Chapter 2 - The Billionaire's SecretWhen I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the cabin windows, painting everything in a blinding gold.
I bolted upright, panic instantly flooding my system. Sofi!
She was fast asleep, curled peacefully against my chest, breathing softly. The ocean wave sound had stopped, and a pristine cashmere blanket—far too expensive to belong to standard airline supplies—was draped over my shoulders.
I looked beside me. Alexander was awake, reviewing documents on a tablet that flickered with complex financial charts, corporate acquisition strategies, and international wire transfers. At the top of one document, a logo caught my eye: Vance Global Holdings.
My breath hitched.
Vance Global. Even in my sheltered, overworked life in East LA, I knew that name. Alexander Vance was one of the most ruthless, elusive tech and real estate moguls in the country. Forbes listed him as a multi-billionaire who bought and sold Fortune 500 companies before breakfast. People called him the "Ice King" because he allegedly never lost a corporate takeover and never showed emotion in public.
And I had just spent four hours drooling on his designer suit jacket.
"You're awake," Alexander said without looking up from his tablet, though a faint smirk touched the corner of his lips.
"Mr... Mr. Vance," I stammered, my face burning so hot I thought it might melt. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to—my neck, your suit—I can pay for the dry cleaning, I swear, just let me write down my address—"
"Relax, Emily," he interrupted, finally setting the tablet down and turning his full, intense gaze onto me. "Dry cleaning is a tax write-off. Besides, you needed the rest."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"Because you looked like a soldier who had just survived a war zone," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave. "And frankly, watching you stress yourself to the point of breaking while everyone else complained disgusted me."
Before I could process his words, the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom, announcing our imminent descent into Chicago O'Hare International Airport.
Panic surged back. My luggage was checked—well, technically, I only had a diaper bag and a cheap cardboard box containing my one good dress. My family was waiting at a reception hall downtown for a wedding I didn't even want to attend, hosted by relatives who looked down on my mother and me every single day.
"First time in Chicago?" Alexander asked, reading my expression effortlessly.
"For a family wedding," I muttered bitterly. "My cousin is marrying into money. My mother insisted we had to be there to 'uphold family dignity,' even though we can barely afford groceries."
Alexander’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Family dignity is rarely found in ballrooms paid for by people who despise you."
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The blunt truth of his words hit me like a physical blow. Before I could reply, the plane touched down with a heavy thud, and the passengers began unbuckling with frantic impatience.
"Stay in your seat," Alexander commanded quietly as the aisle clogged with standing people. "Let the cattle rush off. My assistant will handle our exit."
