My Driver Husband Is Actually a Billionaire Tycoon

New York City. The underground parking garage at Rockefeller Center. Willow Yang burst out of the elevator, heels clicking frantically against the concrete floor, her phone buzzing nonstop in her bag. Like I even need to check. It was definitely Joy Li — her best friend who absolutely could not take a hint. She'd already texted three times saying she was on her way. Yet there Joy was, still calling. Willow didn't bother picking up. Joy's last message had been perfectly clear: Underground garage, Level B2, elevator exit, black luxury car. She adjusted the strap of her bag, too rushed to have changed out of her work clothes. In her other hand, she carried a tote bag with tonight's evening gown stuffed inside. The moment she stepped out of the elevator, she spotted it. There. A sleek black car gleaming under the garage lights. She walked closer and her jaw nearly dropped. A Rolls-Royce. A full-on, top-of-the-line, who-does-Joy-think-she-is Rolls-Royce. Is she serious right now? Even if it was rented, this was way over the top. Willow could practically feel her wallet crying just looking at it. She shook her head, muttering under her breath, then yanked open the passenger door and slid in — long legs first, black stockings and all — dropping into the seat like she owned the place. "Okay, I'm here, I'm here — stop blowing up my phone!" she announced, already working her heels off with practiced ease, one foot nudging the other. "Turn on the AC, it's absolutely boiling out there." She leaned back and let the words pour out. "Today was a nightmare. The bid was supposed to be finalized weeks ago, and then their company suddenly drops a new director out of nowhere and calls for a complete re-bid. Everything we prepared? Tossed. Start over." "And of course, the second our manager heard about it, his back 'gave out' again." She made air quotes with her fingers. "Every. Single. Time there's actual work to do, that man's spine just collapses. It's honestly impressive at this point." "I genuinely don't know how he even got promoted. Someone needs to check our CEO's eyesight." She adjusted the passenger seat to recline slightly and propped her feet up on the dashboard with a satisfied sigh. "Finally. A moment of peace." She stared at the ceiling of the car and kept going. "The only decent thing my manager did today was let me leave on time, since tonight's the client appreciation gala. Small mercies." "Oh, and get this — he actually flew all the way to Los Angeles just to get a haircut for this event." She let out a short laugh. "Sir. You have seven hairs on your head. What exactly were you hoping the stylist would do?" "Anyway, I heard tonight's gala is seriously fancy. Five-star hotel, lobster flown in fresh, aged red wine — the whole thing. I'm eating my weight in lobster tonight, I swear. Capitalism owes me." Willow worked at Skybridge Company — not a small firm by any means, but she was just a team leader in the Marketing Department. Practically invisible. She'd been there for years and had never once laid eyes on the company's chairman. Tonight's gala was a different world entirely — packed with New York's biggest business players, the kind of people who made deals over aged wine and barely glanced at their menus. She knew what was at stake. Landing this contract meant everything. That's why she'd gone through the trouble of renting a car and borrowing a gown. So expensive. She winced at the thought. She had half a mind to take a nap on the way there — it wasn't a short drive — but the more she thought about the re-bid, the more wide awake she became. Who re-bids a contract at the last minute? Who does that? She'd worked overtime every single day for a week because of this. One week. And tonight, her one night off, she still had to show up and smile and network. The audacity. In the driver's seat, Ethan Lu heard the passenger door swing open. He glanced sideways — just once — at the woman who had thrown herself into his car without a second thought. His brow furrowed slightly. Who is this? He'd been sitting here making a phone call. That was it. And somehow, this woman had just... walked in. Helped herself to his passenger seat. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. He'd been about to say something when she started talking — and didn't stop. Ethan watched her lean back against the seat, kick off both heels in one smooth motion, and prop her long legs up on the dashboard. Black stockings, a fitted black skirt, a figure that was hard to ignore even sitting down. He'd seen plenty of women pull stunts like this — calculated, deliberate, designed to get his attention. But this one... She wasn't looking at him. She wasn't performing for him. She was genuinely, completely absorbed in her own world — ranting about her manager's fake back pain and lobster and overtime like he didn't even exist. Interesting. Most women who got within five feet of him knew exactly who he was. They adjusted their posture, softened their voice, smiled a little wider. This one had kicked off her heels and put her feet on his dashboard. Ethan said nothing. He leaned back slightly, phone still in hand, and decided — for the first time in a long while — that he was in no hurry to correct the misunderstanding. Willow was mid-rant when something finally nagged at her. Wait. Joy hadn't said a single word since she got in the car. That was... weird. Joy Li, the woman who had once talked for forty-five minutes straight about a sale at a shoe store, had been completely silent. Willow turned toward the driver's seat. "Okay, seriously, what's wrong with you today? You haven't said one—" She froze. The words died in her throat. Her face went from normal to tomato-red in approximately half a second. She yanked her feet off the dashboard and sat bolt upright, spine straight as a board. Because the person in the driver's seat was not Joy Li. It was a man. A very, very good-looking man. Sharp features, perfectly tailored suit, an air about him that matched the Rolls-Royce entirely — composed, expensive, impossible to ignore. Where is Joy? Willow's brain scrambled. Joy was supposed to be here. This is supposed to be a rental. Why is there a man in this car? Her phone buzzed. A w******p message from Joy. Joy: Did you find the car? Willow: Found it. WHY IS THERE A MAN IN IT?? She typed so fast her fingers stumbled, the secondhand embarrassment hitting her like a freight train. Joy: Surprise!! I didn't just rent you a car — I found you a driver too! You're welcome. You OWE me for this one 😄 Willow stared at the message. A driver. She looked up slowly and stole another glance at the man in front of her. Okay. Okay. Just a driver. That was fine. Totally fine. She could work with this. Willow: Fine, I'll give you that one. But did you have to rent a ROLLS-ROYCE? I just wanted to not look broke, Joy. Not arrive like royalty. She exhaled, snuck one more look at the driver, and thought: Well. The car might be excessive. But the driver is... definitely not a downgrade. This was genuinely the best thing that had happened to her all week. Ethan felt her eyes on him again — unabashed, openly curious — and his brow ticked upward. She thought he was a driver. He could correct her right now. Two sentences, and this little comedy would be over. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the way she'd walked into his car like she belonged there. Maybe it was the fact that she was the first person in years to look at him without knowing what he was worth. Or maybe he was just curious to see how long it would take her to figure it out. Not yet, he decided, his lips curving into the faintest ghost of a smile. Not just yet.