My Hot Taxidriver Is a Tycoon In Disguise

4. We Meet Again

~GRACE’S POV~

I woke up in his arms.

The light coming through the curtains was soft and golden, but I didn’t care. I was too busy staring at him, still asleep with one strong arm wrapped around my waist, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, warm and steady and safe.

And just like that, everything from last night rushed back into me.

The way he kissed me. The way he touched me like I was something delicate and sacred. Like I was the only thing that existed to him in that moment.

I’ve never felt anything like that in my life. I didn’t even know s*x could feel like that— like love, like being seen and held and wanted all at once.

My heart started beating way too fast, and my face got hot. I didn’t even try to stop the way my mouth curved into a small, stupid smile.

I turned my head slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake him as I looked at him properly. Just to memorize the way he looked when he wasn’t watching me.

His jaw was sharp with that soft shadow of stubble that made him look even more unreal. His lips—God—those lips were made for kissing and trouble.

His skin under my fingertips was warm and smooth, stretched over a body that made absolutely no sense for someone who drove a cab for a living.

The sheet had slipped down to his waist, and his torso was right there.

Lean, sculpted and marked with tattoos.

And there were his abs. Real ones. Not just kind-of-there abs but the full-on, hard, movie-star kind that people pay money to look at on gym posters.

His hair was that perfect mess. Tousled like he’d styled it and then ruined it just the right way. Like a model who didn’t try too hard and still looked like a photoshoot.

And then there was his voice from last night still echoing in my mind. Clean and crisp, with an accent that might’ve been Canadian.

He wasn’t just attractive. He was the kind of attractive that made you question reality. The kind that made you want to fall just to see how far you’d go.

And I was grateful. I really was.

For the way he showed up in my life like light in the middle of a storm. For the way he made me feel something again when I thought I was numb for good.

But I knew I couldn’t let myself get caught in this feeling.

Not now. Not again.

Not when I was still picking up pieces from the last time I fell for someone I couldn’t hold on to.

I just got out of one mess, and I’m still hurting. And this man—this beautiful, dangerous man—looks like someone who could break me without even trying, and I can’t let that happen again.

I have to fix my life, stand on my own, clean up everything I ruined and start over.

I can’t ask him to carry my baggage when he already has his own. Being a taxi driver in this city is hard enough, and I couldn’t drag him into my own chaos.

I carefully moved his arm from my waist, slowly and gently so I wouldn’t wake him. Then I slid out of bed, my body aching in places I’d forgotten existed.

But my mind, for once, was clear.

I slipped my dress on, grabbed my shoes, and didn’t let myself look back.

Because if I did, I might not be able to leave.

I had nowhere to go. But I knew there was only one place left. The last place I ever wanted to return to.

Home.

Or what used to be home.

When my mother died five years ago, my father didn’t waste time, didn’t wait a year or even a few decent months before he married someone else, and I’ve never forgiven him for it—not for the marriage, and not for the way he let her take over everything like my mother never existed.

That woman has been a nightmare: loud and fake and always trying too hard to be seen. She and her two sons are the reason I left, the reason I couldn’t stay in the house I grew up in.

And yet, here I am, standing outside the mansion like it’s supposed to mean something, like it’s supposed to feel like mine.

But it doesn’t.

The house is still big and white and perfect, sitting under the bright Miami sun like nothing’s changed, but it feels emptier than it ever has.

I walked through the gate and up the porch steps, my hand hovering over the doorknob for a long second before I took a deep breath and turned it.

And just like always, Gloria’s perfume hit me first, heavy and designer and way too much.

She was sitting on the three-seater couch with her legs crossed like a queen, watching Housewives of London.

Mid-forties. Surgically beautiful, with skin pulled tight and cheekbones sharp enough to cut, her lips painted a red that screamed look at me.

Her head snapped in my direction the second I stepped inside, and she didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, well, well,” she said, arms folded like she’d been rehearsing this moment, “look who’s come crawling back.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked flatly, like I already knew the answer.

“Out,” she said, smug. “Working, unlike you, apparently.”

Of course he wasn’t here. He never is, always off on some never-ending business trip while I’m left to deal with Gloria’s wrath.

“I heard about your little divorce drama,” she added, her voice sticky-sweet and mean underneath.

“Tsk tsk, lost everything to that playboy husband of yours, huh? How sad.”

My chest tightened, my heart sinking right into my stomach.

“That’s none of your business,” I snapped, not even looking at her.

I walked past her toward the stairs like I belonged there, even though I didn’t feel like I did.

Her sons were in the dining room, her golden boys, her angels, and they looked up from their phones like I was the entertainment for the day.

Andre’s twenty-seven, built like a gym addict but with the ambition of a lazy cat, flexing more than working, still living like he’s in high school.

Leo’s twenty-five, smooth-talking and always dressed like he’s about to take a selfie for some brand deal he didn’t earn, charming in a useless kind of way.

They both smirked when they saw me.

“Back so soon, sis?” Andre said.

“Guess being a housewife didn’t pay off,” Leo added without even looking up.

I didn’t answer, didn’t flinch. I just kept walking.

When I got to my old room, I stopped at the door for a second, hand resting on it like I was asking permission to enter a place I once called mine.

It creaked open slowly, like even it didn’t recognize me anymore.

And all I saw was dust.

Dust on the dresser, on the mirror, on the bed, on the parts of me I left behind, untouched for five years like no one even bothered to remember I existed.

I threw the window open and coughed. The air was thick and suffocating.

I grabbed a rag and started wiping the desk down, trying to clean something, anything, when my phone buzzed from the bed.

Aunty Becky flashed on the screen.

Rachel’s teacher.

My stomach twisted immediately.

“Hello?”

“Grace? Hi, dear,” her voice was soft, kind, and made something in me ache. “I didn’t see you drop Rachel off today. Is everything alright?”

I froze, my mouth dry, my brain scrambling for something to say.

“Yeah… I’m fine. Just had a long day yesterday and couldn’t go home.”

“She was really down today,” Becky said gently.

“Didn’t stop crying. Said she missed her mommy. And I was surprised when a driver brought her. I honestly thought something had happened.”

“No, not at all,” I said, forcing a small dry laugh, trying to sound normal when everything in me was breaking.

“You’ll be coming to the end-of-year party, right?” she asked.

“She really wants her mommy there.”

I shut my eyes because I didn’t know how to tell her that I’m not really her mother, not biologically, that her real mom is back and I have been kicked out of the home I spent five years of my life building.

But how can I walk away from Rachel when she’s the only child I’ve ever loved like this, when I’m the only mother she’s ever known, when Zach isn’t the best father a child could ask for?

I’m sure he doesn’t even remember there’s a party, probably doesn’t even remember what day it is.

I don’t have a choice. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe this is the moment I use to say goodbye the right way.

“I’ll be there,” I said quietly. “Tell her Mommy’s coming.”

When the call ended, I pulled out one of my old dresses, soft pink and fitted, simple but still beautiful in the way things used to be.

I slipped on my nude heels, curled my hair, and headed for Brookstone Academy, one of Miami’s most elite school.

When I got there, the entire front lawn was buzzing.

Parents everywhere, laughing, chatting, taking pictures, holding coffee cups and treat bags like it was a festival instead of just another school day.

Kids running wild, their faces smeared with frosting, glittery paper crowns on their heads, shrieking and giggling like the world was made of sugar.

I spotted Rachel outside her classroom, her little eyes scanning the crowd like she was searching for air, and the second they landed on me—

“Mommy!” she screamed, running full speed like nothing else mattered.

She crashed into my arms, and I caught her and held her tight.

“Oh baby,” I whispered, pressing my face into her hair, “I missed you too.”

She didn’t say anything at first, just buried her face in my neck, her small body trembling, breathing hard like she’d been holding everything in all day and just now let herself exhale.

And for a second, everything else disappeared.

I missed this girl so much I almost cried right there on the lawn, with her crown poking my cheek and her tears soaking into my collar and my heart cracking just from how much I loved her.

I crouched down to her level, wiping her cheeks and fixing her crown while she giggled and held onto my hands like she was afraid I might vanish again.

But just as I started talking to her, brushing cake crumbs off her dress, letting her show me her handmade card, the air shifted.

Zach and Flora.

They walked straight up like they had the right, like this was their moment, like I hadn’t just spent five years being this little girl’s mother.

“What are you doing here?” Flora snapped, her voice sharp and loud.

“What are you doing with my daughter?”

Before I could answer, she shoved me hard, hands flat against my shoulder like I didn’t belong anywhere near Rachel.

I stumbled back, bag flying into the air, hands flailing around looking for something to hold onto.

But before I could hit the ground, an arm slid around my waist, pulling me back and anchoring me into a hard chest.

A strong scent wrapped around me, woodsy and expensive and masculine, familiar in a way that made my skin prickle.

I turned my head slowly, my heart pounding like a war drum.

And there he was.

The taxi driver from yesterday.

Only he wasn’t in a T-shirt and jeans anymore. He was dressed to the nines, tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, black tie, leather shoes polished so sharp they looked like they could cut through glass.

His jaw was tighter now, eyes darker, like this wasn’t the same man who held me last night but someone else entirely.

What is he doing here?

Is he… stalking me?

I wanted to ask, but the question hung on the tip of my tongue. Before I could find my voice, someone else stepped into the chaos.

Mrs. Brown, the school owner.

She came out from the corner, holding a clipboard, her heels tapping fast across the pavement, her face lighting up when she saw him.

“Here comes our honored guest,” she said, all smiles and charm.

She stretched out a hand to him, bowing slightly in respect.

“It’s a pleasure having you here, Barista Richard Moore.”