My son was called to a parent-teacher meeting, and to my surprise, his homeroom teacher was my ex-boyfriend. He adjusted his glasses, eyeing me with suspicion.

“Your nephew?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I sipped my tea, staying calm. “My son.”

He frowned. “Ava, you’re 23 years old, and your son is 17. Are you trying to pull a fast one on me?”

I barely managed to keep a smile. “My husband is 53. What’s the issue with him having an 17-year-old son?”

“How did you become so shallow?” he scoffed.

“Mr. Ford , do you still have feelings for me?” I asked, a teasing tone in my voice despite the tension.

He clenched his fists in frustration, slamming his hands down onto the desk. His face darkened. “Get out!”

Oh, he was furious.

After graduating from university, I found myself heartbroken and unemployed. I was lost and had no way of moving forward. Then, things took a turn for the worse when my father fell seriously ill. I was desperate for money.

Out of options, I turned to a shortcut.

The richest man in the city, an elderly gentleman, found me.

“I am ill and don’t have much time left,” he explained. “I want to find someone to take care of my son.”

“Sure, no problem. I can play any role,” I agreed, though my voice held the weight of desperation.

The old man was direct, and the next day, he passed away. We never legally registered our relationship, nor did we have a wedding ceremony.

At the funeral, the reading of his will shocked me. It stated, clear as day: “Ava will receive five hundred million dollars once Leo gets into university.”

For those few seconds, I thought about everything that had led me to this point—my struggles, my choices—and I had to hold back laughter at how ridiculous it all seemed.

That evening, I lay in my villa, planning how to spend my fortune. My mind raced with possibilities.

Then came the interruption.

With a loud crash, my luggage was thrown out the front door.

Wearing nothing but my pajamas, I ran outside, barefoot, to find my luggage on fire.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, my temper rising instantly.

Leo stood there, drenched in sweat, his soccer uniform clinging to his body. In his hand, he casually held a cigarette.

“Sorry, the cigarette slipped from my hand,” he said, his voice indifferent.

He looked me over briefly, then flicked the cigarette butt onto my luggage, watching it burn. With a nonchalant shrug, he turned and walked back inside.

I didn’t have time to argue. I was too busy trying to save my luggage from the flames.

By the time I managed to put out the fire, my suitcase was ruined, and a strand of my hair was singed.

Fuming, I marched upstairs to his room and began pounding on his door.

“Who is it?” came Leo’s voice, sounding too calm for my liking.

“Your mother!” I yelled, too angry to care about my tone.

The door swung open. There he stood, wrapped in a bath towel, freshly showered, his damp hair sticking to his forehead.

“Where did I get a mother? Or have you been watching too many videos?” he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Leo, show some respect!” I snapped, trying and failing to stay composed.

“Respect? You barge into my room while I’m bathing and then demand respect?” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I was at a loss for words.

“Ava, I can’t tolerate someone like you around. Please leave. Is that respectful enough?” Leo mocked.

With a loud bang, the door slammed in my face.

Didn’t they say Leo was just a spoiled brat?

How had an 17-year-old grown up so fast? Standing at 1.8 meters tall, with a sharp tongue that wouldn’t quit, he managed to push every button I had. It frustrated me, but I couldn’t understand why an 17-year-old would treat me like this. What was I missing?

I spent the whole night trying to figure it out but came up empty-handed. I must be approaching this all wrong.

The next morning, determined to reach him with warmth and patience, I woke up early to make breakfast.

An hour later, I knocked on his door.

“Leo, come out for breakfast, you’re going to be late,” I said, my voice gentle, filled with hope.

The door opened, and there he was—his hair a mess, looking groggy and irritated.

“What do you want this early in the morning?” he groaned, his voice rough from just waking up.

“I made breakfast. Come eat after you freshen up. I’ll drive you to school once you’re ready,” I offered with a smile, hoping he’d soften.

“I’m not eating,” he said, dismissing me and turning back into his room.

“Not eating? At your age, you need to eat properly. You’re still growing. You shouldn’t skip meals. You don’t need to lose weight either, you’re perfect,” I rambled, trailing behind him into his room.

“So annoying,” he muttered.

Leo walked over to the bed and, with his back to me, pulled off his T-shirt with one hand. I couldn’t help but notice the smooth, toned muscles of his back. It was a lean, athletic build, the kind that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Want to look some more?” Leo teased, his voice low and mocking.

I was caught off guard by his boldness, my face flushed with embarrassment.

“I… I… I’ll go check if the milk’s been heated yet,” I stammered, my mind racing as I turned on my heel and hurried out of the room.

Back in the kitchen, I was filled with regret.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen a young man before, so why did my heart flutter at the sight of a brat? What was so appealing about a teenager like him? He wasn’t even remotely charming…

I carried the milk out and waited for him in the dining room.

Ten minutes later, he came downstairs, shot me a quick look, and then made a beeline for the door.

Clearly, he had no intention of eating.

“Leo, I made breakfast. Aren’t you eating?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“Why would I eat?” he retorted, not bothering to look back.

“I woke up at five to make this for you. Don’t you think it’s a little rude?” I stood up, my patience thinning.

“Who asked you to cook?” he shot back, his defiance evident.

“Your father entrusted me to take care of you, so I have to make sure you’re fed,” I said, trying to assert myself.

“Who agreed to that?”

He stopped the argument, grabbed his bag with one hand, slipped into his sneakers, and kicked the door open.

“Go live with whoever agreed to that. In your dreams if you think I’ll accept it.”

The sound of the door slamming was like a slap to my face, and I stood there, fuming, barely holding back the anger bubbling inside.

“You! You’re just impossible!” I shouted, my temper finally exploding.

He was about to leave, but as if something crossed his mind, he turned back and handed my carefully prepared breakfast to the golden retriever outside the door.

“If you want to play mother, maybe the dog could use it,” he said, his tone cold.

I didn’t even have a chance to get angry before he shot me one last glance, got into his car, and drove off to school. I stood there, feeling a mix of frustration and something inexplicable that twisted in my chest.

The growing rift between Leo and me was starting to drive me crazy.

One moment, I considered just giving up and letting him be. The next moment, I thought about the 500 million. Maybe I could endure this for a little longer.

So, I started buying every parenting book I could find on a popular shopping site.

After reading for a whole day, my resolve was stronger than before.

According to the books, Leo’s behavior was a classic case of “Adolescent Syndrome.” In simpler terms, he was just rebelling.

I couldn’t continue to fight him directly. I had to try a different approach—become more patient and gentle.

That evening, I called the driver to check if Leo had returned home, only to find out that he had gone to a bar.

Why would a high schooler go to a bar? That was so dangerous!

I hesitated for a moment, quickly changed into something more presentable, added some makeup, and set off in pursuit.

I arrived at the bar and immediately saw Leo surrounded by a group of glamorous girls all vying to feed him fruit.

A young boy out alone in such a place was a recipe for trouble.

I was about to intervene when I overheard his friends talking.

“Leo, I heard your father found a new wife, and she’s not much older than you. She’s also pretty attractive.”

“Do you have a photo? I could use a stepmother like that.”

“Quit watching so many dramas.”

“Shut up,” Leo snapped, and his friends quickly fell silent, looking somewhat afraid of him.

Leo lifted his head, and the indifference in his eyes hit me like a cold wave.

I stood there, unsure whether to stay or leave, feeling awkward and out of place.

But then I gathered my courage and walked over to him.

“Who’s she?” one of his friends asked curiously.

“Leo, is she your stepmother? She’s hot…”

“Hot?” I thought, slightly taken aback by their words. At least, it was a compliment, though I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Hello, I’m… his step… caretaker,” I stammered, managing to force a weak smile.

“So, Leo, is this your stepmother?”

“Holy crap,” one of them exclaimed, and the group burst into loud laughter, making me feel both embarrassed and slightly self-conscious.

I glanced at Leo, but he had already turned his attention back to his drink.

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly, without looking at me.

“Of course, I came because I was worried about you. I’m here to take you home,” I said, trying to sound calm.

“Go back by yourself if you want to.” His eyes were sharp as he glared at me before returning to his drink.

“Hey, isn’t it a little early for you to leave already? Come join us for a bit.”

“Yeah, what would you like to drink? I’ll order it for you.”

Several of the guys grabbed my arms, refusing to let me go.

“If I sit here, I won’t ruin your fun, will I?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable with the situation.

“Of course not, sit next to me,” the guy next to me said, pulling me down beside him.

I looked up at Leo, but he finished his drink, stood up, and muttered, “You guys are really insane.”

He turned and walked off, disappearing into the crowd without another word.

“Look at this, you’ve gone and made a mess. Getting too close to Leo’s girl. Now he’s upset,” one of his friends said, lightly bumping another on the head.

“I was just… trying to lighten the mood,” the boy replied, his face showing a bit of hurt.

I watched Leo’s figure retreating, a deep sigh escaping me.

He was angry again. It seemed like he always got upset every time he saw me.

“He went to the bathroom. What do you want to drink?” one of the boys asked me.

“Watermelon juice,” I replied, my mind still reeling.