SIDDHII

Title: The Maddox Misconception
—a rich, messy, slow-burn drama soaked in secrets, obsession, and the kind of love that ruins and redeems.



Sky Maddox is thirty-two, filthy rich, drop-dead gorgeous—and a single mom to the most unattainable boy in school. Everyone assumes she’s Sebastian’s sister, his sugar mama, or his way-too-young stepmom. But the truth? She’s his mother. The kind who still asks if he’s eaten, sends him “I love you” texts mid-class, and believes her baby boy is the sweetest soul on earth.

But Sebastian Maddox—eighteen, six-foot-two, emotionally unavailable and devastatingly hot—is living a secret double life. He smokes. He rides a bike. He clubs. He hooks up with a new girl every weekend. And behind Sky’s back, he's becoming the one person she never recovered from:

Rain Chen.

The man who left her the moment she got pregnant. The man who taught Sebastian everything he shouldn’t be. The man who just walked back into their lives like a storm, aged like sin and dangerous as ever.

And Rain? He doesn’t want redemption. He wants Sky. He wants control. He wants to shatter the bond between mother and son just to prove that he still can. Because nothing infuriates him more than seeing Sky love Sebastian the way she once loved him.

As secrets spill, old wounds reopen, and love is twisted into rivalry, Sky must confront a brutal truth:

The boy she raised may be the shadow of the man who broke her.

And the biggest misconception of all?
That the Maddox family isn’t already falling apart.

The Maddox Misconception

The walls in my room feel like they're breathing with me.

I slammed the door shut hours ago. I haven't turned on the lights. Just sat in the dark, back against the bed, forehead to my knees, like I could fold myself into something small enough to disappear.

I haven't cried since I was eleven. But right now, the back of my throat burns like I swallowed fire. My knuckles are red and raw from punching the wall. The shaking won't stop. My head is filled with too much.

I don't even realize I'm whispering, "I hate him," over and over until my voice cracks.

It creaks open. Warm light spills in. My mother steps in, careful. Quiet.

Like she didn't just see her son lose it downstairs. Like she didn't see the broken glass. Like she didn't see him.

My favorite tea—sweetened just the way I like it. The cookies she bakes from scratch that she only makes when I'm sick. A bowl of hot ramen. My favorite soda. A cool towel. Lip balm. The little things she knows I pretend I don't care about.

"Hey, baby," she says softly, like she's walking into a nursery, not a war zone. "I brought some things."

I stare at her like I'm seeing a ghost. Her eyes are swollen, but she's smiling. Her hands tremble just a bit, but her voice is calm. She sets the tray down on my desk, turns on the lamp by the corner.

She walks over and kneels in front of me.

She lifts the cool towel and gently presses it to my bruised, bloodied knuckles. Her fingers are featherlight.

"I'm sorry I didn't knock first," she says. "You don't have to talk. I just… I thought maybe your hands hurt."

She hums softly under her breath, the same lullaby she used to hum when I was little and scared of the dark. She brushes my hair out of my face.

"I love you, Sebby," she whispers. "I don't care what anyone says. I don't care what you've done. I don't care what I saw. You are my son. And if you're hurting, I'll feed you first. That's just how it works."

I bite my lip. Hard. My throat seizes.

"I'll stay here," she adds. "You can eat, or not eat. You can sleep, or cry, or break another wall. I'll be here. Always."

And just like that, the first tear falls.

Ugly, broken sobs into her shoulder as she holds me tighter than she ever has.

She just rubs my back and kisses my hair.

And I think, maybe for the first time in years—I feel safe.

If You’re Hurting, I’ll Feed You First