glowing comments completely derailed. [Wait.

Alaric came home?! What about Willow?!] Holden bolted for the front door.

He grabbed his father's soaked sleeve, his tiny voice incredibly serious. "Mom wouldn't let me stay with her." Alaric gave a curt nod.

Even looking at his son, his jaw remained locked tight. His expression hadn't improved much either.

A sea of glowing question marks flooded my vision. "Why… why are you home?" I stammered. Alaric ignored the question.

His amber eyes instantly snapped to the blank wall behind the sofa.

His eyes darkened even more. "You said it ruined the flow." I swallowed hard, my skin crawling under his heavy stare. "So, I took it down…" The neon text eagerly analyzed the shift. [Does Alaric actually hate Sloane like the novel claims?

Something feels incredibly off.] [Duh. Look at his face. He's absolutely livid.

He probably realized his son couldn't handle her toxic tantrums, so he rushed back to protect Holden.] [Yeah, he looks totally done with her bullshit.] Alaric heavily patted Holden's shoulder. "Go to bed." Holden blinked.

His gaze snapped back to me. "No leg massage today, Mom?" I aggressively waved my hands. "No. Definitely not." Holden's little chest hitched.

A fragile, glassy sheen pooled in his eyes. He instantly blinked it away. His tiny jaw set into a fierce, stubborn line. "What about your shoulders?" I nodded frantically.

Holden's cheeks puffed out. He spun on his heel and marched straight into his bedroom.

Alaric tugged at his silk tie, a heavy gloom settling over his features. "Are you in a bad mood lately?" I stared at him, completely lost. "No. I actually feel great." Dead silence.

He dragged in a harsh breath. He gave a single, rigid nod. Outside, rain relentlessly lashed against the glass.

The neon comments continued their endless scroll. [Alaric literally abandoned Willow at the office. How is the plot supposed to progress?!] [Chill.

Physical distance can't break their connection.

Their soulmate bond is forged from solid steel.] Chapter 6 The exact second that holographic comment vanished, the phone resting on Alaric's nightstand buzzed sharply.

Water blasted against the bathroom tiles. I snatched his phone off the dark wood. "Your phone!" I yelled over the roaring shower. [What did I tell you?

Willow is calling!] [Is the villainess seriously going to answer it? Zero respect for boundaries. So toxic.] [Don't panic. If she answers, it just makes Alaric hate her more.

In the book, she answered secretly, screamed at the female lead, and Alaric literally shoved her so hard she ate dirt.

Humiliating.] Alaric's voice cut through the heavy spray of water. "Answer it.

See what they want." I dropped the glowing screen back onto the nightstand like it burned my fingers. "Come out and answer it yourself." The shower abruptly shut off.

A second later, Alaric stepped into the bedroom, his dark hair dripping with white lather.

A heavy stare pinned me to the mattress before his amber gaze dropped to pick up the phone. A bright, feminine voice instantly filled the bedroom. "Mr.

Sterling, I drafted two proposals and never got a reply—" In the dead silence of the master suite, Willow's voice echoed loudly. He had put it on speaker.

Alaric didn't utter a single syllable. His eyes locked onto my face. He waited. The sheer awkwardness crawled under my skin. Why the hell did he crank the volume up?

The comments exploded with glee. [Incoming villainess tantrum! She used to lose it every time a woman called his personal line.

She literally clawed his face once.] [Only Alaric could tolerate her toxic obsession. But every time she acts unhinged, his disgust deepens.

It just highlights how sweet our Willow is. It means less mercy when her legs get crushed later.] Crushed legs. The words triggered a sudden wave of pure panic. My lungs seized.

A brutal coughing fit ripped through my chest.

I hacked violently, scrambling off the edge of the bed and practically sprinting for the bathroom tiles. "I'm… cough… going to shower." A wet, firm hand clamped around my wrist.

Alaric dragged in a sharp, ragged breath. The muscles in his jaw locked tight, desperately suppressing his frustration.

He declined the call without breaking eye contact. "It's after hours.

Tomorrow." His thumb pressed against my frantic pulse. "A woman calls my personal line, and you aren't furious?" Suffocating silence. Alaric stared at me intently for a long time.

After a torturous minute, his fingers uncurled. He let me go. That night, the mattress shifted heavily. He tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning.

The glowing text relentlessly mocked me in the dark. [He's totally regretting his choices.

He's agonizing over why he isn't with Willow at the office instead of stuck next to this villainess.] [Honestly, Sloane is pathetic.

Sleeping right next to a man who dreams of someone else. So clueless.] Clueless? Me? My nails bit into my palms. Fine. I can endure this.

The absolute second Holden agreed to leave with me, I fully planned to slap the divorce papers onto Alaric's desk and wish his new relationship the best.

Alaric's side of the bed sat cold and perfectly made the next morning. I padded out to the dining room. Holden sat at the massive table, his dark eyes tracking my every move.

I stepped closer. I reached out, my fingers gently brushing his soft cheek. Holden's tiny frame went completely rigid. A bright flush burned the tips of his ears.

He subtly jerked his neck back. A deliberate, undeniable flinch. My hand froze midair. A bitter chill sank into my bones