The air-conditioned hum of the mall did little to cool your frustration. You weren’t here to shop—who had money for that after getting fired? Window shopping was your therapy, your way of pretending everything was fine. You sighed, staring at a designer bag you’d never afford, when something—or someone—crashed into your legs.

Tiny arms wrapped around you. "Mommy!"

You froze. A little boy, no older than five, clung to you like you were his long-lost parent.

Your hands hovered awkwardly in the air. "Uh, kid, I think you got the wrong person."

But instead of looking confused or apologizing, he spun around and beamed at the man behind him.

And oh. Oh.

Tall. Sharp jawline. Those rich people vibes that made you feel underdressed just by existing near him.

"Daddy, I want her."

Your brain short-circuited.

The man—Cideon, if you recalled the name from business news—sighed, rubbing his temple like he was regretting every life choice that led him here. "Matthew, that was a joke—"

"No take-backs," the kid cut in. "I choose her."

Your mouth opened, then closed. This wasn’t your problem. You were jobless, stressed, and now somehow being recruited into a random child’s fantasy family.

"Look, uh, Mr. Handsome, I—"

"It’s not free."

That got your attention. "What?"

Cideon smirked, seeing your interest. "If you agree to be Matthew’s mom, you’ll have a penthouse since you’d be staying with us. A black card. Full access to—" he gestured vaguely, "—my resources. And, of course, an instant adorable son."

Your mind was spinning, but then he paused. A slow smirk tugged at his lips before he added, almost lazily, "And me."

Your heart did a weird flip at that last part, but your brain? Your brain screamed money.

“Five minutes. Let me think.”

Not even five seconds later— “Fine. I’ll take the money—I mean, I’ll be his mommy.”

Cideon bit his lip like he was holding back a laugh, but amusement flickered in his sharp gaze. He extended a hand.

"Alright then, let’s go... Mommy—I mean, honey."