We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 166

Chapter 166

They had claimed every inch of her, leaving nothing for me.

“Charles,” I called sharply.

He appeared immediately. “Sir?”

“Take them to their rooms. Now.”

Within minutes, my staff had collected the protesting children. Oliver

wailed the loudest: “No! I want to sleep with Mommy!”

“Quiet,” Aiden whispered urgently. “If you keep making a scene, Dad

won’t let her come back.”

That silenced him instantly.

Cedar’s POV

I found myself at the Sterling family dinner table almost by accident,

having agreed to stay after the children’s persistent pleading. Sharing a meal with Ridley felt strangely intimate–his imposing presence at the head of the table a stark contrast to the warmth of his children

surrounding me.

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Oliver barely left my side, constantly filling my plate and calling me

“Mommy” with such natural ease that it made my heart ache. Aria and

Aiden were just as attentive, creating a bubble of acceptance I hadn’t

felt in years.

Then Ridley’s cold voice cut through it all: “Your mother is gone.

Calling someone else ‘Mommy‘ won’t change that fact.”

I froze, fork suspended midway to my mouth. Of course–I was

overstepping my boundaries. These weren’t my children, and Ridley

was reminding me of my place. If their real mother were still alive, I

wouldn’t be sitting here. The thought left an unexpected hollow

feeling in my chest.

Oliver’s defiant insistence that his mother wasn’t dead made me

wonder what these children had been told about her. Aiden’s mature

intervention only heightened my curiosity.

I focused on finishing my meal quickly, avoiding Ridley’s penetrating

gaze. “Thank you for dinner, Mr. Sterling, but I should really be going

home now.”

Before I could escape, Aria’s small hand slipped into mine, her eyes

pleading. “Will you read me a story, Mommy? Please?”

How could I refuse that face? I found myself being led upstairs,

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wondering what Ridley thought of this arrangement but too afraid to

look back and see his expression.

The guest room was stunning–cream–colored walls, panoramic

windows, and a bed that could comfortably fit four people. Which was

fortunate, because soon all three Sterling children had claimed spots

around me as I read from a well–worn copy of “The Velveteen Rabbit.”

Oliver clung to my neck, his small body warm against my side. Aria

curled against my stomach like a cat, while Aiden held my hand, his

grip surprisingly strong for a child his age. Their need for physical

connection was overwhelming–each touch conveying years of

maternal deprivation.

I was midway through the story when the door opened and Ridley

appeared, his tall frame filling the doorway. His expression darkened

when he saw the tableau on the bed.

‘I believe story time is over,” he announced.

Within minutes, his staff had removed the protesting children,

leaving Ridley and me alone in uncomfortable silence. I scrambled to

sit up, suddenly aware of my disheveled appearance. One button on

my blouse had come undone during the children’s enthusiastic

cuddling.

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