My Son Mistook The Heir For His Dad

Bruno felt like he'd turned into Cecilia's personal cushion. He'd never been a human pillow before, and his first instinct was to yank his arm away. But one look at her exhausted face, and a wave of sympathy washed over him, keeping him rooted to the spot.

In the Ryan family's cutthroat world, where fake smiles hid backstabbing agendas, true sincerity was rare—and usually laughed right out of the room. Bruno, the third son, had long since built walls of cold indifference around himself. But now, with his amnesia tearing those walls down, a long-buried craving for genuine affection was clawing its way to the surface.

Cecilia might have a sharp tongue and a blunt way of speaking, but she actually gave a damn. She looked after Bruno with fierce dedication, even though her back was still killing her. Like right now, with Bruno burning up with fever, she'd stayed glued to his side all night, offering whatever comfort she could.

Her sincere care sparked something deep inside him—a rush of joy, mixed with a greedy hunger for more of that attention. Cecilia was the real deal, no act. Spontaneous and full of life, a lot like their three-year-old son, Santos. Bruno found that impossible not to love. He was really starting to enjoy his time with her and the kid.

The realization hit him as he watched her. Her features were soft, her face pretty with those striking red lips, and her dark hair thrown up in a messy tie. Beautiful as she was, she usually looked like a hot mess in oversized clothes—probably a deliberate move to keep unwanted male attention away in her line of work, which required her to rub elbows with men.

A subtle smile tugged at his lips as he instinctively tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The movement jolted her awake.

She scrambled up, her fingers flying to check his forehead. "I fell asleep holding your hand so I'd wake up if you moved. Not for any other reason," she blurted out.

This time, Bruno didn't tease her about using him as a pillow. Instead, he broke the tension with a joke. "My arm's dead numb from the weight."

Apologetic, Cecilia started massaging his arm. "I'm so sorry."

Not used to her being all serious and earnest, Bruno stilled her hands. "I was just messing around. I'm fine. Get some more sleep."

Cecilia checked his temperature once more and finally let out a breath of relief. "The fever broke."

Yawning, she headed toward her room. "Remember to add another million to my fee," she teased.

Bruno answered with genuine willingness. "Deal."

The next morning, barely running on fumes, Cecilia showed up at Bruno's bedside with breakfast.

Bruno was soaking up being pampered like a sponge. "My arm feels weak," he remarked. "Probably from you leaning on it last night."

Guilt flickered across Cecilia's face. "I didn't do it on purpose..."

Santos jumped right in, eager to help. "Daddy, I'll feed you!"

Bruno frowned. "You're just a kid; you can barely hold the bowl steady. Let your mom do it."

He turned to Cecilia. "Would you mind?"

Totally unaware of his scheming, Cecilia figured he was still too wiped out to manage on his own. She sat beside him, carefully blowing on the ravioli before feeding him, even dabbing at his mouth now and then. Taking care of Bruno had become so second nature to her that she treated him like a kid without giving it a second thought. Bruno, meanwhile, was getting more and more hooked on the feeling of being babied.

Milking his recovery for all it was worth, he morphed into a total high-maintenance patient, making Cecilia jump at his every whim.

"I'm thirsty."

"I need the bathroom."

"Are there any fruits?"

"My calf is itching—could you scratch it for me?"

Cecilia, still clueless about his real motives, kept being accommodating, especially since Bruno had totally won over her son.

After helping him with dinner rolls and pulled pork, just when she thought she could catch a break, Bruno's voice rang out again.

"Cecilia, my legs feel all stiff. Could you check if they're swollen?"

With a sigh, Cecilia resigned herself to checking on him.

"Looks a bit swollen. Probably from lying down too long," she assessed.

Bruno, hiding his ruthless streak behind puppy eyes, looked at her pleadingly. "It's uncomfortable. Could you give them a massage?"

Wary after the fever fiasco, Cecilia didn't dare slack off on Bruno's care. She sat at the edge of the bed, lifting his legs onto her lap to massage them.

"I'll use a warm towel as a compress later. That should help," she offered.

Bruno's lips curved into a grin. "You're really sweet, you know."

Cecilia shot back, "We each get what we want out of this."

Bruno, however, silently disagreed.

"Honestly, taking care of you is more tiring than a full day's work," Cecilia admitted.

Feigning sincerity, Bruno said, "I appreciate it. I'll add another million to your cut."

Even though she knew it was a hollow promise, Cecilia couldn't help the smile tugging at her mouth. "Sounds fair to me."

After twenty minutes of massaging, Bruno noticed the exhaustion etched on Cecilia's face and decided against pushing his luck any further. "Alright, just help me clean up, then crash."

Cecilia's eyes went wide. "Clean up? Help you?!"

Bruno met her gaze with wide, innocent eyes. "Is there a problem?"

Flashes of their last awkward encounter zipped through her mind, and Cecilia shook her head vigorously. "I'll do anything, but not that!"

Bruno's voice turned coaxing, almost pleading. "If I don't get cleaned up, I can't sleep. And if I can't sleep, neither can you."

Now Cecilia finally grasped just how shameless he could be.

Bruno gently tugged at her hand, his tone pure honey. "I swear there might be fleas in that cluttered little room of yours. I'm itching everywhere. Just a quick wipe, that's all."

Cecilia frowned. She could tell Bruno was a pampered rich boy; if she didn't help, he'd probably try to fumble through it himself. And if he ended up spiking a fever again, she didn't have the energy to pull another all-nighter.

Grudgingly, she caved. "A quick wash then!"

Bruno's triumphant smile followed. "Thanks, you're a lifesaver."

As he beamed at her, Cecilia felt a sudden jolt of doubt: Had memory loss stripped away the real Bruno, leaving behind this unrelenting, yet oddly endearing, version?

Still mulling it over, she went to prepare warm water.

Even for a speedy wash, clothes had to come off, so she cautiously helped Bruno with his pants this time, fully on high alert thanks to past mishaps.

"Underwear needs changing too," Bruno pointed out, snapping her attention right back to the present, her heart skipping a beat.