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 door creaked before I could stop her.

Barefoot. In one of those old, oversized T-shirts I know she wears only when she's too tired to pretend everything's okay. Her hair was tied up, messy, like she'd been pacing.

I froze, hand still bleeding from the punch, knuckles swelling beneath broken skin.

She didn't say anything for a long second.

Didn't even look at Rain slouched behind me with a lazy smirk and a split lip.

"Sebby," she said softly, walking toward me, "you idiot."

"You didn't have to do that," she whispered, like it was a joke, like she didn't just hear her son fight his biological father, fists flying, truths burning.

But her smile didn't reach her eyes. It never really does anymore.

Cradled it like it was something fragile, precious, worth protecting.

She sat me down on the couch and pulled out the first aid kit she keeps in the kitchen drawer. The same one she used when I fell off my bike at eight. The same one she used when I broke my arm fighting some guy in school who said things about her.

The silence was warm. Painful. Familiar.

She didn't ask what happened. She already knew. She probably always does.

Her fingers were gentle, dabbing antiseptic onto my raw skin, blowing on it softly like she did when I was a kid.

"You didn't have to fight for me, Sebby," she murmured, finally.

And I didn't mean to break down, but something cracked in my throat.

Because no one—no one—gets to talk about her like that.

I watched her eyes, glassy but calm, lips still curved in that brave little smile.

"I'm not strong like you," I said quietly.

She shook her head, pressing a kiss to my temple. "No, baby. You're stronger."

But he didn't win anything tonight.

Bruised Knuckles and That Smile