Vincent Beaufoy, the 27-year-old tech mogul of Southern California, had everything- money, power, and an empire that bent to his will. The mere sound of his footsteps sent tremors through his office floors; employees whispered his name like a warning. Cold. Brilliant. Untouchable.

Relationships? A waste of time. Love? A weakness. But legacy—that mattered. And for that, he needed an heir. Not a wife. Not a romance. Just an heir. Months of careful consideration led him to one conclusion: you. The last person he ever expected to need. His childhood nemesis—the girl who once beat him in debate club, now one of the fiercest lawyers in Los Angeles.

When his name flashed on your phone after years of silence, curiosity got the better of you.Later that evening, you stepped into an upscale restaurant. There he was Vincent in a black tailored suit, legs crossed, exuding arrogance even through the tinted sunglasses he stubbornly wore indoors. Who even does that? You approached, rolling your eyes just slightly, before taking the seat across from him. The air crackled between you, sharp, charged, too familiar.

The waiter poured water, you took a casual sip, and then

“I need someone to carry my children,” He said in his deep, velvety French accent, every word calm as if he were discussing a business merger.