Matched With My Incubus Dad

I arrived at my internship right on time at 8 a.m.

After pulling an all-nighter, my dark circles were practically dragging on the floor.

I was completely burned out.

As the elevator doors closed, I exchanged a familiar glance with Anderson.

Anderson has been the underboss and my bodyguard since childhood. He always stays hidden around the places I move through, stepping in whenever I need protection.

Since this internship was entirely my own decision, my dad couldn’t stop me.

All he could do was send people to follow me, protect me, and report back on my situation at all times.

My phone rang. A new friend request popped up on WhatsApp.

The profile picture showed a bald, chubby older man wearing sunglasses, staring into the camera with thick, furrowed brows.

He looked like Dwayne Johnson.

[Hello, your mom introduced us. Thought we could get to know each other.]

This was the older man?

My vision almost went black.

I was about to ignore it when my mom sent me two shocking words.

[Add him!]

Covering my eyes, I accepted the friend request and froze on the chat screen, not knowing what to say.

The status showed he was typing.

[You didn’t eat breakfast, right? I bought you some and sent it downstairs to your office. Go pick it up.

[I’m busy with work and can’t always take care of you, but you must eat breakfast.]

I was stunned.

What was I supposed to reply? And how did he know where I worked?

Why did my mom tell him everything?!

Paired with that profile picture, those messages made me feel like I was being kept.

When I went downstairs, there really was breakfast with my name on it.

It was a beef ciabatta. The moment I opened it, the smell almost knocked me over.

Fine, I’ll deal with it later. You eat someone’s food, you owe them something.

I chewed quietly.

“Thank you, Mister.”

As he typed, I ate while staring at the screen.

He kept typing without sending anything. Only when I was almost done did a reply finally come through, full of resentment.

“Don’t call me Mister.”

Mister’s name was Owen. Aside from the wild profile picture, he was actually pretty nice.

From the day I added him, his messages never stopped.

[It’s getting cold, Missy. LV released new scarves this season. I bought you one and sent it to your office.]

[Go to bed early. I heard from the front desk that McDonald’s has a new breakfast item. Want to try it tomorrow?]

Owen messaged me like this almost every day, tirelessly feeding me and sending things to my office.

After a few days, the entire team thought I had a sugar daddy.

Owen would bring gifts and coffee every so often, often enough that my whole team benefited.

Rumors started spreading that I was someone’s kept woman, and that I was very skilled at it.

Only heaven was my witness.

Every time Owen bought me something, he never asked for my opinion. He just informed me it had arrived downstairs.

The front desk already knew me. Anderson was practically a full-time delivery runner.

“Mister Owen, could you please stop sending things? I’m really busy with work. My supervisor is very strict, and if I can’t finish everything, I still have to go home and work at night.”

[Interns have that much work? What’s going on?

[Oh, right, it’s snowing tonight. I’ll have my driver pick you up.]

The messages stopped abruptly.

A few minutes later, another one came through, with a clear edge to it.

[And don’t call me Mister.]

That evening, a Bentley stopped downstairs at my company.

A limited edition Bentley!

It was a model Dad had always wanted, but Mom never approved of. She said it was too flashy.

Had she already gotten tired of riding in them when she was young?

I got into the Bentley in front of all my coworkers.

Owen wasn’t inside, and I let out a breath.

Even though he’d been sending me gifts and messaging me constantly, I still hadn’t met him in person.

Given the situation, I thought I would see him tonight.

There was a huge age gap between us. I’d always treated him like a possible biological father.

However, he’d been so good to me. It was hard not to feel at least a little unsettled, since I never dated before.

The driver drove silently, saying nothing. Feeling awkward, I didn’t dare start a conversation.

However, the route home was completely correct.

I had never told the driver where I lived, nor had I said anything to Owen.

So he knew where I lived?

Then why were all the gifts still being sent to my company’s front desk?

Everything that had happened recently was too much for an honest, sheltered kid like me. So much so that I didn’t even dare answer my mom’s calls anymore.