Traded My Brat For The Titan's Heir

The paperwork was signed, the divorce finalized. As I drove my eight-year-old son back to my hometown, I noticed he was acting strange.
He wasnt yelling at me anymore. He was quiet. He didnt even touch the chocolate lava cake he usually tore into.
I put it down to car sickness. I was too worn out to care much.
But then, a string of bizarre mental subtitles flashed across my vision.
LOL, she still hasn't figured out that isn't her actual kid?
Seriously, why would her biological son ditch a billion-dollar inheritance to go back to her small-town life?
Wait, is that THE McCarthy family prince? The one whose dad is rumored to own half the City? His father is going to lose his mind when he wakes up!
I blinked, watching the text dissipate. Then, slowly, I turned my head to look at the unnaturally docile child beside me.
No way.
If Id grabbed the wrong boy, then how did he end up wearing the custom-designed platinum necklace Id given my son?
1
It was before dawn on the morning I was handed the divorce settlement. Maybe five oclock. The sky was a deep, bruised blue, and the city skyline was still swallowed by a curtain of heavy morning mist.
My bags were packed. But before I walked out of the Whitman mansion for good, I had a compulsion to stop by Wesleys roommy son, Wesley Whitman.
It was still too early for the full staff. The mansion was silent.
I slipped inside. Wesy was sound asleep, the air conditioner whispering.
The curtains fluttered softly. I moved closer, my heart giving an erratic little jump.
Id almost died giving birth to Wesy, but before he was three months old, my ex-mother-in-law, Penelope Whitman, had whisked him away. She said it was so I could "rest and recover," but I knew the truth. She was disgusted by my ordinary background and terrified Id taint the Whitman golden heir.
My ex-husband, Graham Whitman, had simply stood by, cold and silent, saying nothing.
Our entire marriage had been a transaction, based on a debt: my father had saved the old Mr. Whitmans life, and a long-forgotten engagement contract was the final payment. Thats how I ended up as Mrs. Whitman, a glorified housekeeper in this gilded cage.
For years, I managed the home, tended to Penelope, and Graham was gentle enough. But beneath that gentle surface was a core of chilling indifference. Id convinced myself that this was simply my life.
Until he brought her home. Scarlett. She was the unattainable angel of his youth, the one hed always carried a torch for. The woman he cherished, truly and openly, like an irreplaceable treasure.
Watching him truly love someone finally killed the last of my foolish hope. I asked for the divorce, and he agreed with unnerving calmness.
The truth was, Wesy and I barely knew each other. Our emotional bond had been severed years ago, and our few interactions were always strained, ending in miserable arguments. He definitely wouldnt want to leave this lifestyle with me.
Even knowing that, I couldn't leave without trying.
I gently shook the small figure awake. Wesy? Wesy? I whispered, keeping my voice low.
The small person bolted upright, his eyes snapping open. When he saw me, his expression, still blurred with sleep, was nothing but confusion.
The room was dark. I could only make out the innocent curve of his jaw by the sliver of light from the streetlamp outside. I braced myself for the usual shriek, prepared to clamp a hand over his mouth. But he didnt make a sound.
A tiny, illicit spark of hope lit up in my chest.
I leaned down and coaxed him. Wesy, my hometown isnt as grand as the City, but well be free. We can go crabbing in the summer and maybe even ski in the winter. They have amazing foodfresh oysters, seaside barbecues, coconut chicken Will you come to Cape Harbor with Mom, just for a while?
It was selfish, I knew. Grahams angel was pregnant, ready to take my place. If Wesy stayed, even as the legitimate eldest son, his life would be a subtle, cold hell. A mothers heart always worries.
Yet, I remembered that afternoon, years ago. Id driven his forgotten tablet to his exclusive private school. The driver had dropped me off, but when I handed it over, Wesy just snatched it, turned his back, and snarled, Just go home!
I didnt understand. I asked, Should Mom pick you up after school?
Students and parents were milling around, glancing our way. Wesys face went scarlet. He bit out the words: I dont want you here! Grandma said youre just a cheap, small-town civilian who needs to stay in her garden. Why are you here? To embarrass me? Is that it?
The shock and cold betrayal had left me reeling. He shoved me away, and I stumbled back, watching him run into the school without a backward glance.
The memory was a sharp, cold jab. I looked at the boy on the bed, ready to give up.
If you dont want to, forget I said anything
I stood up, ready to walk away. But then, a small hand gripped the sleeve of my cardigan.
I turned back, surprised. I met a pair of big, dark, moist eyes.
The small boy looked at me, slow and deliberate.
Then, he nodded.
In that instant, I felt a rush of staggering joy. Of course. What child truly doesnt want their mother?
2
Before we left, Id prepared a contingency plan.
My family, while not the Whitmans, was well-established back home in Cape Harbor. They were comfortable. Money wasn't an issue. I could hire the best private tutors, better than any elite school. If he didn't want the elite life, there was a perfectly viable family business waiting.
Besides, his identity as Wesley Whitman, the eldest son, was set in stone.
My ex-mother-in-law, Penelope, would throw a fit. I expected a battle. But the escape was unbelievably easy. Wesley and I walked out the front door, one after the other, and no one stopped us.
I found it strange, but I just chalked it up to sheer, dumb luck.
The City was a long way from Cape Harbor, and the cross-country train was the only sane option. It wasn't until we were seated, the doors sliding shut, that I finally let out the breath Id been holding.
It was early spring, and the station platform had been cold. A friendly woman next to me on the train, seeing the boy, leaned over. Taking your son home?
I nodded, taking the cup of hot water she offered. I didnt drink it, just held it in my palms for warmth.
Next to me, the boy had been staring out the window, mesmerized. But the cold station wind must have gotten to him; he now sat huddled, shivering slightly.
I smiled, a genuine, soft smile, and reached for his icy little hand.
Cold, arent you?
At my gentle tone, the small boy lowered his eyelids. He seemed about to snatch his hand away, but his ear tips were flushing a slight pink. He hesitated.
I didn't notice his strange reaction. I just focused on warming his hand.
But soon, his hand was warmer than mine. I tried to pull back, but he reversed the grip, holding mine firmly. He kept his lips pressed together, not saying a word.
He was actually quite endearing.
My heart softened completely. I let him hold my hand.
3
The train journey would take over ten hours. I was worried hed freak out and cry to go back, so Id brought his favorite food: the fancy, decadent chocolate lava cake.
Oddly, he refused to touch it. He just ate the instant noodles and bread with me.
Perhaps he wasnt used to this kind of hardship. He choked on the dry bread, coughing violently. Cough, cough, cough
I quickly patted his back. Slow down, slow down.
It wasnt that I didnt want to buy him better food, but these things were easy to carry and filling.
Finally swallowing, the small boy looked up, his eyes red from coughing. He grumbled, ready to complain: What is this lousy
I braced myself for the usual entitled outburst.
But he stopped mid-sentence. He lowered his head, then fiercely took another bite of the plain bread.
The friendly woman next to us chuckled. What a good boy, so quiet and well-behaved.
Me:
Not exactly.
The old him would have been throwing a tantrum.
Maybe maybe it was car sickness.
After we ate, I thought for a moment and took him to the sleeper car. I pulled a thick blanket from my carry-on. Take a nap.
Okay, he mumbled sullenly.
But as he lay down, his eyes were fixed on mea look of cautious anticipation, mixed with a hint of anxiety.
I tucked the blanket around him and sat on the edge of the berth. Im not going anywhere. Sleep easy.
Only then did he seem to relax, slowly closing his eyes.
The next ten hours were spent in the quiet rhythm of the train.
To my complete astonishment, Wesley was incredibly placid, almost silent. When I asked him to eat the bread, hed wrinkle his nose but force himself to chew it down. At night, he had to cling to the edge of my cardigan and wait for me to finish telling him a story before hed finally drift off.
After a few hours, a new thought dawned on me. It must have been Penelope. My ex-mother-in-law had poisoned his mind, teaching him to hate me. Thats why he was always so hostile before.
The second that thought crossed my mind, The Feed flashed across my eyes again.
OMG, she still hasn't figured out that isn't her kid? Mother of the year: Face-blind. Kid of the year: Totally game.
Exactly. Why would her real son pass on the Whitman billions and move to a trailer park with her?
Holy crap! She's got the McCarthy Group's little prince. That kids dad is Marcus McCarthy, The Titan. Hes going to be unhinged!
What?
I blinked, convinced the long ride had finally driven me insane.
I looked again. The words were still there.
Reading the content, my pupils dilated with shock.
The wrong boy?
How was that even possible?
Just then, the small boy walked out of the sleeper cabin, wearing a pair of green athletic pants and the platinum necklace. The pendant swayed gently as he moved.
Hearing his footsteps, I slowly turned, my gaze starting at his face and landing hard on the necklace.
His face I hadnt seen it much. I could conceivably mix up two small boys.
But
If I had the wrong boy, then how was he wearing the custom-made necklace Id given my son?
4
I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
What is your name?
The small boy looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine, a flash of pure alarm in his gaze.
He pressed his lips together, silent.
I asked again.
He remained mute.
Oh, so we're playing the silent game, are we?
I looked at the necklace, my mind made up. I reached out.
What are you doing!
He finally spoke, his voice clear, but with the high-pitched fury of a startled kitten.
I pinched the pendant and flipped it over.
Engraved on the back was Wesy.
I had designed it myself. I hired the best jeweler. It was one-of-a-kind.
I sagged against the wall, utterly relieved. The Feed was clearly glitching. My heart wasnt that big. I couldnt have mistaken my own son.
I tucked the chain back under his collar and patted his head.
Nothing. Just checking.
He looked at me with suspicion, his tiny brow furrowed.
I didn't explain, just leaned back, closing my eyes, ready for a nap.
The moment my eyes shut, The Feed returned.
LMAO she actually bought that! So dense.
Doesn't she realize her bratty kid would trade a 'crappy necklace' for a game console?
The sister above nailed it. I just came from the Whitman gossip threads. Wesley Whitman traded that necklace for the McCarthy little prince's limited edition gaming console and is currently destroying the mansion playing it.
Im dead. One brat got a new dad, and one prince got a new mom.
The City is going ballistic. Marcus McCarthy found his son missing. They say he smashed his office and locked down every exit route.
Yikes. This woman has no idea what kind of hot potato shes snatched.
My heart dropped. A sickening lurch.
My hands started to shake, uncontrollably.
I snapped my eyes open, staring with sudden, intense focus at the child next to me.
He flinched, shrinking back, clearly startled by my expression.
My voice was a shaky whisper. Did did you trade this necklace with Wesley for a game console?
His eyes widened slightly, then darted away. Silence.
But that reaction was confirmation enough.
My vision went gray. I almost passed out.
Finished.
I had tangled with a force of nature that would crush me without a second thought.

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