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

One minute I was in Rain's apartment, the voicemails still echoing in my head. The next, I was standing in front of our door, key in my hand, stomach twisted like barbed wire.

Because I didn't know how I'd face her now—not when every time I closed my eyes, I saw her in a hospital gown, alone. I saw her voice crack as she whispered my name to a man who never picked up.

The lights were dim. The smell of ginger tea still lingered—she'd probably made it for herself. She always got sick when she worried.

On the couch. In that ridiculous, oversized pink hoodie I always made fun of. Her hair was messy, glasses slipping down her nose, a book open on her lap. She wasn't reading it.

Her eyes flicked up when I walked in. Her whole face lit up like it always did—smile soft, like I hadn't shattered curfews, lied through my teeth, or become everything she feared.

I dropped my bag. Crossed the room in three steps. And I—

Like I could hold back every goddamn voicemail. Every unanswered call. Every night she cried alone, whispering to a belly that kicked when it heard a name that never showed up.

She froze for a second, surprised.

Then she wrapped her arms around me like she'd been waiting forever.

She kissed my cheek like she always did. Brushed my hair back like I was still five. Hummed under her breath, some dumb tune she used to sing when I had nightmares.

But this time, I was the nightmare.

I just buried my face into her neck and whispered, "I'm sorry."

She pulled back, confused. "For what?"

She didn't need to know I'd heard every word she begged him with. Every voicemail he kept, unopened, like trophies.

She didn't need to know I finally understood.

And somehow, she still managed to raise me with love.

And for once—I didn't want to let go.

The Weight of Her Silence