Billionaire Affair: Contracted Hearts

The café was half-empty, the kind of place that played jazz too loud and served its coffee with a side of judgment. Lyca Morris hunched in her favorite corner booth, nursing a mug that had long gone cold. Her laptop screen cast a soft blue light over her fingers, trembling slightly as they hovered over the trackpad. Her inbox was as bleak as ever—zero job offers, one rejection, and an old spam email from someone promising to fix her credit. "Sure," she muttered, taking a sip. "Fix that, and maybe I’ll ask you to rebuild my dignity while you're at it." The barista shot her a weird look. Lyca smiled sweetly and buried herself deeper into her hoodie. Outside, the rain came down in slow, bitter slants. The kind that didn’t wash the city clean—just made everything soggier. She used to love the rain. Back when she was still Eliza Monroe. Back when she had a real job, a name people respected, and a life with solid floors instead of creaking expectations and fake smiles. Now? Now she was Lyca Morris. Freelancer. Drifter. Nobody. She scrolled past another childcare ad, one that wanted a certified nanny with ten years of experience and the patience of a saint. She scoffed. Patience? She had that. Experience? Sort of. Technically. She’d helped her sister raise twin boys for two years before everything fell apart. And she was good with kids. Kids didn’t lie. They didn’t pretend to like you while sharpening knives behind their backs. Her eyes narrowed when she saw it. Seeking a stand-in mother for school events. Single father. Discretion is essential. Paid. Temporary.” It didn’t make sense. It sounded like a joke. Or worse—a setup. But curiosity prickled at her skin like static. She clicked. The description was oddly brief. It mentioned a daughter, a kindergarten, someone “warm but reliable,” and that the job was “strictly performative.” Lyca arched an eyebrow. Performative. Interesting choice of words. She stared at the screen. Her fingers flexed, then slowly began typing. Hello. I’m responding to your listing. I’ve experience working with kids, a flexible schedule, and a strong ability to remain polite and smile through awkward situations. I also bake decent cookies, if that’s a perk. —L. She hovered over the send button. Her gut twisted. Why was she even entertaining this? Because you’re two months behind on rent. Because every time you apply for a job with your real name, they Google you. Because this-this absurd thing—might just be the only door left open. Click. She sent it. And then sat back, staring at the screen like it might explode. Later that night, back in her apartment—a shoebox that smelled permanently of damp plaster and burned toast—Lyca curled up on her mattress with her phone, scrolling through old texts she would never answer and photos she couldn’t delete. Her favorite was of her and the twins, Alex and Adam, both with ice cream on their noses and fists in the air like tiny rebels. She hadn’t seen them in over a year. Her sister had cut off contact after the scandal. She said it was too risky, and the boys didn’t need someone like her in their lives. That’s when Lyca changed her name. Packed up. Moved across state lines. Started over. Except starting over was never clean. It was messy and slow, and no matter how far she ran, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the past was still following her. Watching. Waiting to remind her that she wasn’t allowed to be normal anymore. She opened her laptop again. The reply came just before midnight. Hi. I’d like to meet and discuss this further. Local café, tomorrow at 4 PM? It’s just for school events. Nothing more. No name. Just initials. “—M.” Her heartbeat kicked up. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he’d take one look at her and change his mind. Or maybe—just maybe—it would be the beginning of something she didn’t even know she needed. She set the alarm on her phone, turned off the light, and lay in the dark, listening to the rain tap against the window. For the first time in a long while, she let herself hope. Not for a second chance exactly. But for a role she might finally be able to play. If only pretend could stay pretend.