The CEO Is Actually The Author

I had the distinct misfortune of transmigrating into a trashy CEO romance novel. And because the universe has a twisted sense of humor, I woke up in the middle of labor, pushing out baby number two.

That alone was absurd. But what truly sent me over the edge was that the moment the second infant slid into the world, it looked me in the eye and called me "Mommy."

My eyes rolled back in my head. I passed out cold.

When I came to, the newborns were already crawling.

01

I sat there, paralyzed, watching two cherubic little monsters scurrying across the hardwood floor like they were possessed. It dawned on me then: I hadn't even given birth in a hospital. This was a home birth.

"Mommy... uppie!"

The voices were synchronized, sugary sweet, and absolutely terrifying. My mental dam broke. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. "I am not your mother! Im single! I have a cat!"

"Waaah! Mommy doesn't like me!" The girls face crumbled. She let out a wail that could shatter glass.

Naturally, panic is contagious. The boy, apparently possessing the lungs of an opera singer, joined in.

It was a symphony of chaos.

I was numb.

Accepting my fate, I grabbed a child in each arm, stiffened my expression, and barked, "Stop crying."

Silence. Instantaneous silence. They looked up at me with wide, tear-filled doe eyes. The girl blinked, her lashes wet and heavy, then lunged forward and planted a wet, slobbery kiss on my cheek.

"Mommy... don't be mad."

God help me. They were disgustingly cute. Who could resist that?

My icy demeanor cracked. I sighed, defeated, and pressed a finger to my lips. "Shh. Just... give me a minute. Let me breathe."

To their credit, the little terrors went quiet as mice.

I ran a hand through my sweaty, matted hair, trying to process the impossible reality before me.

I had read a few of those trending "genius baby" romance novels as researchironic research, mind youand now here I was. Waking up in the delivery room.

Birthing twins was wild enough. But twins who could talk and crawl minutes after birth? I couldn't decide if I was in a CEO romance or a Marvel origin story.

I set the kids down and dragged my exhausted body around the room. I found an ID card on the dresser. Margot Lane.

Mystery solved.

I had become the protagonist of The Tycoons Secret Heirs: The Runaway Bride. The plot was standard garbage: The heroine has a one-night stand with a mysterious man, flees the country, gives birth to genius twins, and returns five years later to shock the corporate world. Theres revenge, a love-hate relationship with the CEO, a "groveling arc" where he begs for forgiveness, and eventually, a happy ending with a second pregnancy.

While I was still reeling from this revelation, the demonic duo started chanting again. "Mommy hungry. Mommy hungry... Milk!"

I froze.

Breastfeeding? Absolutely not. Not in this life, not in the next.

I was a twenty-four-year-old virgin in my real life. That level of intimacy was way above my pay grade. Ignoring their pleading gazes with a heart of stone, I bolted for the kitchen to find formula.

I was fumbling with the instructions on the tin, hands shaking, when a piercing scream cut through the house.

"Help! Mommy, help! Bad man!"

02

I dropped the bottle and sprinted to the living room. My heart hammered against my ribs.

A wall of men in black suits blocked the doorway.

Home invasion? Kidnapping?

My brain stalled.

"Mommy, save us!"

The cry snapped me back to reality. I turned stiffly to see a tall, broad-shouldered man holding the twins by the backs of their onesies, lifting them into the air like they were stray cats. The kids were flailing their chubby limbs helplessly.

I didn't like these kids, strictly speaking, but child abuse was where I drew the line.

"Put them down!" I shouted, adrenaline spiking as I lunged forward.

The man froze. He lowered the children to the floor, his back still to me. His posture was rigid, and when he spoke, his deep, cold voice carried a strange tremor. "You... you already gave birth?"

"What is it to you if I gave birth or not? Who the hell are you?" I checked the kids for injuries, firing back without thinking.

"Margot... now that the children are here... what do you plan to do?"

The man turned around slowly.

I gasped. The air left my lungs.

His face was a masterpiece of genetic engineering. Chiseled jawline, piercing eyeshe looked like a composite sketch of every "Sexiest Man Alive" cover from the last decade.

I narrowed my eyes. "You are?"

"I'm Harrison Sterling. One year ago, at the Empire Hotel, Penthouse Suite 901..."

"So you're the scumbag!"

For a second, the original hosts tragic memories flooded my brain. Rage, hot and irrational, surged through me. I launched myself at him, ready to scratch that perfect face, but two bodyguards intercepted me with practiced ease.

The twins, bless them, waddled toward me on their short legs, screaming, "Bad man! Let Mommy go!"

A weird warmth bloomed in my chest. At least they were loyal.

Harrison looked at me with a bizarre expressionhalf confusion, half scrutiny. He waved a dismissive hand at his guards. "Let her go."

I stumbled back, shielding the twins behind me. My mind raced through the plot.

In the book, the reunion wasn't supposed to happen for five years. Why was Harrison here now? Had my arrival butterflied the timeline?

This guy was supposed to be the most powerful man in the city, wealthier than God. I couldn't fight him. Not with two toddlers hanging off my legs. I was playing on Hard Mode.

I decided to bluff. "What... what do you want?"

"Margot, what do you want?"

We spoke at the exact same time.

Wait. Why did he sound so unsure? He sounded less like a titan of industry and more like a guy who forgot his wallet on a first date.

If he had no confidence, then I had all of it.

I shoved the two bewildered toddlers toward him. "They're your kids. You raise them."

03

Harrison frowned, looking at the two small humans as if they were alien artifacts. Then he looked at me, a complicated expression on his face. "They aren't just mine. Why should I raise them?"

I blinked. This... wasn't following the script.

In these novels, doesn't the possessive CEO usually try to steal the heirs immediately? Why was he going off-book?

"Excuse me?" I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "They are literally your flesh and blood. You're a billionaire. Are you seriously suggesting a struggling single mother should raise two kids while you sit on your pile of gold? Do you have a conscience?"

I was a twenty-something single woman trying to survive a transmigration event. I couldn't raise two kids.

The thought of these clingy "velcro babies" sticking to me for eighteen years made my brain short-circuit. I had to offload them. Now.

Harrison pondered this for a few seconds. "That's... actually a fair point. Looking at your current living situation, you probably don't have the capacity to care for them properly."

I glared at him. Rich people and their casual insults.

But I swallowed my pride. "Exactly. Yes. You are absolutely right. You are the perfect candidate."

Harrison seemed to accept this logic. He glanced at his bodyguards. "Take the children."

The guards nodded and stepped forward. But before their hands could graze the fabric of the onesies, a sound like a banshee's wail ripped through the room.

"WAAAAH! Mommy, save me!"

The girl, Luna, bolted back to me and latched onto my thigh like a limpet.

Before I could peel her off, the boy, Atlas, clamped onto my other leg. The stereo crying was deafening.

"Mommy doesn't want us anymore! Boo hoo hoo! We're just trash babies now!"

"Mommy doesn't love us! She's giving us to the villain! We're like weeds in the wind, so pitiful..."

I listened to their melodramatic wailing, feeling a migraine coming on. "Like weeds in the wind"? What kind of newborn talks like this?

This was impossible.

Harrison looked equally pained, rubbing his temples. "It seems they're attached to you. Look, just... come back with me. I have a villa. We have nannies. You won't have to do anything."

I paused.

Wait. A villa? Nannies? No responsibilities?

Maybe this Harrison guy wasn't the tyrannical monster from the book. He was actually being quite reasonable.

"Deal," I said.

And just like that, I moved into the Sterling estate.

I have to admit, the man had taste. The villa was obscenein a good way. Marble everything, art that cost more than my student loans, and a staff of twelve.

Best of all, I didn't have to lift a finger. I ate Michelin-star meals and lounged by the pool. This was the life. This was the dream.

But, of course, paradise never lasts.

04

"Margot!" Harrisons voice was frantic. "Get in here! Atlas and Luna are refusing the nannies. They won't stop crying!"

I groaned.

I had named them Atlas and Luna because I wanted them to carry the weight of the world and live on the moonfar away from me. Or maybe it was just poetic.

"Waaaah..."

"Margot, seriously! Hurry up!"

The fantasy of a peaceful life shattered. I dragged myself upstairs to the nursery.

The scene was chaos. The twins were swatting away the terrified nannies, tears streaming down their faces, screaming for Mommy.

And their father, the mighty Harrison Sterling, was standing by the window, pressed against the glass as if trying to merge with it.

Rage flared in my chest.

I marched over and smacked his arm. "What are you doing over here? Why aren't you holding them?"

"Me?" Harrison looked horrified.

"You're the father, aren't you? Trying to be a deadbeat dad while living in the same house?"

He looked desperate. "I've never held a baby. Can't you... go comfort them?"

"Like I'm an expert?" I scoffed. "They're your kids too. We go together."

Harrison looked at the screaming demons, swallowed hard, and nodded. "Okay."

We approached the cribs like we were defusing bombs. Stiffly, we each picked up a child. Miraculously, the crying stopped instantly.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I rocked Luna for a minute, then tried to pass her to a nanny so I could go back to my spa day.

The second my grip loosened, the siren wailed again.

I was going to lose my mind. Why were they designed to be instruments of torture?

I looked at Harrison to complain, but his face had gone pale. He was staring at me with pure despair.

"I think... he pooped."

Happiness really is relative. I burst out laughing.

The cold, ruthless CEO of the novel had just been pooped on by a newborn.

05

"Margot, stop laughing!" Harrison yelled, his face a mask of misery.

I looked at the stain spreading on his bespoke Italian suit and smirked. "Laughing isn't illegal. It doesn't hurt you. Why can't I laugh?"

Seeing the high-and-mighty protagonist brought low by a bowel movement was therapeutic.

Harrison opened his mouth to argue, but the baby in his arms tugged at his sleeve. "Daddy," Atlas squeaked, "clean pants now?"

Harrison froze. He looked at me, eyes pleading. "I... I don't know how to do this."

"You don't? And you think I do?" I shot back.

Did he expect me to handle the dirty work? Dream on.

"But..."

"No buts!" I cut him off. "Atlas pooped on you, not me. Don't even think about pawning this off."

"You gave birth to them! This is irresponsible!" Harrison was sweating now.

I shrugged, examining my nails.

Yes, I birthed them physically, but I didn't choose this. I was a twenty-four-year-old modern woman. I barely knew how to keep a succulent alive.

Transmigrating was hard enough. Was I expected to change diapers too?

"Say whatever you want. Handle it yourself. Or don't. Maybe just... don't wash it? Live like that forever?" I cuddled Luna close and walked out, leaving him to his doom.

Back in my room, the adrenaline faded, and a nagging thought surfaced.

Something was wrong.

Over the next few days, the feeling grew stronger.

Harrison Sterling... wasn't acting like a CEO.

I remembered the book. The original character was domineering, cruel, and radiated "alpha" energy.

But this guy? We argued constantly about the kids, but he usually just looked helpless, sighed, and then did whatever I said.

He wasn't domineering. He was... reasonable. Almost pushover-ish.

The more I watched him, the more I became convinced.

This Harrison was a fake.

06

A few nights later, Harrison came home drunk from a business dinner.

People say drunk words are sober thoughts. The universe was handing me an interrogation opportunity on a silver platter.

I cornered him in the hallway. "Hey... Harrison. You okay?"

He swayed.

"Did something happen?" I pressed. "Or did you hit your head recently? Because you don't act like a CEO at all."

I was fishing, trying to see if he had amnesia or a brain tumor.

Instead, he loosened his tie and shouted at the ceiling. "I'm struggling here!"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I've never done anything bad! I return my shopping carts! Why is God doing this to me?" He wailed, his voice cracking with genuine despair.

"Harrison, what are you talking about?"

He didn't answer. He just mumbled incoherent complaints, and thenI kid you nothe started crying.

I stood there, arms crossed, watching a billionaire sob into his hands. If the tabloids saw this, stock prices would crash.

Realizing I wasn't going to get a straight answer, I sighed and dragged him into his bedroom. I dumped him onto the king-sized mattress and turned to leave.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed my wrist. He yanked me down.

"Harrison! What the hell?" I panicked.

Was this the part where the "drunken CEO forces himself on the heroine" trope kicked in?

I pushed against his chest, but he was heavydead weight, really. He wrapped his arms around me like I was a teddy bear, trapping me.

I struggled for ten minutes. He didn't move. Eventually, exhaustion won, and I fell asleep right there in his iron grip.

07

I woke up the next morning to a scream.

I opened my eyes to see Harrison staring at me, horrified. His handsome face was contorted in pure terror.

Before I could speak, he scrambled backward, fell off the bed, and landed hard on his butt.

He held up three fingers, swearing an oath. "I swear! I swear I didn't do anything last night! I'm still a virgin!"

I choked on a laugh. "You're a virgin? Then where did the kids come from? Did the stork drop them via Amazon Prime?"

Harrison turned beet red. He looked around wildly, then scrambled to his feet, aiming for the door.

"Oh no, you don't."

I lunged, tackling him in a classic wrestling move, pinning him to the carpet.

"Harrison Sterling! Talk! What did you mean by that?"

He squirmed beneath me. "Nothing! It was sleep talking! Get off!"

He looked at my hands like they were weapons.

"Get off? If you don't tell the truth, I'm never letting go."

My suspicions had hit critical mass. The weird behavior, the crying, the virginity comment.

"I told the truth!" he insisted.

"Fine. Have it your way." I grinned, wiggling my fingers. "Then prepare for... The Tickle Monster."

I went for the ribs.

"HAHAHA! NO! MARGOT! STOP! HAHAHA!"

He shrieked like a schoolgirl. It was pathetic. It was definitely not CEO behavior.

Finally, limp and breathless, he surrendered. "Okay! I'll talk! I'll talk!"

"Good boy." I sat back.

Harrison caught his breath, sat up, and looked at me with the eyes of a kicked puppy. "If I told you... that we are inside a book... would you believe me?"

Inside a book?

My eyes widened.

He was a transmigrator too.