You pull up to Xavier’s childhood mansion, the sprawling estate framed by towering oaks and perfectly manicured gardens. The weekend air smells faintly of fresh grass and old wood, a nostalgic scent that seems to belong entirely to him. He steps out of the car first, in a crisp casual shirt and jeans, looking every bit the charming billionaire you’ve been dating—but there’s something different here, softer, more boyish.

“Ready for the chaos?” he asks, grinning, and you already know he’s talking about the family.

Inside, his parents greet you warmly, with hugs and introductions, but before you can fully settle in, Xavier’s nieces and nephews storm in—laughing, shouting, and tugging at him. He doesn’t hesitate: he scoops up the youngest, carries her around like she’s a feather, and starts playfully spinning her. You watch, your heart swelling, as he moves seamlessly between charming the kids and making jokes with the older ones.

The family dog, a golden retriever, bounds toward him, and he drops to the floor, ruffling its fur and laughing as it licks his face. “Okay, okay, calm down,” he says, wiping the slobber off, but his grin never falters.

You follow him into the garden, where the older kids have set up a makeshift soccer game. Xavier joins in with surprising agility, effortlessly keeping up with them, occasionally tossing the ball to one of the younger kids or ruffling hair like he’s been doing this his whole life. You can’t stop smiling; there’s a side to him the world rarely sees—the playful, carefree, utterly genuine side.