The cold millionaire pampers his fake wife

Alice’s POV

“I don’t want my mommy anymore. I wish Aunt Lily could be my new mommy.”

That was my daughter’s five older birthday wish.

I overheard those devastating words the moment I pushed the front door open. I froze in the shadow of the entryway, still wet from the rain. With a ragged gasp, my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Inside the paper bag I carried was the ballet dress Camilla had been talking about for weeks — the limited ‘Swan Lake’ edition. I’d driven to three different boutiques before finally finding it, in the display window of a small shop on the west side of town.

From my other arm hung a strawberry shortcake from a bakery that required a three‑week preorder. I had tried so hard to make her birthday special, she meant so much to me.

I quietly moved to the entrance to the dining room.

Camilla sat at the table, wearing the cute little princess dress I’d sewn for her myself. Three late nights, needle pricks on my fingers, tiny pearls stitched one by one, onto pale pink tulle. She was clinging to Lily’s arm, pressing her cheek against it, smiling up at her aunt like she adored her.

“I want Aunt Lily,” Camilla said, her little face scrunched up. “Mommy’s bossy. She tells me off and makes me tidy up. She’s not nice. I hate it when she washes my hair and the shampoo gets in my eyes.”

Lily is my half‑sister, and my husband David’s first love. She had lost her husband recently.

I understand that the life of a woman living alone can be fraught with difficulties, so in the beginning, David began inviting her to our home on special holiday occasions.

Then it became every weekend. Soon she started appearing at our house and in our lives frequently. Too frequently.

Since then, David had been… attentive. Considerate. Present for her, in ways he hadn’t been for me in years. I had noticed. But I said nothing.

“I like you, too,” Lily told Camilla gently, choosing every word with care. “But you’ve already got a mom. I can’t be your mom, sweetie.

She covered her mouth as she laughed, eyes soft, voice even softer. Perfect.

Graceful. Reluctant. Kind. But quietly triumphant. See? Camilla chooses me.

“But you’re better,” Camilla insisted. “You’re nice and you always play with me!”

Then she turned to David. “Daddy, you like Aunt Lily, too, right?”

David smiled. Not at Camilla.

At Lily.

His expression softened in a way that was once reserved for me. My heart felt leaden in my chest, and my eyes grew misty.

Seeing his smile, Camilla clapped little hands. “Yeah! Daddy, can Aunt Lily stay with us? Can I have a new little brother?”

Little kids don’t know cruelty. They just tell the truth in a gush of childish emotions.

They all sat there; David, Lily, and Camilla, framed by warm lights, with leftover party confetti on the table. Looking like a cozy family.

And I stood in the doorway with a melting cake and a carefully wrapped gift, feeling like someone who’d walked into the wrong house.

“Mom!” Camilla finally noticed me. Her bright smile fell instantly. “It’s my birthday party. You’re late! Why haven’t you dressed up nice and pretty, like me and Aunt Lily?”

Lily wore a cream‑colored cashmere dress, simple and expensive in that way that pretends not to be. A diamond brooch rested at her neckline, and gold jewelry dangled from her wrists. Her chestnut curls fell loosely over her shoulders.

I felt dowdy. In a faded gray sweater, old jeans washed too many times; my hair pulled into a low ponytail, loose strands sticking to my damp forehead. The uniform of someone who doesn’t get time to change.

I took a breath, my nails digging into my palm. “Camilla, don’t talk to me like that. I’m your mother!”

The baby who used to curl into my chest and mumble Mama, kicked the table leg instead, annoyed.

I walked over and set my gifts down in front of her.

A square box wrapped in pale blue paper; silver ribbon tied neatly on top. And the small chestnut cake, in a plain white box, a hint of cream showing at the seam.

“Happy birthday, my darling,” I said.

Our housekeeper appeared, carrying something enormous. A gift box almost as tall as Camilla. Rainbow holographic wrapping. A fluffy pink bow.

“Camilla,” Lily said brightly. “I have a present for you, too.”

Camilla’s eyes lit up. She tore into the wrapping.

Inside was a three‑story princess castle, as tall as my child. Pink towers, working gates, glowing windows. Each level decorated with frosting‑like roses and tiny figurines. At the top stood a crystal princess in a jeweled gown, throwing rainbow light across the room.

“Whoa!” Camilla gasped, eyes wide with disbelief.

My little blue box suddenly felt microscopic. Camilla didn’t open it; she merely tossed it aside.

Then the cake box tipped over. One side collapsed. I didn’t bother to check inside.

“Aunt Lily!” Camilla threw herself into Lily’s arms, burying her face in Lily’s soft cashmere chest. “I love you so much! You’re the best! Thank you for the big pink castle!”

Lily hugged Camilla back, casting a weary, fragile glance at David. "I'm so sorry, sweetie," she murmured, her voice laced with exhaustion. "I wanted to stay and play with you all night, but I think I’ve hit a wall. I really need to get on the road and back home."

Camilla’s face fell instantly. Her grip on Lily’s waist tightened, and she looked up at David with tearful, pleading eyes. "No! Daddy, don't let her go! It’s raining and dark, and Lily's tired! She can stay with us!"

"You're not going anywhere tonight, Lily," David said firmly, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "Camilla's right. I'm not having you drive ten miles in this downpour."

David glanced at the two of them—Lily looking small and drained, Camilla clinging to her like a lifeline. Finally, his eyes found me.

“Alice,” he said, “Let Lily take the master suite.”

“What? master suite?!” My voice little more than a hoarse whisper,I searched his face for the hint of a joke.

He noticed my hesitation. “It’s just for one night,” he added, with a little shrug. “Alice, this is our guest we’re talking about. Don’t be petty.”

Petty?

“Can’t you see? Lily’s exhausted,” David explained. “She needs to wind down and a warm bath will help her relax. But only the master suite has a tub.” His tone left no room for negotiation.

The master bedroom. King-size bed. Private balcony. Ensuite bathroom.

I inhaled slowly, my thoughts in a whirl. I frowned,"David, you are not serious, are you? It's our room."

Camilla tilted her head back, her eyes full of disdain and reproach as she mimicked her father's phrasing.“Petty Mommy, Petty Mommy. Aunt Lily is tired, and you are kicking her out! You are so mean. ”