Roman Atwood Mom Novels & Stories

I asked, my eyes darting between Rhett and little Ruby. Rhett, always the bold one, stepped forward. “Well, the first time Uncle Roman arrived, you said he was an old friend, Mom. But the way you two talk to each other… it’s obvious there’s something more. Like you have some kind of unsettled fight or secret.” My mouth opened to respond, but before I could, little Ruby chimed in. “And now Roman says he has kids who are our age,” she said, her small hands resting confidently on her hips. “And, Mom, you never talk about Dad. Like, ever.”

I said. “Thank you,” Mrs Roman says, offering a small smile. “Before we begin, I’d like to propose a toast,” she cleared her throat, grabbing her glass of wine. “First of all, thank you for joining. You all look lovely tonight,” she smiles at us. “I want to thank Emmanuel Stark for being our hope,” she said. All eyes turn to me. “We’re truly grateful for your kindness. Robert would be really proud of you, son,” she said talking about my late father. “And thank you to Miles,”

“All I ask is that my family stays out of this. Your child will be safe. That I can assure you. We don’t even know if Edward cares about your son at all. If I were you, I wouldn’t bet on it.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. The rims were raw and red, her nose running, but I suspected part of it had nothing to do with Edward and everything to do with her cocaine addiction. Poor Roman; her son, had a coke addict for a mother and a deadbeat for a father. Giana stormed out a few minutes later, her body stiff with anger. I pressed the intercom and instructed my secretary to send in Kola. He strolled in a few minutes later, his posture loose but his eyes sharp.

Every corner of the Grand hall was covered in white orchids, the scent thick and cloying, matching the crushing pressure of the expectations in the room. At the altar, Roman Sterling adjusted his cufflinks. He looked every bit the polished heir. "Oh, you look so handsome, son." his mother whispered, stepping into his space. Even at fifty, she wore her diamonds and elegance like a charm. Roman offered a smile. "I still can’t believe you chose that Pierce girl." she continued with a hiss. "I heard her father is drowning in debt. Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Roman?"

Comment sections are already a bloodbath. “Disgusting. She’s barely legal.” “Bet she spread for the money. Classic.” “Roman Vale always gets what he wants. Even if it’s his own stepkid.” I throw the phone across the bed like it burned me. It bounces, screen still glowing with fresh alerts. Another article pops up: side-by-side photos—one of me at the gala on Roman’s arm, dress askew, lipstick smeared; the other of Mom looking devastated outside his office building this morning.

Roman sat on the edge of his bed, phone in his hand, and stared at the wall. Yesterday, one sentence from him had been enough to make her sign away her entire marriage without a fight. Yesterday, he'd told her to go, and she'd gone. Today, he couldn't even get her voicemail. His mother called. He could hear the panic before she even spoke. "It's REAL, Roman! All of it! Lincoln Sun — do you know who that is? He was one of the biggest real estate moguls in the country before he went underground thirty years ago! And he's her GRANDFATHER! You need to get her back! RIGHT NOW!"

"Just the two of us, no lawyers, the same way Whitfield insisted on meeting with Diane. Some conversations deserve to happen honestly, without legal strategy standing between the people who actually need to hear them." That evening, once Grace had been fed and the older children settled, Roman sat alone on the terrace for a long while, the documentation from Arthur's report still weighing on him visibly, and Vivienne joined him quietly, settling into the chair beside his without immediately speaking. "I keep thinking about how many people my mother hurt," Roman said finally. "Not just me, not just you and the children. Julian and his mother too, for over a decade, simply because acknowledgin

"I-I want to be with your father. Put my ashes inside his grave." "Huh? Wouldn't reopening the grave disturb him? He's been gone for years already. Public cemeteries are nice too. They have peaceful scenery and regular maintenance." Mom became so angry she couldn't even speak anymore. Her throat made harsh rattling sounds like broken bellows. Seeing how weak she was, I decided to stop arguing. "Fine. I get it. Don't worry. I'll bury you next to Dad." A few seconds later, the light faded from her eyes.

in reverential voices. “I’m not the businesswoman you are,” Mom said. “But there was a time when I had plans to grow the studio, to try to build it and make it something really impressive. I never had the success you’ve created, though.” Thanks to Dalton, I thought in the back of my mind. If I hadn’t met him, I’d still be small potatoes, struggling to keep students from running over to dance with Ned Eclair. “What else is going on with Dalton?” Mom asked, lifting a scone daintily and pulling off a corner before feeding it to Pinky, who was now purring at her feet.

“Hey, babe. How was the drive?” They chatted casually. Normal. Domestic. The sound of it made the guilt surge again, sharper this time. Mom had no idea. She trusted both of us. She worked so hard to keep this house, to keep our family afloat after Dad left years ago. And here I was, spreading my legs for her man every chance I got.