the CEO heir wants his stepmother のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

My eyes opened on a ceiling I had never seen before—high, painted in soft cream, with a crystal chandelier that caught the early light and threw it across the bed in broken pieces. Silk sheets slid against my bare legs. The mattress was too soft, the kind that swallows you if you lie still too long. For a second I thought I was still dreaming the last scene I had written the night before, the one where the young widow opens her eyes in the bridal suite and realizes her husband is already cold beside her. Then I turned my head. The other half of the bed was empty. The pillow still held the shape of a head, and a single dark hair rested on the white case. On the nightstand sat a gold wedding band, the same one I had described three chapters ago when I was still just a girl at a desk with a half-finished manuscript and a cup of cold coffee. My heart started hammering so hard I could feel it in my teeth. I sat up too fast. The room tilted. My hands—these hands—were smaller than

I followed him up the stairs with my heart trying to climb out of my throat and the system humming like an impatient mosquito in the corner of my vision.Damian walked ahead of me, school bag still hanging off one shoulder, split lip already swelling. He didn’t glance back once. He just opened his bedroom door, stepped inside, and waited like a boy who had been told to report for detention and decided to be polite about it.I closed the door harder than necessary. The sound made me jump.Okay, I told myself. You wrote this woman. You know how she operates. Cold voice. Sharp words. Make him feel small. Raise the number. Go home. Easy.I pointed at the floor. “Stand there.”He stood there.I opened my mouth. Nothing useful came out. The original Phyna would have already launched into a cutting speech about disappointment and shame and how he was dragging the Kane name through the mud. I had written those speeches. They were sitting in my old manuscript like loaded guns. Now that I neede

the firm belief that today was the day I finally became the monster this novel required.The plan was simple. No more soft notes. No more hidden sandwiches. No more asking if things hurt. I was going to be cold, consistent, and deeply unpleasant. The system would finally stop looking at me like a disappointing intern.I marched downstairs in the original Phyna’s most severe black dress and found Damian already at the kitchen table, still eating toast like a person who had not been banned from breakfast.He looked up, saw my face, and slowly put the toast down.“I’m grounded,” he said, before I could speak. “From food. I remember.”“Then why are you eating?”“The housekeeper said you looked like you needed coffee more than I needed punishment, so she made a deal with me. I get toast if I stay quiet and don’t bleed on anything.”I turned to the housekeeper, who was suddenly very interested in the inside of a cupboard.“Traitor,” I muttered.She hummed an innocent tune.Damian wiped his

I decided the problem was that I had been too subtle.Subtlety was clearly not raising the corruption meter fast enough. What I needed was a bold, unmistakable act of stepmotherly tyranny—something the original Phyna would have approved of with a cold little nod. Something that would finally convince both the system and the boy that I was serious.I chose the books.At six in the morning I marched into Damian’s room with an empty cardboard box and a facial expression I had practiced in the mirror for ten full minutes. He was already awake, sitting up in bed with a novel open on his knees. He looked at the box, then at my face, then back at the box.“Good morning,” he said carefully.“This is not a good morning,” I announced. “This is a confiscation. All recreational reading material is hereby suspended for two weeks. You may keep schoolbooks only.”I expected resistance. Protest. At least a bit of sulking.Instead Damian closed his novel, placed it gently in the box, and then stood up

I spent the afternoon of the birthday gathering pacing the first floor like a general who had sent a single soldier into battle and immediately regretted the entire war.Damian had left at two o’clock wearing a clean shirt and an expression of careful neutrality. He had paused at the door and asked, “Ninety minutes. Starting from arrival or from departure?”“From arrival,” I said. “And don’t be polite longer than necessary.”“I’ll set a timer.”“Do not set a timer. That is weird.”“Then I’ll estimate.”“Estimating is also weird. Just… come home.”He had nodded and left. The car disappeared down the drive. I was alone with the housekeeper, the system, and a refrigerator covered in increasingly unhinged household legislation.The system tried to be supportive.[This is an opportunity. While the minor is absent, Host may prepare a colder reception upon return.] [Suggestion: Greet him with silence and a single critical comment about his appearance or punctuality.]“I’m not criticizing a