My Stepmother Is A State Secret Chapter 2

A massive thud echoed from upstairs, followed by the sound of a door being kicked open with enough force to rattle the chandeliers.

Jack Moretti appeared at the top of the stairs, a bird’s nest of messy dark hair and a black oversized tee with a skull on it. As the reigning king of the charts and the only heir to the Moretti empire, he was used to being the most dangerous thing in any room.

His fans in the chat were screaming, heart eyes for the "rebel prince," while cursing the show—and me—for waking him up.

Jack saw me sitting there and his eyes narrowed with pure, unadulterated loathing. He didn't use the stairs; he vaulted over the railing, landing with a practiced, cinematic grace that drew gasps from the crew.

He sauntered over and kicked the leather ottoman next to my chair.

"Hey, lady."

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets, his chin tilted at a defiant angle. "I’m not doing it. I’ll pay the kill fee myself. Go play the puppet for the cameras on your own."

The air in the room dropped to sub-zero. The assistant director’s hands were shaking with excitement. This was the gold they had come for: the stepson from hell versus the trophy wife.

I slowly set my iPad down and looked up. I studied his handsome, rebellious face for two beats. No anger. No flattery. No emotion at all.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a portable POS terminal.

"The breach-of-contract fee is five million dollars," I said calmly. "Card or wire transfer?"

Jack blinked, then let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "Are you insane? I have my dad’s black card. Whose money do you think you’re spending?"

I nodded slowly. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number on speakerphone.

"Hello," I said when the line connected. "This is Judy Moretti, acting agent for Gideon Moretti. Please freeze all secondary credit cards under the name Jack Moretti. Effective immediately."

"Of course, Mrs. Moretti. Identity verified. The accounts are locked."

I hung up.

The silence was deafening.

Jack scrambled for his phone, his thumbs flying as he tried to initiate a transfer. A bright red 'Transaction Failed' notification lit up his face.

"You have no right!" he snarled, looking like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.

I stood up. I was shorter than him, but the sheer force of my personality made him look small.

"I have a signed power of attorney from your father. I am your legal guardian while he’s in London. And as of this second, you are penniless. You can’t even afford the breakfast on that table."

I pointed to a plate of artisanal sandwiches.

"That sandwich cost fifteen dollars. Want a bite? Call me Mom."

Jack’s face turned a violent shade of crimson, the veins in his neck bulging. "In your dreams! I’d rather starve to death!"

"Ambitious. I like it."

I turned to the crew with a sharp nod. "Let’s move out. He’s not hungry."

I grabbed my limited-edition Birkin and walked toward the door without looking back.

Jack stood there, his stomach letting out a treacherous, echoing growl that the boom mic caught perfectly.

The fans in the chat, who had been dragging me for the last hour, suddenly went quiet.

[I feel bad for him, but... damn, she’s a boss.]

[Freezing the cards on live TV? This is like a billionaire romance novel coming to life.]

[She’s not here to be a stepmom. She’s here to break him.]