Chapter 1

Three months after I married the wealthy Eleanor, she passed away.

She left behind a vast fortune and a rebellious teenage son.

Caleb was volatile and sullen, filled with an intense hatred for me, his stepfather.

To force me out, he'd put cleaner in my food, scatter cockroaches on my bed—he stopped at nothing.

But I didn't care. I continued to dutifully look after him.

Finally, when Caleb turned eighteen, I had fulfilled his mother's dying wish. I packed my things, ready to leave.

But Caleb, eyes red, tackled me onto the bed.

"Didn't you promise my mom you'd always take care of me?"

He bit open a condom wrapper with his teeth, then pulled my legs up to rest on his waist.

"Physical care counts too, doesn't it?"

The first time I met Caleb,

he was wearing a school uniform, lounging on the couch, listening to his mother introduce me.

When he heard we were married, Caleb let out a dismissive scoff.

His dark eyes, framed by messy hair, burned with intense disgust, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Stepparent? A stepfather only seven years older than me?"

His challenging tone clearly embarrassed his mother.

I tried to smooth things over:

"Don't worry about titles, you can call me whatever you like."

Kids his age are often rebellious and sharp-tongued, and Caleb was notoriously difficult.

"Anything?" Caleb jutted out his jaw, a cocky grin on his face. "Then I'll call you a bastard."

That day, Caleb infuriated his mother so much she ended up in the hospital.

After that, he began to act.

He played the part of a dutiful son in front of his mother, seemingly getting along with me.

But when we were alone, he revealed the viciousness of a cornered animal.

Caleb's first 'welcome gift' to me came after his mother was discharged.

At the dinner table, Caleb looked at me, eyes sparkling with feigned expectation. "Why aren't you eating?"

I stirred my spoon in the soup. A pungent smell wafted from it, a clear sign it had been "enhanced."

Seeing I still didn't move, his expression instantly softened into a pitiful pout.

"Mom, does he hate me? He won't even eat the soup I served."

"It's okay, we're not real father and son anyway. It's normal for him not to like me."

His mother quickly put an arm around him, trying to comfort him.

Where his mother couldn't see, Caleb's eyes glinted sharply, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips.

I feigned illness, claiming I wasn't feeling well enough to eat, and went hungry that entire night.

Later, in the middle of the night, when I went downstairs to the kitchen for food, I ran into Caleb.

He casually leaned over, lighting a cigarette off the stove burner, then stood lazily, leaning against the counter.

"Hungry?"

The cigarette flickered between his fingers, his face obscured by the smoke, making him hard to discern.

Just as I was about to leave, he suddenly grabbed my collar, pulling me back.

We were inches apart.

Caleb suddenly laughed, blowing a puff of smoke directly into my face.

His dark pupils were filled with malice.

"Get out now, or I'll make your life a living hell."

I remained silent for a moment.

Then I peeled his fingers off me.

I plucked the cigarette from his hand and crushed it in the sink.

"Don't let your mom find out. She'd be upset."

Caleb froze, surprised by my words.

As I started to walk upstairs, Caleb's angry voice followed me.

"Don't pretend like you care about my mom, you fake!"

"You just finished grad school and married into my family. It's obviously for the money, isn't it?"

"I'll give you money. Just stay away from my mom!"

The impatient teen couldn't hide his true feelings; his real intentions came spilling out in just a few sentences.

But before Caleb could pull off any more stunts to force me out, his mother became seriously ill and was hospitalized.

Barely a month later, she passed away.

When I found Caleb,

the rain poured down, but he sat motionless at his parents' grave, looking like a lost puppy.

I held the umbrella over his head.

"Come on, let's go home."

Caleb snapped back to reality as if waking from a trance.

He looked up at me, his dark eyes devoid of any emotion.

"Home? Do I even have a home anymore?"

That day, I forcibly carried Caleb home. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything for three days.

On my shoulder, he went from cursing me loudly to quietly shedding tears.