We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 147

Chapter 147

Rachel’s POV

I saw that flash in Ridley’s eyes–the same look his father had before making decisions no one could undo. For years, Ridley had kept his emotions tightly controlled, but tonight, he was repeatedly losing his

grip. When Sterling men truly lose control…

The consequences are unthinkable.

“Ridley, enough.” My voice finally pulled him back from the precipice.

Daisy didn’t realize she had just been spared. She continued pleading:

“Ridley, I truly love Aria. No one understands her artistic talent like I

do…”

“Security!” I made the decision with swift certainty. “Escort Miss

Black out.”

“No! I won’t go! The Metropolitan Dance Academy needs me for Aria’s

development!” Daisy tried to struggle, but our security detail gave her

no opportunity, removing her with professional efficiency.

I turned to our house staff: “Please take Aria to her room. Have a

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Chapter 147

doctor examine her injuries and provide appropriate care.”

The grand room emptied until only my son and I remained beneath

the crystal chandeliers.

I crossed to him, sighing heavily. “Ridley, I misjudged Daisy’s

character. But ultimately, this was our negligence. If we had paid

more attention to Aria’s withdrawn behavior, how could it have taken

so long to discover what was happening?”

The dangerous glint in Ridley’s eyes gradually subsided.

His jaw remained tightly clenched as he said, “I will investigate

exactly what Daisy did to Aria.”

“This matter certainly needs investigation, but Ridley,” I placed my

hand on his arm, feeling the tension there, “whatever Daisy’s faults,

there was no need for physical confrontation. What worries me most

is you…”

“Mom, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry,” Ridley said gravely.

Fine? He was clearly anything but fine…

The worry I’d carried for years settled more heavily on my shoulders.

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Ridley would soon turn thirty–one. I couldn’t forget that night when

he was twenty–four and collapsed during the Fischer project.

presentation. When I rushed back from Milan, he was pale as marble,

medical equipment surrounding him in the private hospital suite. In

that moment, I was terrified of losing my son just as I had lost my

husband when Ridley was barely twenty.

Then the doctor delivered the crushing news: Ridley had an

extremely rare blood disorder that could be managed with treatment but gave him perhaps seven years to live. I had to accept fate’s cruelty

while desperately seeking specialists from home and abroad. But

despite all resources at my disposal, the clock continued ticking. Now

we were approaching his final predicted year…

“Mom, I’m perfectly healthy. I’m following the treatment protocol and

avoiding unnecessary risks,” Ridley squeezed my hand. “I promised

you long ago that you wouldn’t have to bury your child.”

My tears fell despite decades of practice at maintaining composure in

crisis.

I covered my mouth, my voice breaking. “Ridley, you’ll be alright, you

will…”

Some phrases, when repeated, only reveal our deepest doubts.

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