I Bought The Perfect House Husband

I still cant believe Im losing my mind over a mediocre, thirty-something man in my office.

Derek is married. He has a stay-at-home wife who has made raising their children and managing his existence her sole, holy crusade. Every day at 5:00 PM, he clocks out and walks into a life he doesn't have to orchestrate. Dinner is hot. The bath is drawn. His version of fatherhood consists of tossing a toddler in the air for fifteen minutes before claiming exhaustion. He hasn't touched a sponge or scheduled a pediatrician appointment in his life. He lives with the blissful, unburdened ignorance of a college freshman.

Then theres me. I finish a grueling fourteen-hour day and unlock the door to my three-thousand-square-foot luxury penthouse. Its breathtaking. Its architectural perfection.

And it is completely, suffocatingly empty.

I actually love children. Biologically, logistically, having a child wouldn't be impossibleI'd just need to carve out a year. But I am at the absolute precipice of my career. Im terrified that stepping back to give birth will derail my trajectory, so I stay frozen.

Derek and I are gunning for the same promotion. If this were a fair, one-on-one fight? Id obliterate him. But its not fair. Im not competing against Derek; Im competing against Derek and the invisible infrastructure of his wife. We both work a grueling day, but he goes home to recharge in a sanctuary built entirely for his comfort, while I go home to an echo chamber.

Thinking about it makes my blood boil.

I realized something fundamental: I dont need a husband.

I need a wife.

Just imagine it. If I had someone managing my life the way Dereks wife manages his... God, I would be unstoppable.

Fueled by caffeine and spite, I immediately registered with Elite Connections, the most exclusive matchmaking agency in the city.

My consultant, Diane, was thrilled with my profile. Within days, she had a lineup of weekend dates. I showed up to the boutique coffee shop looking flawlessa silk slip dress, a sharp blazer, and my favorite stilettos. Whether I found a match or not, I was going to exude absolute, weaponized confidence.

Diane had vetted them "according to my standards."

Candidate One sat down, looked me up and down like a used car, and sneered. "When we're together, I don't want my woman dressing so... flashy. You'll need to tone that down."

I practically felt my eyes roll into the back of my skull. Bold of you to assume were getting together, considering I dont date men who dress like substitute math teachers.

Candidate Two had clearly put effort into his appearance. His eyes lit up when he saw me. "When we get married, you won't even have to work. I'll take care of you."

I plastered on a painfully polite smile. "And what is your annual salary?"

He puffed out his chest. "I make sixty thousand a year. Full benefits, 401k match. It's a great setup. You can quit, stay home with the kids, and I'll give you five hundred dollars a month as a personal allowance."

My smile splintered. I looked down at my two-thousand-dollar Jimmy Choos and seriously considered taking one off and embedding the heel in his forehead.

Candidate Three looked the part of a finance bro. We actually had a decent rapport, speaking the same corporate language.

Finally, we pivoted to the future. A calculated glint flashed behind his designer frames. "I assume, Jocelyn, that as a modern woman, you're open to modern financial arrangements?"

"I'm listening."

"Would you be open to going fifty-fifty on all household expenses?"

Split the bills? Wait, I get a domestic partner without taking on his financial burden? I nodded enthusiastically.

He smiled, leaning in. "And cohabitation before marriage?"

A trial run without the legal mess? I kept nodding.

"Great," he said. "My mother always says that women these days have so many fertility issues. Would you be open to having a child before we officially sign the marriage certificate, just to be sure?"

My jaw twitched. The polite facade evaporated. "Tell you what," I said, voice dropping to a deadly calm. "Would you be open to adopting? Would you be open to quitting your job, staying home full-time, and managing my household? Don't worry, I can match whatever salary you're making right now."

His face flushed a violent, blotchy red. "I make a hundred and fifty grand a year! You want me to be a house-husband? Scrub floors? And you won't even give me a biological kid?" He scoffed, eyeing me with sudden disgust. "You might be gorgeous, but if you're not going to breed, what use are you to me?"

It took every ounce of my Wall Street restraint not to laugh in his face. A hundred and fifty grand? I thought. Honey, I make five times that on a bad year.

He stormed off. I sat there, lazily stirring my iced latte, waiting for Candidate Four.

He arrived. Visually, he passed. I decided to skip the dance and cut straight to the chase.

"I will give you a five-thousand-dollar monthly allowancepure disposable incomewith all living expenses covered by me. In exchange, you stay home full-time and manage the household. Can you handle that?"

His eyes went wide like saucers. "Yes! Absolutely. I hate working anyway; I'm a total homebody. I don't really know how to clean, though. Oh, and when we get together, my parents are going to move in with us."

My smile shattered into a million pieces.

He was still talking. "We don't own a place, so we'll have to live at yours. Do you rent or own?"

I was looking for a partner, not a parasite. A stay-at-home husband who doesn't do chores? What is the point of that?

After Number Four left, I slumped back against the velvet booth, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Why was it so impossibly hard to find a wife?

Diane slid into the seat across from me, looking apologetic. "Jocelyn, you're asking a man to stay home, do the housework, and you're not offering him a biological child. What kind of man is going to accept that? Maybe you need to lower your expectations. Compromise on something."

I stared at her. I was the one with the money. Why should I compromise?

"Upgrade my membership," I said flatly. "Put me in the Diamond tier."

A bigger pool meant better fish. Dianes face instantly lit up with the promise of a commission, and she stood up to leave.

Suddenly, from the booth just behind the half-wall next to me, a womans sharp, condescending voice cut through the caf chatter.

"You deliver food for a living. How exactly do you plan to support me? This manicure alone cost me two hundred buckshow many deliveries do you have to make just to pay for my nails? And I heard you have a kid. Is it yours? Because I am not playing stepmom."

A mans voice answered. It was a beautiful voicelow, quiet, and incredibly melodic.

"I can give you my entire paycheck. I just need someone to play the role of a mother for Theo. Just until hes a little older and doesn't need that maternal figure as desperately. We can sign a prenuptial agreement. We can divorce after."

The woman scoffed loudly. "You want me to waste my best years for whatever pennies you scrape together? That wouldn't even cover my shopping habit."

The sharp clack of her heels echoed as she stormed toward the exit.

My curiosity was piqued. I stood up, walked around the partition, and looked at the source of that beautiful voice.

When I saw him, I swear, my cold, corporate heart skipped a beat.

An angel?

He was sitting in the booth, looking down at his hands. His hair fell effortlessly across his forehead, casting shadows over ridiculously long eyelashes. A straight nose, soft lips, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He was wearing a simple, inexpensive linen shirt, but it was immaculately pressed. Not a single wrinkle.

Sensing my unapologetic stare, the young man looked up.

His eyes were a stunning, translucent amber. They looked like they were catching the light from within.

I didn't hesitate. I slid directly into the seat across from him. "Jocelyn Pierce. Twenty-seven. High-level finance. What do you think of me?"

He blinked, stunned, before the implication landed. A faint, gorgeous flush crept up his neck.

"I'm Rowan," he said, his voice dropping so low I had to lean in. "Rowan Gallagher. Twenty-two. And right now... I'm a delivery driver."

"Twenty-two?" I arched an eyebrow. "Fresh out of college?"

He nodded.

I tapped my manicured nails against the table, the gears in my head turning. A younger man. My friends always joked about the sheer, unbridled stamina of a man in his early twenties. I had spent my twenties ruthlessly climbing the corporate ladder; I had zero romantic history. But honestly? As long as he could run a house, I didn't care if he was younger.

"Can you clean?" I asked. "Can you do laundry? Cook?"

Rowan looked utterly confused, but he slowly nodded.

My heart soared. Was the universe actually handing me exactly what I wanted?

But I remembered the horrible woman mentioning a child. I needed to clear that up. I don't do messy entanglements or baby-mama drama.

"You have a child?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

Rowan bit his lower lip. He nodded, then shook his head.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"He's not biologically mine," Rowan said softly, his amber eyes dropping to the table. "He's my sister's. She and her husband... they passed away."

The profound grief in his voice hit me like a physical blow. God, I had just stomped right onto a landmine. "I'm so sorry."

"How old is the baby? You're raising him on your own?" I asked, my curiosity softening into something closer to empathy.

He nodded again. "He's two."

Two years old. Past the newborn nightmare phase, able to communicate, peak cute-stage.

Child acquired. Check.

I leaned back, flashing him my most practiced, devastating smile, and ran a hand through my hair. "Would you be opposed to an older woman?"

Rowans face went violently, beautifully red.

I leaned forward, dropping into negotiation mode. "I'll give you a five-thousand-dollar monthly cash allowance, with all household and living expenses on a separate card. All you have to do is manage the house and take care of the boy."

Rowan swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I couldn't do that."

"Why not? Are you making five grand a month on a bike in the heat? You could make that from the comfort of a luxury apartment, without having to brave the weather."

He dropped his head, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "I'm... I'm not an escort. I don't want a sugar mommy"

I burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the quiet caf. "Who said anything about buying an escort? I'm legitimately looking for a hus"

I caught myself. The word wife had almost slipped out.

"A husband," I corrected smoothly.

God, I really just wanted a wife.

At the word "husband," the tips of Rowans ears turned crimson.

I couldn't help but tease him. "You were just pitching a marriage of convenience to that awful woman. Why so shy now?"

He peeked up at me through his lashes, then quickly looked away. "It... it's different. I was just trying to find Theo a mother figure. A contract marriage. But you..." He glanced at me again, the blush spreading to his pale cheeks.

My god. Were all recent college grads this devastatingly sweet?

Diane, having noticed my extended absence, trotted over to our booth, a customer-service smile plastered on her face. "Jocelyn! About that Diamond tier upgrade"

I waved a hand dismissively. "Cancel it. And don't worry about refunding my initial fee."

The candidates she brought me were trash, but if she hadn't set up the appointments, I wouldn't have been in this caf to find my angel. Consider the fee a finder's tip.

Diane's smile froze when I canceled the upgrade, but the promise of keeping the non-refundable deposit thawed it quickly. She looked between me and Rowan. "Well... I wish you both a lifetime of happiness!"

She practically sprinted away, probably terrified I'd ask for my money back.

I turned my attention back to the boy across from me. "Let's be absolutely clear," I said, my tone shifting to purely professional. "You move into my place. You stay home full-time and raise the boy. Are you absolutely sure you can handle that?"

Rowan looked into my eyes, held my gaze for a fraction of a second, then lowered his lashes and nodded.

Gorgeous, domestic husband acquired. Check.

Looking at his flushed face, I decided the first order of business was a full medical workup. I needed a healthy partner.

Since it was getting late, I took Rowan to a high-end restaurant nearby. After ordering, I noticed the seafood spread and added a plate of chilled jumbo shrimp.

While we waited for the food, we laid out our histories.

I learned that his parents had died when he was young, and his older sister had practically raised him. Shortly after he graduated college, his sister and brother-in-law were killed in a car accident, leaving him alone with a toddler. He was juggling food delivery gigs just to keep food in the baby's mouth.

Listening to him, my chest tightened. It felt like the universe had a sick sense of humor when it came to good people.

I gave him the abbreviated version of my life: former Wall Street shark, currently a senior executive at a major financial firm.

When the food arrived, it was plated like modern art. I did what any millennial woman would dotook aesthetic photos of every dish and posted them to my Instagram story. Almost immediately, my phone started buzzing with notifications from colleagues and friends. I absentmindedly fired off a few replies.

Rowan sat perfectly still, waiting for me to finish.

The longer I looked at him, the more pleased I felt. I picked up my fork and placed a piece of fish on his plate. "Don't be polite. Eat."

"Thank you, Jocelyn," he murmured, his face pinking again.

I rested my chin on my hand, watching him. He ate the food I gave him, then cast a quick, hesitant glance at my long, manicured nails. Slowly, he put on a pair of plastic gloves from the table caddy and reached for the shrimp.

He peeled them methodically. When he was done, a neat row of pristine, pink shrimp sat perfectly arranged on a small plate.

He pushed the plate across the table toward me. The subtext was loud and clear.

I couldn't hide my smile. "For me?"

He nodded, gesturing slightly toward my hands. "Your nails. I didn't want you to ruin them."

Oh, wow. We weren't even married yet, and I was already reaping the benefits of a wife.

I didn't hesitate. I speared a shrimp with my fork, dragged it through the cocktail sauce, and ate it. It tasted like absolute victory.

After lunch, I drove Rowan straight to a premier private clinic.

He looked utterly bewildered. I kept my face blank, entirely composed. "Corporate life is stressful. I'm getting a routine physical to make sure I'm holding up. Figured you should get one too."

I quietly slipped a comprehensive reproductive and sexual health screening into his package and marked it as a priority.

When he emerged from the examination rooms hours later, his face, ears, and neck were burning bright red.

I pulled out my phone. "Give me your number. I'll text you when the results come in."

He fumbled with his phone, clearly flustered, and we exchanged contacts.

"Is there anywhere you want to go right now?" I asked.

He shook his head, looking hesitant.

Did I intimidate him that much? I sighed, softening my voice. "Rowan, just say what's on your mind. We're going to be family soon."

He looked at me, his amber eyes earnest. "Theo is the only family I have left. He has to live with me. But I promise, I won't play favorites. I'll take care of your children exactly the way I take care of Theo."

Wait. What?

My kids?

Looking at the absolute sincerity in his eyes, I was momentarily speechless. A laugh bubbled up in my throat. "My... children?"

He bit his lip. "This morning... you said my job would be staying home and taking care of the kids..."

The realization hit me. He thought I was a single mother hiring him to raise my secret offspring.

"Oh my god." I threw my head back and laughed until my ribs ached. When I finally caught my breath, I stepped into his space, went up on my tiptoes, and gently pinched his cheek.

"I don't have any kids, Rowan. When I said 'take care of the child,' I meant yours."

God, he was tall. Over six-two, easily. And his skin was incredibly soft.

He stared down at me, looking even more profoundly confused.

It was too cute. I pinched his cheek again.

"I don't plan on having biological children," I explained softly. "You bringing Theo into the mix is perfect. It saves me the trouble of adopting. Your only job is to raise him well."

I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward my Porsche. "Send me your address. Let's go meet the kid."

As we navigated toward his neighborhood, Rowan shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. "The streets get really narrow up ahead. You won't be able to park this."

I had to pull the Porsche to the curb a few blocks away. Stepping out into the neighborhood, I immediately understood his hesitation.

It was... gritty. I felt an absurd flash of a savior complexlike I was Richard Gere in Pretty Woman, but with a much worse zip code. But looking at the beautiful, gentle man walking beside me, I firmly shut that thought down. A husband without a ring was just a boyfriend, and I wasn't here to do charity; I was here to secure my future.

We dodged overflowing dumpsters and stopped in front of a crumbling apartment building. My heels echoed sharply in the concrete stairwell, the sound grating on my nerves by the third flight.

By the time we hit the sixth floor, I was genuinely out of breath.

Rowan unlocked the door. The apartment was tinythe entire place was probably smaller than my living room. But the moment I stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.

It was a classic two-bedroom, but it was incredibly warm. Spotless. Everything had its place.

I glanced at the shoe rack, looking for guest slippers. Rowan noticed. "You don't need to take off your shoes," he said quickly.

I stepped into the living room. The walls were decorated with inexpensive but beautifully composed prints. Toys were neatly corralled in a woven basket.

I mentally checked another box. He really did know how to keep a house.

"Where's the baby?" I asked.

"I left him with the neighbor across the hall when I went to the caf. Let me go grab him."

He slipped out the door. I barely had time to take a sip of the water hed poured me before he was back, carrying a toddler on his hip.

I stood up and leaned in. Theo was soft and pale, with massive, dark eyes like polished obsidian.

I let out an internal sigh of relief. He was a beautiful baby.

Those big eyes stared at me with pure, unadulterated curiosity. He was so cute I had the sudden, violent urge to squish his cheeks.

Breathe, Jocelyn, I told myself. Wait for the medical results. Once the ink on the marriage license is dry, this kid is officially yours.

I had seen the baby. It was time to go.

Rowan carried Theo downstairs to walk me to my car. Standing by the Porsche, I reached into my console, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills I kept for emergencies, and tucked it into Theos little hands.

"I didn't have time to stop for a gift. Buy him some toys."

Rowans eyes widened in panic. "Jocelyn, no, I can't take this."

He tried to hand it back, but I smoothly ducked into the driver's seat. I liked spending money on my things.

I rolled the window down halfway. "Wait for my text."

I pulled away without giving him a chance to argue. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I watched Rowan standing on the curb, holding the baby.

The thought that soon, someone would be standing at the door seeing me off every morning... God, it felt amazing.

10

I walked into my three-thousand-square-foot penthouse. The silence was deafening. It was cold, vast, and utterly devoid of life.

No one asking about my day. No hot shower running. No dinner on the stove.

I sighed, dropping my keys on the counter. I thought of Rowan, and a spark of hope flared in my chest. Stay healthy, kid, I thought to the universe. I need a healthy wife.

I looked around. My blazer was slung carelessly over the back of the sofa. A stained coffee mug sat on the glass coffee table. My shoes were kicked off in two entirely different time zones.

I collapsed onto the sofa, wincing when the hardware of a forgotten handbag dug into my spine. I wanted to cry.

I absolutely loathed housework. I used to employ a housekeeper, Martha. At first, she was great. But as she got comfortable, the matriarchal entitlement crept in.

She started making passive-aggressive comments. Girls shouldn't spend money so recklessly. It doesn't matter how much a woman makes, she just needs a good husband. It's such a waste for a single girl to live in a place this big.

I tolerated it because she kept the house spotless and left me hot meals.

Then, one evening, I came home to find a strange man sitting on my custom Italian leather sofa. Martha smiled proudly. "This is my nephew. He's single. A woman your age, Jocelyn, if you don't settle down soon, you'll be stuck with divorced men. My nephew doesn't mind that you're a bit older. Older women know how to take care of a man."

I didn't even yell. I just walked into my bedroom, called the agency, and had her removed from my property within the hour.

After that, the parade of housekeepers all followed the same arc: they started fine, then eventually tried to mother me or critique my lifestyle. I was paying them a premium; why did I feel like I was hiring a mother-in-law?

I stopped using full-time help, relying on a weekly cleaning service just to keep the place sanitary.

Thinking about it exhausted me. I sat up and pulled up a delivery app to see what sad, lukewarm meal I was going to eat for dinner.

11

Monday morning. Business as usual.

The moment I walked into the bullpen, Derek Larsen intercepted me, holding out a pink bakery box. "Jocelyn, try one of my wife's homemade cupcakes. The VP already had two. Said they were fantastic."

Derek. My sworn nemesis. The firm was currently debating who would lead our newest, highest-stakes acquisition projectme or Derek.

The mention of his wife's domestic perfection was a calculated strike. I felt that familiar, ugly spike of jealousy.

I took the box with a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Thanks, Derek. When I get the lead on the new project, I'll be sure to treat you to dinner."

Derek's smile stiffened. "Don't count your chickens, Jocelyn."

The air between us practically crackled with hostility. I gave a dismissive little hum and walked past him. I didn't have time to participate in a staring contest with a man who peaked in high school; I had pitch decks to review.

Back in my office, my assistant, Chloewait, no, let's call her Sarah. No, Sarah's banned too. My assistant, Emily, walked in with a stack of folders. "Ms. Pierce, these need your signature."

I pointed to the edge of my desk. "Leave them." I pushed the pink bakery box toward her. "Take this to the breakroom. Let the interns have it."

I wasn't about to eat anything Derek Larsen handed me.

I blazed through the documents, signing where needed, kicking back the ones with sloppy formatting. When I finally looked up at the clock, it was 10:55 AM.

Two emails pinged in my inbox. The clinic results.

I opened mine first. Perfect health. All those 5:00 AM Pilates classes were paying off.

I opened Rowan's. I scoured the PDF, checking every single metric, right down to the STI panel. He was in perfect, pristine health.

A thrill shot through me. He was healthy. It was time to bring him home. My era of coming home to a hot meal and a warm house was officially beginning.

12

I FaceTimed Rowan. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. "Jocelyn?"

I stared at the screen. He was wearing a bright neon delivery helmet, his face flushed and glistening with sweat. My chest tightened. "Are you out on a delivery right now?"

He nodded, a bead of sweat rolling down his jawline.

Oh my god. My internal monologue was screaming. It's been one day and my beautiful angel is out here suffering in the trenches.

"Where's Theo?"

Rowan angled the camera down. Theo was strapped into a makeshift child seat on the front of the electric bike. His little cheeks were flushed dark red from the heat, though his dark eyes were still bright.

Silence hung between us. Two beautiful, miserable souls baking in the sun.

"Drop your location," I ordered. "I'm coming to get you. Find some shade."

God, I was getting soft in my old age. My maternal instinct was apparently highly susceptible to pretty faces.

When I pulled the Porsche up to the GPS pin, the two of them were huddled under a meager tree, looking like a tragic Dickens illustration.

I rolled down the window. "Get in."

Rowan hesitated, looking at his electric bike. "I can just ride behind you"

"Get in the car, Rowan. I'll pay someone to come pick up the bike later."

He didn't argue. He clutched Theo to his chest and slid into the leather passenger seat.

We weren't going to the courthouse looking like this. I threw the car into drive and headed straight for the nearest Ritz-Carlton.

13

I glanced over at him as we pulled into the valet line. "Do you have your ID on you?"

Rowan looked up at the towering luxury hotel, his throat bobbing. "Is this... is this really okay?"

I caught the deep, frantic blush rising up his neck and instantly realized what he was thinking. I barked a laugh. "What exactly is going through your head? I booked a room so you two can take a shower. We're going to City Hall this afternoon to get married."

Rowan realized his mistake, and the blush violently overtook his entire face. He buried his chin into Theo's hair, mortified.

I couldn't stop smiling. He was so incredibly pure.

Up in the suite, Rowan disappeared into the marble bathroom to shower, leaving me alone with the toddler.

We stared at each other. Theo was sitting on the plush carpet. I glanced toward the bathroom door, then reached out a finger and gently poked his soft, chubby cheek.

Theo tilted his head, looking at me with profound confusion.

God, he is so cute.

I couldn't help myself. I leaned in and planted a loud kiss right on his cheek.

Theo's eyes went wide as saucers, and he slapped his little hands over the spot I'd kissed.

Even cuter.

I scooped him up into my lap and peppered his face with kisses. I tried to soften my voice so I didn't sound like a corporate shark about to eat a seal. "What's your name, baby?"

Theo went completely rigid in my arms, terrified to move.

I sighed internally. Was my aura that intimidating? I was just about to put him down when a tiny, bird-like voice chirped against my collarbone.

"Theo."

I looked down. He was peering up at me through his lashes. The moment we made eye contact, he shoved his face back into my chest.

A shy kid? My heart completely melted.

I hoisted him up so we were face to face. I looked into those massive, dark eyes, then buried my face in his neck and took a deep breath. He smelled like baby lotion and sunshine.

14

Right in the middle of my aggressive baby-snuggling, the bathroom door clicked open.

Rowan stepped out. He was wearing the hotel's plush, deep-V bathrobe, aggressively towel-drying his hair. Every step he took offered a distracting glimpse of a pale, heavily muscled chest.

Damn it, I thought. Why is it only noon?

I set Theo down on the sofa, stood up, and crossed the room. I reached out, grabbed the lapels of his robe, and yanked them firmly togetherallowing my hands to linger just a second longer than necessary. He was definitely in shape.

"Careful. Don't catch a cold. We have important paperwork to sign this afternoon," I said, trying desperately to sound authoritative.

The sliver of exposed skin at his throat flushed pink. My eyes were having a field day. I looked up at his face. His cheeks were flushed from the steam, and his amber eyes looked wet and luminous.

Who could possibly resist this?

I couldn't.

I reached up, framed his face with my hands, and kissed him. Right on the lips.

Forgive my lack of willpower. He was going to be my husband in three hours anyway; I was just taking an advance.

Remembering there was a toddler in the room, I pulled back before I did something completely unhinged, like drag him into the king-sized bed.

The doorbell rang. Room service had arrived, along with the bellhop carrying the clothes I'd had a concierge go out and buy.

Rowan, his face practically glowing red, practically sprinted back into the bathroom to change. I set up Theo's food on the coffee table.

When Rowan emerged, the seductive bathrobe was gone, replaced by crisp dark denim and a perfectly fitted white button-down.

He looked like the poster boy for ivy-league youth.

I thought of Derek Larsen again. Derek liked to act like he was still a hotshot frat boy, but at thirty-five, it was just sad. A guy in his thirties pretending to be a kid is tragic; an actual twenty-two-year-old is a masterpiece.

Thinking about Derek annoyed me, but looking back at my beautiful, young fianc instantly fixed my mood.

After lunch, we took an Uber straight to the courthouse. When the three of us walked out an hour later, it was official. We were a legally binding family unit.

I had a wife. And a kid. Check and mate.

15

That afternoon, we moved their meager belongings from the rundown apartment into my penthouse.

Rowan stood in the massive, echoing foyer, holding Theo, looking completely overwhelmed.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. "This is your home now. Don't act like a guest."

Remembering our agreement, I pulled a sleek black debit card from my wallet and handed it to him. "Your five grand allowance will hit this on the first of every month." Then I pulled out my Amex Platinum. "This is for the household. Groceries, clothes, whatever you need. Don't check the price tags."

Rowan stared at the plastic like it was radioactive. I wanted to stay and ease him into it, but my phone started buzzing violently. The office. They were calling an emergency meeting.

I had to go. A true mogul doesn't let domestic bliss delay a hostile takeover.

I patted Rowan's shoulder. "Take the afternoon to get acquainted with the layout. I have to go secure the bag."

I arrived at the office just in time. The boardroom was packed. The agenda: deciding who would lead the $400 million merger project.

The board openly analyzed Derek and me.

"Dereks home life is stable," one VP noted. "He has no domestic distractions. He can dedicate one hundred percent of his mental bandwidth to the merger."

"But Jocelyns pedigree is flawless," another countered. "Ivy League, Wall Street background. Her track record here is brutal but effective."

It came down to a vote. A dead tie. The CEO held the tiebreaker, and I could see his eyes drifting toward Derek.

I cleared my throat, the sound cutting through the tension. "Richard. Give me the project. If I miss the Q3 targets, I will submit my resignation. You won't even have to fire me. Does Derek want to match that wager?"

The entire room pivoted to look at Derek.

Dereks face went rigid. Of course he couldn't take that bet. His entire family survived on his paycheck; he couldn't risk his mortgage on a game of corporate chicken.

The CEO saw Derek's hesitation. The energy shifted immediately.

I got the project.

Was I terrified of betting my job? A little. But a headhunter had offered me a VP role at a rival firm three days ago. I knew my worth. When you have a parachute, you can afford to jump.

I took my core team out to a high-end steakhouse to celebrate the win.

16

Dinner transitioned into drinks at an upscale lounge. Fortunately, I inherited my fathers iron liver. I wouldn't say I never got drunk, but I could put away neat scotch while my colleagues were slurring their words.

I called a luxury town car to take me home.

When I unlocked my front door, I genuinely thought the alcohol had hit me, because the glare coming off the hardwood floors nearly blinded me.

I backed up and checked the unit number. Yes. My apartment.

I stepped inside. The floors looked like glass. In the entryway closet, my scattered stilettos were meticulously aligned. My handbags were displayed on the upper shelves, organized by size and color gradient.

I stood frozen in the foyer for a solid ten seconds, convinced I had broken into a model home.

Before today, coming home meant stepping into a cold, chaotic void.

Tonight, it was brilliantly lit, immaculate, and smelled faintly of expensive citrus and cedar.

I swapped my heels for slippers and walked further in. The living room was transformed. The cashmere throw on the sofa was folded with military precision. The decorative pillows were arranged symmetrically.

The towering stack of industry magazines th