My Son Hacked a Billionaire to Be My Husband

"Mommy, the red ones are crying."

I looked up from the bucket of roses. My son, George, stood on the bottom stair in his dinosaur pajamas, pointing at the petals on the floor.

"They're not crying, baby. They're just tired from the truck ride."

"Tired roses don't sell," he said, frowning like a tiny accountant.

I laughed and snipped another stem. Five years old, and he already talked like he owned the shop.

"Go eat your breakfast. It's on the counter upstairs."

"Okay!"

He spun around and ran up the stairs. I didn't think anything of it.

I should have.

---

Upstairs, George skipped breakfast.

He climbed onto the desk chair, pulled the old laptop toward him, and cracked his knuckles the way he'd seen hackers do in movies.

"Okay, Mr. Database," he whispered. "Show me the rich daddies."

The screen filled with names. *New York's Top Billionaires.* He scrolled past one with three ex-wives. Then one with a girlfriend half his age.

"Nope. Gross. Nope."

He typed fast. A little lock icon blinked red, then green. He'd broken into a private matchmaking service for the city's richest families. He grinned.

One file made him stop.

*Antonio. Age 32. Old-money heir. Net worth: tens of billions. Never married. No scandals.*

The photo showed a man in a black suit. Sharp jaw. Cold gray eyes. He looked like he'd never smiled once in his whole life.

George read the notes at the bottom out loud. "Personality: cold. Sharp tongue. Severe aversion to physical contact with women."

He tapped his chin.

"Bad temper," he decided. "But Mommy is really pretty. He should learn to be grateful."

He saved the file. Then he slid off the chair and ran for the stairs.

---

Small arms wrapped around my waist so hard I almost dropped the shears.

"Mommy! Mommy, Mommy, Mommy."

"Whoa. What did you break?"

"Nothing!" He pressed his cheek against my apron and blinked up at me with those big dark eyes. "My birthday is in two weeks."

"I know when your birthday is, George. I was there."

"I know what I want."

"A new laptop? Because that one is older than you."

"No." He squeezed tighter. "I want to go to New York."

The shears slipped from my fingers and clattered against the tile.

For a second, I couldn't move. The roses blurred into red smears. My smile stayed on my face, but it felt frozen there, like it belonged to someone else.

"Why New York?" My voice came out thin.

"Because it has the big green lady with the torch. And the tall buildings. And hot dogs." He tilted his head. "Mommy? Your face is weird."

"It's not weird."

"It's white. Like the lilies."

I crouched to pick up the shears so he wouldn't see my hands shake.

New York.

Six years ago, I'd been twenty-one and stupid in love. Kevin had held my hand at dinner that night. My father had poured the wine himself. He'd smiled at me in a way he never did.

"To family," he'd said.

I remembered the taste of the wine. Too sweet. Then nothing.

When I woke up, I was in a presidential suite. My dress was torn at the shoulder. The sheets were cold on one side. The room was empty.

There was no note. No name. Just a stack of cash on the nightstand and a silence so loud it made my ears ring.

Later, I found out the truth. My father owed money to the wrong people. Kevin needed money too. So they'd sold me. To a stranger I never even saw.

I took what was left in my bank account and got on the first flight to Barcelona. Three weeks later, I threw up in a train station bathroom and stared at two pink lines until my legs gave out.

I hated that night. I hated it with everything in me.

But I never once hated what it gave me.

"Mommy?" George tugged my sleeve. "If it's a bad idea, you can say no."

His lip trembled just a little. He was trying so hard to be brave about it.

"Who said it's a bad idea?"

"Your face did."

I laughed. It came out wet and cracked, but it was real.

"My face talks too much."

"So you'll think about it?"

I looked at him. At the hope he wasn't hiding well at all. Six years I'd spent running from that city. Six years of jumping every time a man with an American accent walked into my shop.

My father and Kevin had taken enough from me. They didn't get to take this too.

"Okay," I said.

George went very still. "Okay what?"

"Okay, we'll go to New York."

He screamed so loud the lady from the bakery next door poked her head in. He jumped around the shop, knocking over a bucket of daisies, and I didn't even care.

"Best Mommy in the whole universe!"

"Clean up those daisies, Mr. Universe."

"Yes, ma'am!"

He scrambled to scoop up the flowers. Then he paused and glanced back at me with a strange little smile. It looked way too sneaky for a five-year-old.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just happy."

---

Six thousand kilometers away, the top floor of a glass tower in Manhattan was silent except for the sound of a pen tapping a desk.

Antonio didn't look up when his assistant walked in.

"You're late, Marcus."

"Two minutes, sir."

"Two minutes is late."

Marcus Delaney had worked for him for four years. He'd learned not to argue. "The board wants your answer on the Tokyo merger by noon."

"They'll get it when I've decided."

"Yes, sir."

A soft chime sounded from Antonio's computer.

He frowned. His private screen didn't chime. Nobody had access to it. A white message box sat in the center of the monitor, blocking his spreadsheets.

*Mr. Antonio, congratulations! You are about to meet the woman of your destiny.*

Under it was a small cartoon heart. It was winking.

Antonio stared at it for a long moment.

Then he laughed. It was short and cold, with no humor in it at all.

"Marcus."

"Sir?"

"Come here and tell me what this is."

Marcus leaned over the desk. His eyebrows shot up. "That's... a breach, sir. On your personal terminal."

"I can see that. I want to know who did it."

"I'll call the tech department right away."

"Tell them they have twenty-four hours." Antonio's voice dropped, quiet and sharp. "Find whoever sent this. I want a name, an address, and a very good reason they shouldn't be sued into the ground."

"Understood."

Marcus hurried out. Antonio clicked the box to close it.

It didn't close.

He clicked again. The cartoon heart winked at him a second time.

His jaw tightened. Somewhere out there, some arrogant hacker thought this was funny.

He had no idea the hacker was five years old.

And he had no idea the hacker had already bought two plane tickets.