I Sold My Stepmother Online

My mothers body wasnt even cold when I put my billionaire fathers One Who Got Away up for sale on the internet.

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In my previous life, shortly after my mother passed, my father held my hands and promised, Youre my only child, Remi. Everything Ive builtthe estates, the company, the legacyits all yours.

But his "Golden Girl" from the past, Isabella Rossi, didn't stay a memory for long. She showed up on our doorstep, playing the part of the grieving soulmate, and they picked up exactly where theyd left off twenty years ago. Isabella didnt just replace my mother; she systematically dismantled my life. She tormented me behind closed doors while whispering poison into my fathers ear. Eventually, she gave him the one thing he always wanteda son. I was stripped of my inheritance, cast out of the Blackwood dynasty, and left to starve to death in the rain, collapsed over my mothers neglected grave.

Now that Ive been sent back, I will protect my place as the sole heir of this empire by any means necessary.

The "Isabella Starter Pack" went viral instantly. I sold over 9,999 copies.

Suddenly, New York was crawling with Isabella look-alikes. Women were getting filler, reshaping their jawlines, and adopting that specific "innocent-yet-haughty" Italian-American lilt just to catch my father's eye. It turned his life into a chaotic hall of mirrors.

Later, when the real Isabella Rossi finally made her grand return, my father didn't run to her with open arms. Instead, he shoved me forward.

Another plastic clone, Remi. Get rid of her. Im exhausted.

When I saw the real Isabella Rossi standing there, that familiar surge of hatred boiled in my veins. Without a second thought, I stepped forward and delivered a stinging slap across her face.

Dont think a trip to a surgeon and a vintage dress is going to get you into this house, I spat. Get lost.

Isabella clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with genuine shock. Are you insane? How dare you touch me! Im the woman your father has spent half his life dreaming about!

I crossed my arms and let out a sharp, mocking laugh. Thats what the last three hundred girls said. You need a new script, honey. This one is vintage, and not in a good way.

Isabella looked utterly bewildered. She didnt understand how she had been categorized as a fake. Desperate, she screamed past me toward the foyer.

Harrison! Harrison, look at me! Its really me! Its Isabella!

But my father was leaning against the grand piano, rubbing his temples. Hed heard this exact performance ten times this week already. He didn't even bother to look up.

I suppressed a smile. So what if the real Isabella was finally here?

Ever since Id turned her identity into a commodity, the world was saturated with her likeness. Social climbers and gold-diggers had spent thousands to mimic her personality and study her old social media footprints. They bought my fathers schedule on the black market, staging "chance encounters" at his favorite bistros.

At first, my father was mesmerized by these ghosts. He indulged them, showered them with Cartier bracelets and six-figure wire transfers, chasing the emotional high of his youth.

But as the Isabella clones multiplied like weeds, he started to get suspicious.

Why are there so many of them, Remi? Its... its eerie. They all look like her. They even smell like that specific perfume she used to wear.

That was when I stepped in, handing him a meticulously curated folder. Youre right to be suspicious, Dad. These women are hunting you. They knew Mom was gone and figured the best way to get to your bank account was to wear the face of your first love. Its a calculated play for the Blackwood fortune.

Harrison was livid. He felt violated, his sacred memory turned into a cheap trend. He threw them all out.

The constant influx of "Isabellas" had turned his nostalgia into a physiological aversion. Now, whenever a woman with dark curls and doe eyes appeared, my father would delegate the dirty work to me.

Handle it, Remi. Consider it training. Youre going to run this empire one day; you cant let these vultures win.

So, just like the dozens of times before, I blocked Isabellas path. Ive seen your type all month. Youre the 99th 'Isabella' Ive had to kick off the property this week.

My father waved a hand dismissively from the hallway. Remi, dont waste your breath. Just release the dogs.

You got it, Dad!

I signaled the security detail, and within seconds, three massive Dobermans were circling Isabella. As the dogs growled, ready to spring, she frantically fumbled with her Chanel clutch and pulled out a stack of documents.

Harrison, look! My passport, my birth certificate! Look at the dates! Im the real Isabella Rossi!

My father finally looked up, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her.

Isabellas face lit up with a flash of triumph. She waved the documents in the air like a flag of surrender.

I have everything to prove who I am. Just look at them!

When my father didnt move, she tossed her hair back with that practiced, effortless grace. Fakes cant recreate the soul, Harrison. You used to say you could find me in a dark room just by the way I breathe. Look into my eyes. You know its me.

My heart hammered against my ribs. She was rightlogic could only go so far. Eventually, the truth has a way of vibrating at a different frequency.

I stayed calm. I snatched the documents out of her hand and dropped them into the gravel. Dad, this is the thirty-eighth woman to bring 'authentic' forged documents. The black market for fake IDs is getting terrifyingly good. We should probably call the DA.

Because a few of the earlier "clones" had been particularly clever, my father didn't even bother to check the papers. He stared at Isabella for a long moment, then sighed heavily.

Remi, modern surgery is a miracle. This one... she actually looks like the memory I had. Its almost impressive.

Isabellas voice turned into a shriek. Harrison, are you senile? Its me! What do I have to do to make you believe me?

Her screaming agitated the Dobermans. They lunged forward, barking furiously, forcing her to stumble back toward the gate.

I turned to my father, playing the role of the concerned daughter. Dad, remember the one from last Tuesday? You said the same thing about her. Honestly, I think the other girls nose was more natural.

Harrison gave a weary, cynical laugh. I cant tell anymore. Ive seen this face so much lately Im starting to get sick of it.

He cast a cold, final look at Isabella. If you arent off my property in sixty seconds, Im letting the dogs finish their job. I dont care how much you spent on that face; its not worth a trip to the ER.

He turned away, patting my shoulder as we walked back into the mansion. Thank God I have you, Remi. Id be drowning in these lunatics without you. Go back to those quarterly reports. If you keep this up, the board won't have any choice but to recognize you as my successor.

Isabella stood at the gate, trembling with rage. She hadnt flown all the way from Italy to be treated like a cheap knock-off.

In my last life, she had used her "First Love" status to waltz into our lives and marry my father within months. Shed started smallhiding my medications, putting tacks in my shoes, making me look like the "troubled daughter." Then, once she was pregnant with his "true heir," she turned him completely against me.

This time, I was the one holding the cards.

As the gate began to hiss shut, she turned and locked eyes with me.

Remi Blackwood, she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. I know your father isnt this cynical on his own. Youre behind this. You enjoy your little victory for now, but Im going to make him realize who I am. And when Im your stepmother, Im going to make you wish youd died with your mother.

I watched her silhouette disappear down the driveway, a cold weight settling in my stomach.

If Isabella was going to play the long game, shed eventually find a way to break through. She had memories I couldn't fakeprivate moments, inside jokes. Eventually, the "clones" wouldn't be enough of a distraction.

A fierce, protective fire ignited in my chest. I wouldn't lose my home again. I wouldn't let her take the Blackwood name.

That night, I put my father up for sale, too.

[For $666, unlock Harrison Blackwoods 'Type.' His favorite wines, his secret turn-ons, the specific way he likes to be flattered, and his complete social calendar for the next three months.]

Every gala, every charity auction, every private dinnerI leaked it all to the most ambitious social climbers in Manhattan.

The "product" sold out within hours. Any woman with a designer dress and a dream was now equipped with a roadmap to my fathers heart. I wanted Isabella to have so much competition that she couldn't even get in the room.

A week later, Isabella showed up at a high-end charity gala for the Met, looking radiant in a custom gown. But when she walked in, she froze.

My father was already the center of a literal swarm of beautiful women.

Harrison, purred a twenty-two-year-old NYU grad with a face like an angel. Im the girl you sponsored through that scholarship program years ago. Ive always wanted to thank you... properly.

Harrison lingered on her for a moment. Youth was a powerful drug.

Mr. Blackwood, you look like youve been working too hard, cooed a sophisticated thirty-something divorcee with a voice like velvet. A man in your position needs someone who understands the pressure.

Your shoes are dusty, sir, whispered a stunning model, kneeling down to "fix" his lace, giving him a deliberate view of her cleavage.

Isabella was forty. No matter how much Botox she had, she couldn't compete with the raw, hungry energy of these twenty-something predators who had my "Isabella Dossier" memorized.

I spotted her standing by the bar, clutching her champagne glass so hard I thought it might shatter. I sauntered over.

Still trying, Isabella? Youre looking a little... tired. My dad is busy with his fan club.

She turned to me, her lip curling. How can you stand this, Remi? Your mother hasn't been gone for half a year, and youre acting as a pimp for your father? These women are vultures. You should be helping him, not encouraging this circus!

I laughed, the sound sharp and cold. Im a big girl, Isabella. My dad is in his prime; why shouldn't he enjoy himself? Id much rather he have a hundred girlfriends than one manipulative stepmother.

As long as my father was distracted by a rotating cast of "fun" women, he wouldn't settle down. He knew these girls were just for show, and they didn't require an emotional commitment. Plus, I had been slipping long-term male contraceptives into his daily "longevity supplements." There would be no surprise heirs this time.

Isabella left the gala in tears.

For months, the plan worked perfectly. My father was so preoccupied with his social life that he started handing over more and more corporate responsibility to me. I solidified my alliances with the board and secured the loyalty of our biggest clients.

Isabella vanished from the scene. I thought Id won.

Then, one morning, my father walked into the breakfast nook looking uncharacteristically nervous.

The strangest thing happened, Remi. My old prep school mentor is organizing a small 'legacy' reunion tonight. He insisted I come for old time's sake.

A cold chill ran down my spine. The reunion.

In the first life, that was where Isabella had cornered him. Shed orchestrated the whole event, got him drunk, and ended up in his bed. That night was the beginning of my nightmare.

Isabella Rossi was nothing if not persistent.

I leaned in and forced a sweet, concerned smile. Oh, Dad, you know those reunions always end in too much scotch. Why don't I come with you? Ill be your designated driver and keep the boring stories at bay.

My girl, he beamed. You really are my rock. Itll be good to show you offeveryone needs to see whos really running the show at Blackwood Inc. these days.

Before we left, I made sure he took his "supplements."

We walked into the private room at the University Club, and the trap was sprung immediately. His old professor steered him toward the center of the room, where a woman stood waiting.

She was wearing a simple, modest white dress. Her hair was in a soft, nostalgic braid. She looked exactly like a Polaroid from 1998.

Harrison, she whispered, her eyes glistening. Its been a lifetime.

My father stopped dead. The "clones" had been too muchtoo loud, too aggressive. But this? This was the quiet, understated ghost of his youth. The "supplement" I'd given him hadn't kicked in yet, or perhaps the alcohol hit faster.

Isabella, he breathed, pulling her into a fierce hug. Its really you. I knew it. Those other girls... they were just static. Youre the melody.

Isabella blinked innocently, leaning into his chest. What girls, darling? Ive been in Italy, just trying to find my way back to you.

The room erupted in cheers and "Awws." Someone shouted, Youre both single nowits fate! Pick up where you left off!

Isabella looked at me over my fathers shoulder, a venomous spark of victory in her eyes. Oh, Harrison, your daughter is right there. We shouldn't talk like this in front of her.

My father didn't even look at me. Remi is the most supportive daughter in the world. She just wants me to be happy. She won't mind.

A few months ago, when he was cycling through models, Id told him I just wanted him to find "true joy" to secure my position. Now, those words were coming back to haunt me.

I clenched my fists until my nails drew blood in my palms. A daughter just wants whats best for her father, I said, my voice tight but steady.

Isabella smirked and spent the rest of the night glued to his side. They were drinking, whispering, and reliving a past that I was determined to bury. That night, Harrison took her to a hotel.

I wasn't too worried about a "miracle baby" yet because of the meds, but I needed to break their momentum.

The next day, I called in the "Isabella Clones"the top ten most ambitious ones.

Each of you gets $50,000 if you can occupy his time, I told them. I don't care what you do. Don't let him spend a single hour alone with Isabella Rossi.

The war began. One girl took him on a yacht party; another lured him to a weekend at a private vineyard. Isabella was being out-hustled by her own reflections.

I thought I had managed to stall her again.

But then, while my father was in a suite at the St. Regis with a lingerie model Id "vetted," Isabella burst through the door.

I was waiting in the hallway.

Which little bitch is it this time? Isabella snarled, trying to shove past me. Move, Remi!

I looked at her like she was a stain on the carpet. Watch your mouth. These 'beautiful women' are my fathers guests. They have a title. You? Youre just a ghost who doesn't know shes dead.

I expected her to crumble. Instead, she looked at me with a sickening, pitying smile.

Remi, you really should learn some respect for your future stepmother. Otherwise, youre going to be crying very soon.

She pulled out her phone and dialed my father.

I laughed. Hes busy. He doesn't want to see a woman who reminds him of his mortgage and his mid-life crisis. Get out before I call security.

I reached for the house phone to make good on my threat.

But then, the suite door swung open. My father stepped out, pulling his silk robe shut. He looked at me with a coldness I hadn't seen in this lifetime.

Remi, stop it. Isabella is going to be your stepmother. You will show her the respect she deserves.

I froze. Isabella caught my eye and winked.