The Billionaire And His Son Want Me Back (Paisley) novel Chapter 1

"Mrs. Vanderbilt, the food's gone cold again. Should I reheat it?" The housekeeper's cautious tone carried a hint of impatience as she glanced at Paisley Sutton.

Paisley sat alone at the large dining table, the vast space around her amplifying her solitude. She glanced at the time and then at the housekeeper, whose frustration was over her face. "Just clear it away," said Paisley with a faint smile that barely masked her weariness.

It was her birthday today, yet neither her husband nor son had bothered to come home. The stark absence of their presence made the silence in the room deafening.

The housekeeper began clearing the table with swift, almost annoyed movements, muttering under her breath, "Mrs. Vanderbilt, not to be rude, but why go to all this trouble? You knew neither your husband nor your son would be back tonight, yet you insisted on preparing a whole feast.

"Reheating this food three times tonight? It's exhausting. Honestly, as a wife and mother, you're not exactly winning any awards. Otherwise, why would they both avoid you like this?"

"You're right. I've failed spectacularly," Paisley replied with a bitter smile. The words stung, but she no longer had the strength to argue. In this house, even the housekeeper had no qualms about being openly dismissive toward her.

She understood that the housekeeper's attitude mirrored the Vanderbilt family's treatment of her. She scoffed internally, 'If my husband and son don't respect me, why would anyone else?'

Seeing Paisley's quiet despair, the housekeeper softened slightly, a flicker of pity crossing her face.

With a sigh, she muttered, "People always cling to things that don't belong to them. If I were you, I'd let go. Let it all go. You'd be doing yourself a favor—and maybe even others."

Paisley didn't respond, but the words lingered, sinking deep into her mind like stones dropped into a still pond.

The room remained quiet, save for the clinking of dishes being cleared away. The chandelier overhead cast a soft, golden glow, but it only emphasized how hollow the space felt. Paisley's chest tightened, her heart weighed down by the emptiness she'd grown accustomed to.

The housekeeper finished clearing the table and retreated to her quarters, leaving the vast dining room eerily silent.

Paisley turned off all the lights, her movements slow and deliberate, as if each step required effort.

Cradling the cake box, she climbed the grand staircase and returned to her bedroom. The space was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into her soul rather than her skin.

She settled onto the plush sofa by the window, the moonlight spilling in faintly, casting soft shadows on the walls.

Carefully, she opened the cake box. Inside was a delicately crafted dessert meant for celebration, though the atmosphere couldn't feel less festive.

She removed the cake, placed a single candle on top, and lit it. The flickering flame reflected in her tired eyes in an overwhelming darkness.

Just as she was about to gather her thoughts, a sharp WhatsApp message shattered the silence in the room. The sound was jarring in the quiet space, its abruptness making her heart jump. She hesitantly reached for her phone, only to find it was a video message.

She clicked on it, and the screen revealed a scene from a VIP hospital suite. Her husband, Dominick Vanderbilt, and her young son, Grayson Vanderbilt, sat by the bedside of a gorgeous, frail-looking woman.

Paisley recognized her instantly. It was Marissa Prescott, Dominick's childhood sweetheart, to whom Dominick had once been engaged. This video was from her.

"Dom, I'm so sorry to keep you here so late," Marissa's weak voice came through, punctuated by soft, deliberate coughs.

"It's no trouble," Dominick replied, his tone warm and gentle, with a tenderness Paisley hadn't heard from him in years. It wasn't just warmth—it was affection, even indulgence.

'So, he's been with her all day,' Paisley thought, a faint, self-deprecating smile curling her lips. She couldn't even remember the last time Dominick had spoken to her without an edge of irritation, let alone with this kind of fondness.

A pang of bitterness twisted in her chest as she wondered when his voice, once a source of comfort, had turned into a weapon. Now, it seemed, every word he directed at her was either critical or cold.

"Marissa, you don't need to worry," came Grayson's soft, childlike voice from the video. His small, chubby body crawled up onto the bed, snuggling into Marissa's arms. "Daddy and I love staying here with you. We don't wanna go home."

The boy's next words hit like a dagger. "I love having Marissa around. I wish she was my mommy."

The video ended abruptly, leaving Paisley staring at the blank screen.

Her hands trembled as she set the phone down. The candle on the cake flickered, its glow dim against the suffocating darkness in the room.

Finally, Paisley made up her mind. She drew a deep breath and blew out the flame. The dimness swallowed the room as her voice broke the silence, soft and almost a whisper. "Happy birthday to me."

Dominick returned home well past midnight. The house was shrouded in darkness, an unusual sight. There was always a light left on for him, no matter how late he arrived, but tonight, that small comfort was conspicuously absent.

His brow furrowed with irritation as he handed Grayson off to the housekeeper. Without a word, he strode toward the master bedroom, his steps brisk and sharp. When he noticed the light spilling out from under the door, his grim expression eased slightly.

Inside, Paisley sat upright on the sofa, her posture unnervingly composed. Beside her was a neatly packed suitcase, and on the low coffee table in front of her lay a divorce agreement, stark and unmissable.

Dominick's fleeting relief vanished, replaced by a cold, impenetrable look. His voice was clipped and edged with annoyance. "Paisley, what is this? Another one of your stunts?"

Paisley could feel the tension between them crackle like static in the air. She didn't have the energy to entertain his accusations, nor did she have the desire to dig into the complicated mess he called a "stunt".

She stood her ground, her voice quiet but unwavering, "Dominick, I want a divorce."

He sighed heavily, his fatigue evident as he loosened his tie and tossed it onto the sofa. That was when his gaze fell on the small cake sitting on the coffee table, its candle burned down to the wick.

"It's your birthday today?" His tone carried faint disbelief, laced with a trace of guilt. He'd forgotten, and his assistant hadn't reminded him either.

"It doesn't matter," Paisley replied, shaking her head. She pushed the divorce agreement closer to him, her expression unwavering. "Sign it. Let's end this."