The Tycoon's Wife and the Forbidden Heir

He and his mother, Patsy Fox—I was keeping them both.

“Mm-hm.” I nodded seriously.

“You got money? You think you can support a grown man? And you just want to take me home.”

“My husband's rich. I can spend his money to take care of you.”

“You want me to be your side piece?!”

I tilted my head and looked at him, thinking this kid had gotten knocked around so hard he couldn't even keep his words straight. His mother was the side piece. He wasn't.

Besides, I didn't mind Patsy's existence.

So I nodded again, just as seriously.

“Mm-hm. My husband is really, really rich. More money than he could ever spend. Come home with me.”

He stared at me for a long time, then spat out a single word：“Fuck.”

And let me pull him along as I walked out.

This kid was Fred Delgado, a top student at Kingsbridge University.

Good-looking, too. He'd inherited the best of both his parents.

His face still had marks from the thugs who'd roughed him up.

I was worried Edgar might see the bruises and assume I'd been the one mistreating his precious son.

So I took Fred to one of the villas under my name first and let him heal up there.

According to him:

His lousy excuse of a father—also known as my dear husband—had cut off every cent of his living expenses to force him to come home.

And every part-time job Fred managed to land, Edgar sabotaged.

Very much in keeping with my husband's usual style.

I looked at the cuts on that handsome face, and it hurt a little just seeing them. I reached over and stroked his hair.

“Poor thing. Once we go home, everything will be better.”

“Let me treat your cuts first.”

He was well-behaved, sitting on the sofa with his hands gripping his knees, a little stiff.

The iodine stung his wound and I leaned in without thinking to blow on it—but the more I blew, the redder his face got.

“Are you running a fever?”

I pressed my forehead against his to check his temperature.

“You're getting hotter and hotter. I'm taking you to the hospital.”

He shoved me away in a panic and bolted into the bathroom：“I'm fine.”

I knocked on the door：“You really don't need to go to the hospital?”

“No.”

“All right then.”

Kids these days. So stubborn. He was practically panting and still insisting he was fine.

I dissolved a fever reducer in water and watched him drink every drop before I felt at ease.

When I was about to leave, he seemed almost surprised：“You're just... leaving?”

“Mm. I'll come see you again tomorrow.”

At the door, I glanced back. He was standing alone in front of the sofa. Such a pitiful kid.

While he was recovering, I went to pick him up from class every day, afraid he'd get bullied again.

Also a good chance to build up some mother-son bonding.

Today was a day off. I took him to the mall and dragged him around the whole place—anything he so much as glanced at twice, I had it wrapped up.

Then I spent the whole day with him at an amusement park.

And while I was at it, I stood up for him. Every thug who'd laid a hand on him before ended up in a holding cell.

That evening on the way back, he asked me：“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because I want you to like me.”

Something flickered across Fred's face, surprise, and then the flush hit hard.

“That's your only wish?”

“Mm.”

A whole family, together, getting along, loving each other. That's the biggest wish a traditional wife could have.

He moved toward me, then pulled back.

After a few seconds of wrestling with himself, he suddenly brought his face close to mine.

So close I could feel the roughness of his breathing：“Then your wish just came true. I like you.”

I quietly stepped back：“'Sister'? I'm a traditional woman. Given the relationship between us, you should be calling me Mom.”

His eyes lit up, excitement practically spilling out of them.

“Wow, you really play it that wild.”

“Then can I kiss you?”