When a desperate single father answered a Craigslist ad offering $10,000 for one weekend of pretending, he thought he’d hit rock bottom. When the woman who hired him nearly died protecting his daughter, he realized rock bottom was just the beginning.

This is the story of a billionaire who needed a fake boyfriend to fool her parents and a broken man who refused to sleep on the sofa. Because sometimes the greatest love stories start with the biggest lies. Stay until the end and comment what city you’re watching from so I can see how far this story travels. Callum Hayes had exactly $47 in his checking account when he saw the ad.

Not 4700, not 470. 47 actual dollars. The kind of number that made his stomach clench every time he opened his banking app, which he’d learned to do only when absolutely necessary. Usually around 3:00 in the morning when sleep wouldn’t come and the walls of his studio apartment felt like they were closing in.

The Craigslist post was buried six pages deep in the gigs section, sandwiched between someone offering 15 bucks to help move a couch, and another person seeking a discrete companion for reasons Callum didn’t want to imagine. He’d been scrolling for 2 hours, his phone’s blue light, the only illumination in the dark room, trying not to look at the stack of medical bills on the kitchen counter that had grown so tall it had started to lean like some kind of terrible Jenga tower of his failures as a father. Seeking male actor companion for family event

must be 28 to 35, presentable, comfortable with improvisation. Compensation: $10,000 for one weekend. Discretion required. Serious inquiries only. $10,000. Callum read it three times, certain he’d misunderstood. $10,000 for a weekend. That was more than he made in 4 months of part-time carpentry work.

More than enough to make a dent in Meera’s medical debt. Maybe even enough to stop the collection agency from calling him six times a day with their polite threats wrapped in corporate pleasantries. His thumb hovered over the reply button. This was obviously a scam. Nobody paid $10,000 for a weekend unless something deeply illegal was involved.

And Callum Hayes might have been broke and desperate and living in a 400 ft apartment that smelled perpetually of old carpet and the neighbors cooking. But he wasn’t stupid. Except except Meera had another appointment next week and her inhaler prescription was running out and the pediatric pulmonologist who actually understood her condition didn’t take their insurance, what little insurance Callum could afford, and charge $200 per visit out of pocket.

Except his daughter was 6 years old and deserved better than a father who had to choose between her medication and keeping the electricity on. Except sometimes desperation made even smart people do stupid things. Callum pressed reply before he could talk himself out of it.

The response came in less than 20 minutes, which should have been his first warning sign. Thank you for your interest. Can you meet tomorrow at 2 p.m. Address below. Please come alone and be prepared to discuss terms in person. The address was in the financial district. One of those new glass towers that looked like it had been designed by someone who’d never experienced weather.

Callum had to look it up on Google Maps because he never had reason to go to that part of the city. His world consisted of the construction sites in the industrial zone, the grocery store three blocks from his apartment, and the children’s hospital where Meera had spent so much time the nurses knew her favorite color and which stickers she collected.

He spent the next morning in a state of lowgrade panic, trying to make himself look presentable with the limited resources available. His only decent shirt was wrinkled, so he hung it in the bathroom while he showered, hoping the steam would help. His one pair of non-work boots had a scuff on the toe that he tried to buff out with a wet paper towel.

He’d gotten a haircut 2 weeks ago, a necessity for the construction job he just started, so at least that was in his favor. At 1:30 p.m., he kissed Meera goodbye. She was at the kitchen table with Mrs. Chen from next door, working on a coloring book of unicorns with an intensity that made his chest ache. Where are you going, Daddy?” she asked without looking up, her tongue poking out in concentration as she tried to stay inside the lines. “Job interview, baby.

I’ll be back before dinner.” “Will you get the job?” She glanced up then, her gray eyes so much like her mothers, it sometimes hurt to look at her, serious and hopeful. “I don’t know,” Callum said honestly, “because he’d learned after Sarah died that lying to his daughter, even about small things, felt like betraying the one pure thing left in his life. But I’m going to try really hard.

She nodded, satisfied with this answer, and returned to her unicorns. Mrs. Chen gave him an encouraging smile and waved him off. The subway ride downtown took 40 minutes and cost him $2.75,000 he couldn’t really afford.

Callum stood the entire way holding the pole and watching the city flash by outside the windows. apartment buildings giving way to commercial zones, giving way to the gleaming towers of the financial district, where people made more in bonuses than he’d earn in a lifetime. The building’s lobby was all marble and chrome, the kind of place where his boots squeaked on the polished floor, and the security guard looked at him like he was trying to decide whether to call the police. Callum showed him the address on his phone.

“Penthouse,” the guard said, which somehow sounded like both a statement and a question. You’re expected? I think so. The guard made a call, spoke quietly into his headset, then nodded toward the elevators. Take the one on the right. It goes straight up. She’s the only one on that floor.

She Callum filed that information away as he stepped into an elevator that was nicer than his entire apartment. The doors closed with a whisper soft sound, and the ascent was so smooth he barely felt it. Numbers climbed on the digital display. 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60. The elevator stopped at 72. The doors opened directly into an apartment.

Not a hallway, not a lobby. An apartment. Callum stepped out into a space so large and white and minimalist it looked like something from a magazine. The kind of magazine he’d never buy, but would flip through at the dentist’s office, wondering who actually lived in places like this.

Floor to ceiling windows showed the city stretched out below like a toy model. The furniture was angular and modern, all clean lines and expensive looking materials. Art hung on the walls, the kind that was probably worth more than a car. And standing in the center of it all, pacing back and forth on heels that clicked against the hardwood floor with military precision, was a woman.

She was younger than he’d expected, early 30s maybe, with dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail and a face that would have been beautiful if it wasn’t currently twisted in anxiety. She wore a black suit that probably cost more than Callum made in 6 months. And she was talking rapidly on her phone in a voice that carried the particular sharpness of someone used to being obeyed. Don’t care about their timeline, Marcus.

The Nakamura contract is worth 400 million. They can wait three more days. She paused, listening. Then tell them that I’ll be available by email, but not by phone. Family emergency. Yes, that’s what you tell them. A family emergency. She hung up without saying goodbye and finally seemed to notice Callum standing by the elevator. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. “You’re early,” she said. Callum checked his phone.

It was 1:58 p.m. “I thought that was a good thing.” “It is usually.” She crossed her arms, studying him with an intensity that made him feel like a specimen under a microscope. You’re older than I expected. I’m 32. Your ad said 28 to 35. I know what my ad said. She resumed pacing, her heels clicking again.

Have you done this kind of work before? What kind of work exactly? She stopped, turned to face him fully. acting, improv, high pressure social situations where you need to be someone you’re not. I did theater in high school, Callum offered, which was technically true, although his only major role had been as tree number three in a production of Into the Woods that his mother still had on VHS somewhere.

The woman’s expression suggested this wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping for, but she didn’t send him away. Instead, she gestured to one of the angular couches. Sit. We need to talk. Callum sat. The couch was somehow both incredibly comfortable and deeply uncomfortable at the same time, which seemed to be a theme in this apartment. The woman didn’t sit.

She paced to the window, looked out at the city for a moment, then turned back. My name is Vivien Cross. Does that mean anything to you? It shouldn’t have. Callum Hayes lived in a world of medical bills and part-time work and making sure his daughter had clean clothes for school. He didn’t read business news. He didn’t follow tech industry gossip. He definitely didn’t keep track of billionaires. But he knew exactly who Vivien Cross was.

Because 6 months ago, desperate and drowning, he’d done something he wasn’t proud of. He’d researched every wealthy person in the city, looking for what? He didn’t even know, charity opportunities, potential employers, some kind of guardian angel who might magically solve his problems.

What he’d found instead was a database of information he’d never needed before. Net worths, company valuations, business holdings, and one name had appeared over and over. Vivian Cross, 31 years old, founder and CEO of CrossTech Industries. Net worth 3.2 2 billion self-made, never married, no children, known for her ruthless business tactics and complete absence from social media.

Forbes had called her the most private billionaire under 40. He’d bookmarked her company’s website, though he couldn’t have said why. Maybe because she was local. Maybe because she was young enough that she felt almost real, not like some abstract concept of wealth.

Or maybe because the article mentioned she’d lost her fiance in a car accident three years ago and Callum knew something about loss that had changed everything. No, he lied. Because admitting he’d researched billionaires like some kind of stalker seemed like a bad way to start a business relationship. Should it? Viven studied him for a long moment, and Callum had the uncomfortable feeling she knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful, but she didn’t call him on it.

I run a tech company, she said instead. We develop AI systems for logistics and supply chain management. It’s not important what exactly we do. What’s important is that my parents think I’m incapable of maintaining a personal relationship while running my company. And they’re flying in from Boston this Friday for an unexpected visit that I can’t cancel or reschedule because my father just had a health scare and my mother’s convinced I’m going to die alone, surrounded by nothing but server farms and quarterly reports. She said all of this in one

breath like she’d rehearsed it, which she probably had. “Okay,” Callum said slowly. “And you want me to pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend?” Vivien finally sat down, perching on the edge of a chair across from him with the posture of someone who’d never learned how to relax. They arrive Friday evening.

There’s a dinner that night, brunch on Saturday, and they leave Sunday afternoon. You’ll need to be present for all three events. Plus, you’ll need to know enough about me and our supposed relationship to answer basic questions without hesitating. That’s it. Just show up and act like we’re dating. That’s it. She named a figure that made his ears ring. $10,000. 5,000 upfront, 5,000 after Sunday.

Cash if you prefer, or direct deposit if you give me your account information. Callum’s mouth had gone dry. That’s a lot of money for a weekend. I’m aware, but my time is worth considerably more than that. And having my parents satisfied that I’m not quote wasting my life in an ivory tower,” unquote, is worth it to me to avoid 3 days of pointed comments about my biological clock and questions about why I can’t just meet someone nice like my cousin Rebecca apparently has.

There was something sharp and bitter in her voice when she mentioned cousin Rebecca. Callum should have said yes immediately. should have shaken her hand and taken whatever NDA she probably had prepared and walked out of there with enough money to breathe easier for the first time in 2 years.

Instead, he heard himself say, “Why me? You could hire an actual actor, someone with experience, someone who wouldn’t need your ad to include the words serious inquiries only, like you’re worried about getting scammed.” Viven’s expression shifted, something almost like respect flickering across her face. You answered my ad within the first hour it was posted.

Your email address suggests you’re not trying to maintain any kind of professional entertainment presence. Calm 2792@gmail isn’t exactly a casting call name. You didn’t ask for photos or personal information before agreeing to meet. And when I looked you up, yes, I looked you up, I found exactly four search results, none of which suggested you’re trying to sell this story to tabloids or build some kind of social media presence off of it. She leaned forward slightly.

You need money. I need discretion. That’s a fair trade. You looked me up. Of course I did. I’m not an idiot. She pulled out her phone, scrolled for a moment. Callum Michael Hayes, 32, widowerower, one daughter, age 6. Currently employed part-time with Hendricks Construction. No criminal record.

Credit score of 612, which honestly makes you a better person than half the men I’ve actually dated. The casual invasion of his privacy should have made him angry. Instead, all Callum could think was that his credit score was apparently now public knowledge, which was somehow more humiliating than anything else she could have said.

“I have a daughter,” he said quietly. “That’s going to be a complication for your story. Your parents are going to ask about her.” “So, we’ll tell them about her. You’re a single father. I’m dating a single father. That’s not a scandal. It’s a Hallmark movie.” and when they want to meet her. Viven hesitated. We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Ideally, they won’t.

This is about them seeing me with someone, not conducting a background check on my entire fictional relationship. Callum studied her across the expensive coffee table. She was sitting very still now, but he could see tension in every line of her body. The way her fingers gripped her phone just a little too tightly, the way her jaw was clenched. She was terrified.

not of him, of something else. Something that had nothing to do with fake boyfriends and Craigslist ads. What happened? He asked. Why now? Why this weekend specifically? That’s not part of the arrangement. I think it is, Callum said. Because you’re not the kind of person who does things impulsively.

You researched me in less than 24 hours. You’ve probably had a dozen contingency plans drawn up. But something about this weekend has you spooked enough to hire a complete stranger to lie to your parents. He paused. So what happened? Viven was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was softer, more human.

My father had a mild heart attack 3 weeks ago. He’s fine. It was minor. He’s recovering well, but it scared my mother badly. And when she’s scared, she needs to know that all her children are settled, taken care of. She called me last Sunday and said they were coming to visit, and I panicked and said I couldn’t do dinner because I had plans with my boyfriend, and she got so excited that I couldn’t take it back without breaking her heart.

She looked down at her hands. My mother is the kindest person I’ve ever known. She deserves better than a daughter who lies to her, but she also deserves to not spend this visit worrying about whether I’m going to end up alone because I’m too focused on work to notice my life passing by. It was the most honest thing she’d said since he walked in.

Okay, Callum said, “I’ll do it.” Viven’s head snapped up. Just like that. Just like that. But I have conditions. Of course you do. But she looked almost amused now, the terror receding slightly behind that polished armor. Name them. Half the money up front, like you said, but I want it before Friday, not the day of.

I have bills to pay, and I need to make sure the check actually clears before I commit a weekend to this. Done. What else? If your parents do want to meet my daughter, that’s on the table. But Meera doesn’t lie. She’s six, so if they ask her questions, I’m telling her the truth ahead of time that we’re pretending because it makes your parents happy. She’s smart enough to understand that, but only if I’m honest with her. Viven considered this.

That’s actually better than trying to convince a six-year-old to maintain a cover story. Agreed. Anything else? Yeah. Callum met her eyes. When this is over, when your parents leave on Sunday and we’ve successfully convinced them you’re not dying alone, we’re done. You don’t contact me again. You don’t send birthday gifts to Meera.

You don’t try to follow up or check in or be nice. This is a business transaction, and when it’s finished, we go back to living in different worlds. Because my daughter doesn’t need to get attached to someone who’s going to disappear, and I don’t need to explain to a six-year-old why the nice rich lady who pretended to date her daddy isn’t coming back.

Something flickered across Vivien’s face. Hurt maybe, or recognition, or both? Understood. Is that all? One more thing. Where am I sleeping this weekend? Vivien blinked. What? Your parents are staying here, I assume.

If they think we’re dating seriously enough to meet them, they’re going to expect me to be here, too. At least some of the time. So, where am I sleeping? Guest room? Couch? I have three spare bedrooms. Pick one. That’s not what I mean. Callum leaned forward. If we’re selling this story, we need to sell it completely. Your parents are going to notice if I’m sleeping in a guest room like a stranger.

They’re going to ask questions. Viven’s expression had gone very carefully neutral. What exactly are you suggesting? I’m not suggesting anything except that we need to think through all the details before Friday because if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.

which means figuring out things like sleeping arrangements and how long we’ve supposedly been dating and where we met and what my favorite color is and whether I put ketchup on my eggs. All the little things that couples know about each other. I don’t care if you put ketchup on your eggs, but your parents might ask, and if we don’t have answers, they’re going to know something’s wrong. Callum stood up.

Look, Ms. Cross Vivien, if we’re going to be dating, you should probably use my first name. Viven,” he corrected, “you’re paying me $10,000 to do a job, and I’m going to do it well, but that means we need to prepare. So, either I come back here before Friday, and we do a proper rehearsal, or you lower your expectations about how convincing this is going to be.

” Vivien stood as well, and for the first time since he’d arrived, she smiled. Small, reluctant, but genuine. “You’re smarter than I expected. You keep saying that like it’s a surprise. Should I be insulted? Probably. But you’re also right. We need to prepare. She pulled out her phone again, typed something rapidly. I just sent you $5,000. You should see it in your account within the hour. Come back Wednesday evening, 7:00.

We’ll go over everything then. And Callum? She looked up from her phone. Thank you. I know this is unusual, but thank you. Callum nodded. He was halfway to the elevator when something made him turn back. Vivien Cross, he said carefully, watching her face. That’s your full name. Nothing else? Her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes went sharp.

Why do you ask? Just want to make sure I get it right when I tell people I’m dating you. It’s just Vivian Cross. No middle name. My parents weren’t very creative. It was a lie. Not about the name. That part was probably true. but about why he’d asked.

Because Callum Hayes had researched her 6 months ago, and one detail had stuck in his memory like a splinter. Vivien Cross had been engaged to a man named James Mitchell when he died. The accident report had used her full legal name, Vivien Rose Cross Mitchell. She’d taken his name.

She’d combined their names the way couples did when they wanted to show the world they were building something together. And then she’d gone back to just Cross after he died. Callum didn’t mention this. He got in the elevator and rode it down 72 floors and walked out into the street where the afternoon sun was too bright and the world was still spinning like it always did, indifferent to other people’s grief.

His phone buzzed. Deposit 5,000. Zero. Callum stood on the sidewalk and stared at the number until his vision blurred. And for the first time in 2 years, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, they were going to be okay. Wednesday evening arrived faster than he expected.

Callum spent the intervening days in a state of low-key surrealism, trying to reconcile the number in his bank account with his actual life. He paid 3 months of back rent, which made his landlord so surprised the man actually shook his hand. He bought Meera new shoes that fit and didn’t hurt her feet. He refilled her prescriptions, all of them, without having to decide which ones were most essential.

He even bought groceries without checking prices first, just putting things in the cart because they looked good, because Meera liked them, because he could. It felt like stealing. Mrs. Chen agreed to watch Meera again Wednesday night, and at 6:45 p.m., Callum found himself on the subway heading downtown for the second time that week. He’d worn the same shirt, the same boots.

He felt like an actor preparing for a role he didn’t understand yet. The security guard remembered him this time, waved him through without calling upstairs. The elevator ride felt faster. The doors opened. Viven was standing in almost the exact same spot as before, but this time she wasn’t on her phone.

She was holding a glass of wine and staring out at the city, and she didn’t turn around when he stepped out of the elevator. “You’re early again,” she said to the window. “Conistant, not early.” Now she turned, and Callum was struck again by how young she looked without the armor of that severe ponytail and the aggressive heels.

She was wearing jeans, actual jeans, and a soft sweater, and her hair was down. She looked almost normal. Almost. I made dinner, she said, which was so unexpected that Callum actually laughed. “You cook?” “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m a functional adult.” But she smiled a little. It’s pasta. Even I can’t screw up pasta. Come on.

She led him through the apartment to a kitchen that looked like it had never been used. All gleaming appliances and empty counters. But there was a pot of water boiling on the stove and the smell of garlic bread in the air. And when Vivien pulled out plates, Callum noticed her hands were shaking slightly. “You’re nervous,” he observed. “I’m never nervous.

” “You’re nervous about your parents meeting me.” Vivien set the plates down with more force than necessary. I’m nervous about lying to my parents. There’s a difference. Is there? She didn’t answer. Instead, she drained the pasta, divided it between two plates, and carried them to a small table by the windows.

Callum followed, feeling distinctly out of place in this kitchen that cost more than his entire building. They ate in silence for a few minutes. The pasta was actually good. Simple, but good. Callum said as much, and Vivien looked absurdly pleased by the compliment. So she said eventually our story. I’ve been thinking about it and we met 4 months ago at a coffee shop in Chelsea. I was there for a meeting that got cancelled. You were there working on a laptop.

We started talking about the book I was reading. What book? Vivien blinked. Does it matter? If your parents ask what drew us together, we need details. Real details. What book? I don’t I don’t read fiction much. too busy. Then let’s make it something else. Maybe we met at a hardware store. I was there buying supplies for a job. You were there trying to figure out how to fix something in your apartment.

I have people to fix things in my apartment, which is exactly why it makes sense. You were trying to do it yourself for once, completely lost, and I helped you. Callum warmed to the story. It was charming. You were charming, out of your element, but determined to figure it out anyway. Viven considered this.

I like that better than the coffee shop. It feels more real. Because it is real, or close to it. The best lies are the ones that live next to the truth. You’re good at this, Vivien observed. I’m really not. I just know that if we’re going to convince your parents, we need to convince ourselves first. He set down his fork. So, tell me about them.

Your parents? What are they like? And Vivien did. She told him about Margaret Cross, who’d been a high school English teacher before retiring, and who loved old movies and mystery novels and made the world’s best apple pie. She told him about her father, David, who’d been an engineer and still couldn’t stop himself from trying to fix things that weren’t broken just to see how they worked.

She told him about growing up in Boston, about family dinners around a table too small for everyone, about how her mother always set an extra place just in case someone needs it. She told him all of this in a voice that got softer and sadder as she spoke until Callum understood what she wasn’t saying. “She loved her parents desperately, and she was terrified of disappointing them.

They sound like good people,” he said when she finished. “They are the best.” Vivian looked down at her wine glass, “Which is why I hate lying to them.” “Then don’t.” She looked up sharply. “What? Don’t lie. Not completely.” Callum leaned forward. Tell them we’re dating, yes, but tell them the truth about everything else.

Tell them I’m a single dad working construction. Tell them I’m broke and struggling and nowhere near your league. Tell them all the real things and just skip over the part where this is a business arrangement because the more truth we include, the less we have to remember. They’ll never believe you’re my type. Maybe I’m not. Maybe that’s what makes it interesting. Callum held her gaze.

Or maybe your parents are smart enough to know that people surprise us. That sometimes the right person shows up in the wrong package at the wrong time and everything changes anyway. Viven was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. You don’t know me well enough to say things like that.

I know you hired a stranger off Craigslist rather than admit to your parents you’re alone. I know you’re scared enough of their disappointment that you’re willing to pay $10,000 to avoid it. and I know that when you talk about them, you look like someone who’s lost something they can’t get back. He paused.

I know what that looks like because I see it in the mirror every morning. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Your wife Sarah. She died 2 years ago. Car accident. Drunk driver ran a red light. The words came out flat, practiced the way they always did now. Mera was four. She doesn’t remember her mother very well, which might be a blessing or a curse, depending on the day. I’m sorry.

Don’t be. Everyone’s sorry. Sorry doesn’t change anything. Callum stood up, suddenly needing to move. My point is, I understand loss. I understand what it’s like to pretend you’re okay when you’re not. So, if you need to tell your parents I’m your boyfriend to make them happy, fine. But don’t make yourself into someone you’re not.

They’ll see through it. Viven stood as well. They were standing close now, close enough that he could see gold flexcks in her brown eyes. Close enough that the expensive perfume she wore mixed with the garlic from dinner in a way that should have been absurd, but somehow wasn’t. What happened to him? Callum asked quietly. Your fianceé, James.

All the color drained from her face. How do you I lied to you on Monday when you asked if I knew who you were. He didn’t look away. I looked you up months ago when things were really bad and I was desperate. I researched every wealthy person in the city looking for I don’t know what magic salvation.

I found articles about your company about your success and about James Mitchell who died 3 years ago in an accident you survived. Vivien’s hands had curled into fists at her sides. You should have told me, “Probably, but you looked me up, too, remember? We’re both walking into this with more information than we’re supposed to have. So, let’s call it even and move on.” It’s not the same thing. You’re right. It’s not. You had the resources to do a background check.

All I had was Google and Insomnia. He softened his voice. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to understand because if we’re going to convince your parents this is real. I need to know why you’re really doing this. And I don’t think it’s just about making them happy. You don’t know anything about me, Vivien said. But there was no heat in it. Then tell me.

For a moment, he thought she would throw him out, order him to leave, cancel the whole arrangement, decide this was a mistake. Instead, she crossed her arms and looked out at the city again. James and I were engaged for 8 months before he died,” she said finally. We were driving back from visiting his parents in Connecticut. “I was at the wheel.

It was raining. I saw the truck drift into our lane and I tried to swerve, but she stopped, swallowed hard.” He died on impact. I walked away with bruises and a concussion. The police said it wasn’t my fault. The truck driver had fallen asleep. Nothing I could have done differently. But you don’t believe that.

I believe the facts, but I also believe that if I’d been paying more attention, if I’d reacted faster, if I’d Her voice cracked. It doesn’t matter what I believe. He’s dead. And I spent the last 3 years building an empire because at least that’s something I can control. At least that won’t leave me. And your parents want me to move on.

Want me to be happy? Want me to find someone new and get married and have children and live the life James and I talked about before? She pressed her hands to her face. I can’t do this. I can’t give them what they want. But I also can’t watch my mother look at me with that sadness in her eyes every time we talk. Like she’s mourning both the man I lost and the life I’m not living. Callum moved to stand beside her at the window, not touching, just present.

So, you hired me to give them hope? I hired you to give them peace, even if it’s based on a lie. She lowered her hands. That’s the truth, Callum. I’m a coward who can’t face her parents’ love without armor. You’re not a coward. You’re grieving. There’s a difference. Is there? Yeah, because a coward would have cut her parents off completely rather than risk their judgment. You’re still trying.

It’s just maybe in the wrong direction. Vivien laughed, but it was a broken sound. I’m paying you $10,000 for one weekend. I don’t think life advice is included in that package. Consider it a bonus. Callum turned to face her fully. Look, I’ll do this weekend. I’ll be the world’s best fake boyfriend.

I’ll charm your parents and tell them our madeup story about meeting at a hardware store and make them believe I’m the luckiest guy in the world to be dating their daughter. But after Sunday, when this is over, you should tell them the truth. Absolutely not. Viven, no. We had a deal. Sunday afternoon, this ends. You go back to your life, I go back to mine, and my parents go back to Boston believing their daughter isn’t going to die alone. That’s the arrangement. She was right.

That was exactly what he demanded on Monday. And now he sounded like a hypocrite trying to change the terms. Okay. Callum said. Sunday afternoon, we’re done. Good. But she didn’t sound convinced. She sounded lost. They spent the next two hours rehearsing their story, filling in details, asking each other questions that parents might ask. By the time Callum left at 10:00, they had a narrative that felt almost real.

How they met, their first date, what they liked about each other, where they saw the relationship going. It was all fiction, but it was good fiction. As he rode the elevator down, Callum tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that somewhere in the last 2 hours, some part of the story had stopped feeling like acting. He tried to ignore it. He failed.

Friday arrived when the weight of inevitability. Callum spent the morning finishing a job for Hendrick’s construction, hammering in the last of the deck boards on a renovation in Queens, while his boss complained about lumber prices. His hands hurt by the time he was done, splinters embedded in his palms despite the gloves.

But there was something satisfying about physical work, about seeing something take shape under his hands, about creating something that would last. At 3:00, he went home, showered, put on his one decent shirt again. Meera watched him from her spot on the couch, her coloring book spread around her like a fortress. You look fancy, Daddy.

I’m meeting some people. What kind of people? Callum sat down beside her, careful not to disturb the crayons. Remember how I told you I got a job helping someone this weekend? Mera nodded seriously. Well, the person I’m helping is named Vivien, and her parents are visiting, and she wants them to think we’re friends. Good friends.

So, I’m going to pretend for a little while that we know each other really well. Okay. Like acting. Exactly like acting. Like when you play pretend with your friends at school. Okay. Mera went back to coloring, apparently satisfied with this explanation. Then she looked up again. Is Viven nice? I think so.

I don’t know her very well yet. Will I meet her? Maybe. If her parents want to meet you, would that be okay? Meera considered this with the seriousness she brought to all major life decisions. Will she like me? Baby, everyone likes you. You’re the best kid in the world. She grinned at him, gaptothed and perfect. You have to say that. You’re my dad.

Doesn’t make it less true. Mrs. Chen arrived at 4:00 to watch Meera for the evening. Callum had packed an overnight bag just in case, though Vivien had said he probably wouldn’t need to stay over on Friday night. Her parents weren’t arriving until 7:00, and dinner would only last a few hours.

The subway ride downtown felt different this time. Final, like he was crossing some invisible line he couldn’t uncross. The security guard waved him through without comment. The elevator rose the doors opened. Viven was waiting, and this time she looked like the woman from the articles, hair perfect, makeup flawless, wearing a dress that probably cost more than his car used to before he sold it to pay medical bills.

But her hands were shaking as she smoothed down the fabric. You’re early again, she said. It’s 6:30. You said to be here by 7:00. I know. I’m just She took a breath. They’re going to be here in 30 minutes, and I’m terrified, and I don’t know why I’m telling you this because I’m the only person who knows this isn’t real, which makes me the only person you can be honest with.

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed, sharp, and startled. That’s depressingly accurate. Come here. Callum set down his bag and held out his hand. Viven looked at it like it might bite her. What are you doing? Practice. If we’re going to convince your parents, we need to be comfortable with each other. So, come here. She took his hand.

It felt small in his delicate, though he knew from the calluses on her fingers that she worked as hard as he did, just in different ways. Callum pulled her closer, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat of her body. “Breathe,” he said quietly. “Just breathe. It’s going to be fine. You don’t know that.

No, but I know you’re strong enough to handle it either way. He squeezed her hand gently. And if it all goes sideways, we’ll order pizza and watch terrible movies, and I’ll tell your parents I eat pineapple on it just to horrify them. You wouldn’t dare. Try me. She was smiling now, the terror receding slightly. Thank you for this, for she gestured vaguely between them. All of it.

Thank me on Sunday when we’ve actually pulled this off. The elevator dinged. They both froze. Vivien’s hand tightened on his suddenly vice tight. “They’re early,” she whispered. “Oh, God, they’re early.” “Then we’d better be convincing.” Callum didn’t let go of her hand.

Instead, he positioned himself beside her, casual and comfortable, like this was exactly where he belonged. The elevator doors opened and Callum Hayes met the people he would be lying to for the next 3 days. All while wondering why it felt so much like coming home. Margaret and David Cross stepped out of the elevator carrying the kind of luggage that suggested they’d prepared for every possible scenario, matching rolling suitcases, a garment bag, and what appeared to be a cooler that Margaret clutched like it contained state secrets. Vivien, sweetheart. Margaret’s face lit up with such pure joy that

Callum felt a pang of guilt before anyone had even spoken a word. She was shorter than her daughter, rounder, with silver hair cut in a practical bob and eyes that crinkled at the corners from decades of smiling. She wore a cardigan covered in small embroidered flowers and sensible shoes, and she rushed forward to envelop Viven in a hug that lifted her daughter slightly off the ground despite the height difference. “Hi, Mom.

” Vivien’s voice was muffled against her mother’s shoulder, but Callum heard the emotion in it. Relief and love and something that sounded dangerously close to tears. David Cross followed more slowly, rolling both suitcases with the practiced deficiency of a man who’d spent a lifetime managing logistics.

He was tall and lean with a full head of white hair and Vivian’s same sharp eyes behind wire- rimmed glasses. He wore khakis and a button-down shirt, and when he smiled at his daughter, his entire face transformed. “There’s our girl,” he said warmly, waiting his turn for a hug. “Looking good, Viv. How’s the Nakamura deal coming?” “Dad, you just got here.

Can we maybe not talk about work for 5 minutes?” “I’ll time it.” David pulled out his phone with mock seriousness, but he was grinning as he embraced his daughter. Margaret had finally released Viven and was now looking at Callum with undisguised curiosity and delight. And you must be the famous boyfriend we’ve heard absolutely nothing about until 5 days ago. Mom, I’m teasing, sweetheart.

Mostly. Margaret approached Callum with her hand extended, though her eyes were already scanning him with the particular intensity of a mother evaluating her daughter’s choices. Margaret Cross, it’s wonderful to meet you. Callum Hayes. Ma’am, the pleasure’s mine. He shook her hand and she had a firm grip that surprised him. And I apologize for the secrecy.

Viven’s been protective of her privacy. That’s one word for it, David said, joining them in offering his own handshake. His grip was even firmer, the kind that made a statement. David, and please skip the sir and ma’am business. Makes us feel ancient. You are ancient, Dad,” Viven said, but her voice was fond. “Come on, let me show you to your room.

You can get settled before dinner.” As Vivien led her parents deeper into the apartment, Margaret kept glancing back at Callum with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Curiosity, yes, but also something that looked almost like hope, which made the guilt in his chest expand until it was hard to breathe. David was examining the apartment with an engineer’s eye, occasionally making small noises of approval at the structural elements.

This place must cost a fortune in property taxes alone. How many square ft, Dad? What? I’m just curious about the engineering. These floor to ceiling windows, the weight distribution must be fascinating. It’s 4,000 square ft, Vivien said, resigned. And yes, the engineering is very impressive. Callum, can you help with the cooler? He’d been standing awkwardly by the elevator, unsure whether he should follow or wait or excuse himself entirely. The cooler gave him a purpose. He lifted it, heavier than expected, and followed the

group down a hallway lined with abstract art that probably cost more than his annual income. The guest room was larger than Callum’s entire apartment with its own bathroom and a king-sized bed that looked like something from a hotel magazine.

Margaret immediately began unpacking with the efficiency of someone who’d done this a thousand times, pulling out framed photos and a small plant and what appeared to be homemade cookies wrapped in foil. I brought your favorite, she told Vivien, holding up the foil package. Chocolate chip with walnuts and some for Callum, too, of course. You didn’t have to do that, Mrs. Cross. Margaret, please.

And of course, I did. Vivien tells me you have a daughter. I assume she likes cookies. Callum felt Vivien tense beside him. They discussed this possibility, but having it happen so quickly threw him off balance. Mer is six, so yes, she’s definitely a fan of cookies. That’s really kind of you. Six. Margaret’s face lit up even more. What a wonderful age.

Is she with her mother this weekend? The question hung in the air like smoke. Meera’s mother passed away 2 years ago,” Callum said quietly, the practiced words coming out smoother now after saying them to Viven. “It’s just the two of us.” All the cheerfulness drained from Margaret’s face, replaced by immediate compassion. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. That must be incredibly difficult.

We manage, and Meera’s amazing makes it easier. I’m sure she does.” Margaret looked between Callum and Vivien with new understanding, like pieces of a puzzle had just clicked into place. “Well, I’d love to meet her if that’s possible this weekend. No pressure, of course, but I brought enough cookies for a small army.

” “Mom loves kids,” Vivian explained, and Callum heard the warning in her voice. “She was a teacher for 30 years. She can’t help herself.” “Guilty is charged. Although I’m retired now, which means I have even more time to meddle in my children’s lives.” Margaret said this cheerfully, like it was a point of pride.

How long have you two been seeing each other? Here it was, the first real test. Callum felt Vivien’s hand slip into his, her palm slightly sweaty despite the apartment’s perfect climate control. He squeezed gently, a silent message. I’ve got this about 4 months, he said. We met at a hardware store in Chelsea. Actually, I was there for work supplies and Vivien was trying to figure out how to fix a leaky faucet.

You were fixing your own plumbing? David looked at his daughter with something between pride and disbelief. That’s new. I was trying to be self-sufficient, Vivien said, playing along. It wasn’t going well. Callum took pity on me and explained the difference between a washer and a gasket, which apparently I needed to know.

She had bought the wrong parts, Callum added, warming to the story. and she was too stubborn to ask for help from the store employees. “That sounds like our Vivien,” Margaret said, delighted. “She’s been like that since she was 3 years old. Remember when she tried to build that bookshelf by herself?” David ended up with half the pieces backwards and refused to admit defeat until it collapsed under the weight of her encyclopedias. David chuckled.

“We found her sitting in the wreckage at 2 in the morning, still insisting she could fix it.” I was 12 and it was a learning experience, Vivien protested, but she was smiling. Anyway, Callum helped me get the right parts and then he offered to come install them because he felt bad about me flooding my own apartment. I didn’t say you’d flood it. I said you might flood it. Same thing.

They were bantering now, and it felt natural, easier than Callum had expected. Maybe because the best lies really did live next to the truth. Or maybe because Viven’s parents made it easy to relax with their obvious warmth. “So you fixed her sink and she fell madly in love with you,” Margaret said, her eyes twinkling. “Very romantic.

” “It wasn’t quite that fast,” Vivian said, but he did give me his card in case I had any other home repair emergencies, which I definitely did not manufacture as an excuse to see him again. She called me 3 days later about a sticky door, Callum said, which turned out to just need WD40. In my defense, I’m better at coding than carpentry.

That’s not exactly a high bar, sweetheart. David interjected. You once tried to hang a picture and put the nail through a water pipe. I was 19. The conversation flowed on, and Callum found himself genuinely enjoying it despite the circumstances. Margaret and David were funny and self-deprecating, and clearly adored their daughter, even as they gently teased her about her lack of practical skills.

They asked Callum about his work, his daughter, his life, and they listened to his answers with real interest rather than polite obligation. By the time they’d finished unpacking and settled into the living room for pre-dinner drinks, wine for the adults, juice for anyone who wanted it, Callum had almost forgotten this was a performance. Almost.

So, Margaret said, settling into one of the angular couches with her wine glass. Tell me about Meera. What’s she like? Callum felt himself relax into the one topic he could discuss without any acting required. She’s she’s everything. Smart as hell, smarter than I was at her age. She loves unicorns and drawing and asking questions I can’t answer about why the sky is blue or where numbers come from.

She’s got her mother’s eyes and unfortunately my stubbornness. The best kids are stubborn, Margaret said. Means they’ll stand up for themselves when it matters. Does she know about Viven? She knows I’m helping Viven this weekend. I don’t lie to Meera about important things, but she’s six, so she understands it as grown-up friend stuff.

It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth either. And Callum felt the familiar guilt creeping back. That’s good parenting, David said approvingly. Honesty builds trust, and trust is everything with kids. They can smell BS a mile away. David language. I said BS, not the actual I know what you said.

Viven was watching this exchange with something that looked like longing. And Callum realized that this this casual bickering and warmth and family was probably what she’d been missing since James died, maybe even before that. Would it be too forward to suggest Meera join us for brunch tomorrow? Margaret asked. I know it’s sudden and if you’re not comfortable with that, I completely understand.

But I’d love to meet her and I promise I won’t interrogate her about her father’s romantic life. Mom, what? I’m being honest about my intentions. That’s good parenting, too. Callum looked at Viven, trying to read her expression. They hadn’t planned for this. Bringing Meera into this felt like crossing a line they’d drawn specifically to protect her. But Vivien was nodding slightly, almost imperceptibly, and her eyes were asking him.

Is this okay? I think Meera would love that, Callum heard himself say. She’s never had brunch at a billionaire’s penthouse before. It’ll be an adventure. Perfect. Margaret clapped her hands together. And maybe she can help me with something.

I’m trying to decide what kind of flowers to plant in our garden this spring, and I could use a six-year-old’s expert opinion. She’ll have many opinions, Callum warned. Fair warning. Even better. I love children with opinions. David had gotten up and was examining the view from the windows, his hands clasped behind his back. Hell of a city, he said quietly. I forget sometimes living in Boston.

New York has this energy that just vibrates through everything. That’s the subway, Vivian said. Literally, you can feel it sometimes. Smart Alec. But David was smiling. You happy here, Viv? really happy? The question caught everyone off guard. Margaret’s cheerfulness faltered. Viven froze, her wine glass halfway to her lips. I’m Yes. Yes, I’m happy because you can be successful and still be miserable.

I’ve known plenty of people who built empires and lost themselves in the process. David turned to face her. I’m not asking as your father who’s proud of everything you’ve accomplished. I’m asking as your father who loves you and wants to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Viven’s hand found Callums again, and this time he was certain it wasn’t part of the act.

She was holding on like he was the only stable thing in the room. I’m taking care of myself, she said softly. I promise. And having Callum around has helped with that. He’s very good at reminding me that there’s life outside of spreadsheets and board meetings. Is he now? David’s gaze shifted to Callum, assessing.

What’s your secret, son? Son? The word did something strange to Callum’s chest. No secret, he managed. I just think life’s too short to spend all of it working. I learned that the hard way when Sarah died. You can’t get time back once it’s gone, so you might as well spend it on things that matter. Things like your daughter, things like my daughter, Callum agreed.

And now apparently things like making sure your daughter eats actual meals instead of whatever she can order from her desk at midnight. I knew I liked you, Margaret said triumphantly. Vivien needs someone who will tell her to stop working. God knows we’ve been trying for years. Mom, I’m 31, not 15. I can manage my own schedule.

Can you? Because the last time we visited, when was that, David? 8 months ago, you answered 14 work emails during dinner. It was 12. and there was a crisis with I don’t care if the entire company was on fire. You were having dinner with your parents who drove 4 hours to see you. Margaret’s voice had gone sharp, though not unkind.

That’s what I’m talking about, sweetheart. You’re so busy building your empire that you’re forgetting to build a life. Vivien looked like she’d been slapped. Callum squeezed her hand harder, trying to offer comfort he wasn’t sure he had the right to give. Margaret,” David said quietly. “Maybe now’s not.

” “When is the right time, David? When she’s 50 and alone and wondering where her life went.” Margaret set down her wine glass with enough force to make a sharp clink. “I’m sorry, Vivien. I know I promised myself I wouldn’t do this this weekend, but watching you work yourself to death for the last 3 years while you refuse to process what happened with James has been killing me slowly, and I just Her voice cracked.

I just want my daughter back. The silence that followed was suffocating. Callum wanted to leave, wanted to give them privacy for this conversation that felt too raw and personal for a stranger to witness. But Vivien’s grip on his hand was vice tight, and he realized she needed him there, not as a fake boyfriend, but as an anchor to something outside this moment of family pain. I am processing it, Vivien said finally.

And her voice was so small it barely carried across the room. Every single day I process it. I just do it quietly where you can’t see it because if I fall apart, the company falls apart and I can’t let that happen. James and I built CrossT together. It’s all I have left of him. No, honey.

Margaret was crying now, tears streaming down her face. You have his love. You have the memories. You have the person you became because he was in your life. The company is just a company. It’s not him. It feels like him. I know it does, but that’s not the same thing. David had moved to sit beside his wife, his arm around her shoulders.

They looked like what they were. Parents watching their child hurt and being powerless to fix it. Callum made a decision. “My wife used to make these elaborate Sunday breakfast,” he said into the heavy silence. Pancakes shaped like animals. Bacon arranged in smiley faces. The works. Meera was too young to remember most of them, but I do.

And after Sarah died, I tried to keep doing it. Thought it would honor her memory or maintain some kind of continuity for Meera. Or hell, I don’t know what I thought. Everyone was looking at him now, but he kept his eyes on Viven. It was torture, he continued.

Every Sunday I’d stand in that kitchen and try to make elephant pancakes or whatever and they’d come out wrong because I wasn’t Sarah and I couldn’t do it the way she did and eventually I’d end up throwing the whole mess in the trash and feeding me cereal while I cried in the bathroom. Callum. Vivien’s voice was thick with tears. Let me finish. It took me 6 months to realize I was hurting both of us by trying to keep that tradition alive because it wasn’t about honoring Sarah’s memory. It was about refusing to accept she was gone. So, I stopped.

We started having regular breakfast. Sometimes it’s cereal. Sometimes it’s toast. Sometimes it’s whatever Mrs. Chen from next door brings over because she’s taken pity on us. And you know what? Mera’s okay with it. Better than okay. Because what she needs isn’t elaborate pancakes. She needs a father who’s present and stable and not destroying himself trying to be someone he’s not.

He finally looked at Margaret and David. I’m not saying Viven should give up her company. That’s not my place and it’s not my business. But maybe the way she’s been doing it, working herself to exhaustion, using it as armor against grief, maybe that’s not honoring James’ memory any more than my failed pancakes were honoring Sarah’s.

Margaret was openly weeping now, and David looked suspiciously brighteyed behind his glasses. Vivien had pressed her free hand to her mouth, and Callum could feel her shaking. You’re right, Vivien whispered. God, you’re right. I’ve been so focused on preserving what we built that I forgot to live in it. Forgot to enjoy it.

Forgot why we started CrossT in the first place. Why did you start it? Callum asked gently. Because we wanted to solve problems that mattered. We wanted to build something that would make supply chains more efficient, so fewer resources would be wasted, so companies could operate more sustainably, so the world could be a little bit better.

She laughed, but it was a broken sound. And somehow it became about market share and quarterly earnings and proving to everyone that I could keep growing even without James. I lost the plot somewhere. Then find it again, Margaret said, reaching across to take her daughter’s other hand. Find it again, sweetheart. Not for us. For you.

David cleared his throat roughly. And maybe let this young man help you find it. He seems to have a good head on his shoulders. even if he does let his daughter eat cereal for breakfast. The tension broke slightly. Viven laughed, a real laugh this time, and wiped out her eyes. “I’m sorry.

This is not how I wanted this weekend to go. You’ve been here less than an hour, and we’re already having therapy sessions.” “Families have therapy sessions,” Margaret said firmly. “That’s what we do. We’re messy, and we cry, and we say hard things because we love each other enough to be honest.” She looked at Callum.

and I’m sorry you had to witness all that. I’m sure it’s not what you signed up for when you agreed to meet Vivien’s parents. Callum thought about the $10,000, about the Craigslist ad, about the whole elaborate lie they’d constructed. And then he looked at Viven’s tear stained face and Margaret’s earnest expression and David’s protective arm around his wife, and he felt something shift in his chest.

Actually, he said carefully, “This is exactly what family is supposed to look like. You should see Meera and me when we’re arguing about bedtime. Way messier than this.” “I doubt that’s possible,” Vivian said, but she was smiling slightly. “Oh, you haven’t seen Meera in full stubborn mode. It’s impressive and terrifying.

” “She gets that from you, I assume.” “Absolutely. I take full credit for all her difficult qualities and none of the good ones. They were flirting now somehow in the aftermath of emotional devastation. Callum wasn’t sure how it had happened, but Margaret was watching them with new interest, and David had relaxed slightly.

“Well,” Margaret said, standing up and smoothing her cardigan with determined cheerfulness. “I think we all need dinner and possibly something stronger than wine. What’s the plan, Vivien? Did you make reservations somewhere?” “I thought we’d order in, actually.

There’s an Italian place nearby that delivers and it’s supposed to be excellent. Unless you want to go out. After that flight and that conversation, I vote for staying in. Margaret looked at Callum. What about you? Any dietary restrictions we should know about? I’ll eat pretty much anything. Construction work burns calories fast. Perfect.

Then we’ll order a feast and maybe play some cards after dinner. Do you play cards, Callum? Poker mostly. Though I should warn you, I’m terrible at it. Even better, I like winning. Margaret’s eyes twinkled. David, go get the cards from the suitcase. Vivien, order enough food for eight people.

Callum, come help me figure out this fancy coffee maker cuz I need caffeine if I’m going to stay up past 9:00. And just like that, the evening shifted from confrontation to something approaching normaly. Callum followed Margaret to the kitchen where she immediately began examining Viven’s espresso machine with the focused intensity of someone trying to decode alien technology. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she said quietly as she poked at various buttons.

“I didn’t mean to ambush Viven like that, or you for that matter, but sometimes the truth just comes out, you know. I get it. You’re worried about her. I’m terrified for her.” Margaret abandoned the coffee maker and turned to face him. My daughter is brilliant and successful and absolutely determined to work herself into an early grave because she can’t forgive herself for surviving when James didn’t.

And I don’t know how to help her because every time I try, she shuts down and disappears into her work. She studied him. But you got through to her in 5 minutes. You said what David and I have been trying to say for 3 years. Sometimes it’s easier to hear hard truths from someone who isn’t family.

Callum offered though guilt was eating at him because Margaret didn’t know he was being paid to be here. Didn’t know this whole thing was a performance except it hadn’t felt like a performance when he was talking about Sarah and the pancakes. That had been real, painfully real. Maybe, Margaret said. Or maybe it’s because you understand loss in a way David and I don’t. We’ve never lost a spouse.

We can sympathize, but we can’t truly empathize. She touched his arm gently. I’m glad Vivien found you. I mean that. She needs someone who understands that grief isn’t something you get over. It’s something you learn to carry. Callum’s throat was tight. I’m not I’m not sure I’m the person you think I am. Oh, I don’t know. You seem pretty solid to me. She turned back to the coffee maker.

Now, help me with this infernal machine before I break it out of spite. They figured out the espresso maker together, or rather Callum figured it out, while Margaret provided running commentary about how things were simpler when coffee came from a percolator.

By the time they returned to the living room with cups for everyone, David had set up a card table, and Viven was on the phone placing what sounded like an enormous food order. “Yes, I know that’s a lot of food. Yes, I’m sure. No, I don’t need you to confirm the address again. You’ve delivered here before.” Viven caught Callum’s eye and mouthed, “Help me!” at him. He gently took the phone from her hand.

“Hi, this is Callum. We’re having a family gathering and we’re all very hungry. If you could just process the order exactly as she said it, we’d really appreciate it.” “Great. Thank you.” He hung up and handed the phone back. “You were making it too complicated. I was being thorough. You were driving that poor person crazy.

” In my defense, I’ve had restaurants mess up orders before by not confirming. Sweetheart, David called from the card table. Stop arguing with your boyfriend and come play cards. I’m not arguing. I’m discussing Viv cards now. Viven made a face at her father, but moved to join them at the table.

Callum followed, acutely aware that every moment of this felt more real and less like acting. Margaret dealt the cards with practice deficiency, explaining the rules of what turned out to be a complicated variant of poker that involved wild cards and mysterious scoring that seemed to change based on Margaret’s whims.

This doesn’t seem like regulation poker, Callum observed after the third hand. That’s because it’s cross family poker, David explained. Margaret makes up rules as she goes along to ensure she wins. I I do not make up rules. I simply remember rules that the rest of you forget. That’s literally the same thing, Mom. Is it, though? They played cards and drank coffee and waited for dinner, and Callum found himself relaxing despite the circumstances.

Margaret was funny and sharp, asking questions about his work, and Meera that felt genuine rather than interrogative. David shared stories about Vivian’s childhood, the bookshelf incident, the time she tried to rewire their television and blew a fuse for the entire house, the science fair project that had somehow involved building a small trebuche that launched water balloons at unsuspecting neighbors. I was testing medieval engineering principles, Vivien protested.

It was educational. It was property damage, David countered. We had to apologize to six different families. The science was sound, though. The science was sound, David agreed, pride evident in his voice despite the words. You’ve always had a gift for understanding how things work, Viv. Even when you probably shouldn’t take them apart to find out.

Dinner arrived in a series of increasingly large bags that the delivery person seemed relieved to hand off. They spread the food across the dining table. Pasta and risoto and chicken marsala and endless garlic bread and salads and tiramisu for dessert.

It was enough food for a small army, and they ate like they were one, passing dishes and stealing bites from each other’s plates and laughing about nothing in particular. Callum caught himself watching Viven when she wasn’t looking. She was different around her parents, softer, younger, more vulnerable. The polished billionaire veneer had cracked to reveal someone who laughed too loud at her father’s bad jokes and let her mother fuss about whether she was eating enough vegetables and argued about card game rules with the passion of someone who genuinely cared about winning. She was beautiful like this real. And that was a

dangerous thought to have when this was all supposed to end on Sunday. After dinner, they played more cards. Margaret won every hand through what everyone agreed was definitely cheating, but couldn’t prove. David told increasingly elaborate stories about his engineering days that may or may not have been embellished.

Vivian leaned against Callum’s shoulder at one point, and he froze, unsure if this was part of the performance or something else entirely. “Tired?” he asked quietly. “A little? It’s been a long day.” But she didn’t move away, and Callum found himself adjusting his position to make her more comfortable. Margaret noticed, of course.

Her eyes softened with something that looked like approval, and Callum felt the guilt surge back with renewed force. By 11:00, everyone was fading. David and Margaret excused themselves to their room. And suddenly, Callum and Vivien were alone in the vast living room with the city lights spreading out below them like fallen stars. “You don’t have to stay,” Vivian said. “I know you probably want to get back to Meera.

” Mrs. Chen is with her overnight. I told her I might not be back until morning just in case. Callum stood up stretching muscles that achd from a full day of work and tension. But if you want me to go, no, I mean you should stay. We need to keep up appearances, right? My parents will think it’s weird if you leave now, right? Appearances.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, and Callum was struck by how strange this was, how intimate and foreign at the same time. He’d spent the evening holding this woman’s hand, sitting close enough to smell her perfume, playing the role of devoted boyfriend. But he didn’t actually know her.

Not really, except he did know that she was carrying grief that was slowly crushing her. He knew that she loved her parents desperately and feared disappointing them. He knew that she built walls to protect herself and that underneath all that polish was someone who just wanted permission to fall apart. He knew all of that because he recognized it in himself.

I should show you where you’re sleeping, Vivien said, breaking the silence. I set up one of the guest rooms earlier. It has its own bathroom and clean towels and everything you should need. She led him down a different hallway to a room that was smaller than the one her parents occupied, but still larger than any bedroom Callum had ever had.

The bed was made with hotel quality linens, and there were indeed fresh towels folded on a chair. This is He couldn’t think of an appropriate word. Very nice. Thank you. It’s just a room. It’s a really nice room. Viven smiled slightly. I’ll take the compliment. My room is next door if you need anything. And Callum. She paused in the doorway.

Thank you for tonight. For what you said to my parents. You didn’t have to do that. Yeah, I did because it was true. He met her eyes. and because I think you needed to hear it as much as they needed to say it. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead she just nodded and left, pulling the door closed behind her with a soft click.

Callum stood in the expensive guest room and tried to process the evening. It had been emotionally exhausting in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He’d expected to play a role, smile and nod and make small talk. He hadn’t expected to witness a family in crisis or to share his own grief or to feel this strange connection to a woman he barely knew.

He definitely hadn’t expected to like Margaret and David Cross as much as he did. His phone buzzed. A text from Mrs. Chen with a photo of Meera asleep on the couch surrounded by her coloring books out like a light at 9:30. All good here. See you tomorrow. Callum texted back his thanks and set his phone on the nightstand. He should sleep.

Tomorrow would bring brunch with his daughter in a billionaire’s penthouse, which was a sentence he never thought he’d think. But sleep felt impossible with his mind racing. He changed into the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d packed, brushed his teeth with the toothbrush Vivien had thoughtfully left in the bathroom, and lay down on the most comfortable bed he’d ever experienced. The sheets were cool and smooth.

The mattress was perfectly firm, and the pillow was made of some material that seemed scientifically designed for optimal sleep. He stared at the ceiling and thought about Sarah, about the last time they’d been truly happy together, before the medical issues started, before the bills piled up, before everything fell apart.

She would have liked Margaret and David, he thought, would have appreciated their warmth and humor, would have probably given him hell about taking money to lie to such genuinely good people. He thought about Vivien in the next room alone with her grief in her empire and her crushing need to prove she could survive without falling apart.

He thought about the $10,000 that was supposed to make everything better, but somehow made everything more complicated. And he thought about Sunday when this would all be over and he’d go back to his real life and Vivien would go back to hers and they’d both pretend this weekend never happened. Except he was starting to suspect it would be impossible to forget.

Callum must have eventually fallen asleep because he woke to sunlight streaming through windows he’d forgotten to close and the smell of coffee coming from somewhere in the apartment. He checked his phone. 8:30 later than he usually slept, but then again, he’d been up past midnight thinking in circles. He showered quickly, dressed in clean clothes, and followed the coffee smell to the kitchen, where he found David standing at the counter with the espresso machine, looking like he was trying to negotiate with a hostile foreign power.

Morning. Callum said. Need help? Please. Margaret sent me to make coffee, and I’m pretty sure I’ve just declared war on this thing. David stepped back. You figured it out last night. Want to work your magic? Callum walked David through the process, and within a few minutes, they had two cups of what smelled like excellent coffee. David took a grateful sip and sighed with satisfaction.

Thank you. I was about to give up and drink instant. He leaned against the counter. That’s so you and my daughter. Here it was. The fatherto- boyfriend talk that Callum had been dreading. Yes, sir. I mean, David, how serious is this? And I’m not asking as someone who’s going to give you the protective father speech. I’m asking because I need to know if you’re going to break her heart.

Callum’s mouth went dry. I She’s been through enough, Callum. The thing with James destroyed her in ways she’ll never admit. She rebuilt herself, but the foundation is still cracked. So, I need to know if you’re in this for real or if you’re just passing through. The guilt was back, stronger than ever, a physical weight in his chest.

David was looking at him with such earnest concern, such parental protectiveness, and Callum wanted to tell him the truth, wanted to confess the whole arrangement, the Craigslist ad, the money. But he couldn’t because that would devastate Viven, would confirm every fear her parents had about her being too focused on work to build real connections, would turn this whole weekend into a humiliating disaster. “I care about her,” Callum said.

“And it was true, even though it shouldn’t be. I know it’s only been 4 months and I know we’re from different worlds, but I care about her and I’m not going to hurt her if I can help it. David studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. Okay, I believe you and for what it’s worth. I think you’re good for her.

She looks at you differently than she looked at anyone after James. Like maybe she’s allowing herself to feel something again. Callum felt like he’d been punched. I don’t know about that. I’m her father. I know. David took another sip of coffee. Just be patient with her, okay? She’s going to fight this. She’s going to try to logic her way out of having feelings because feelings are messy and unpredictable and she can’t control them.

But if you’re patient and you stick around and you keep being exactly who you were last night, honest and kind and willing to call her on her  I think she’ll get there. I’ll do my best, Callum managed, because what else could he say? Margaret emerged from the guest room then already dressed and cheerful despite the early hour. Good morning. Is that coffee I smell? David, tell me you didn’t break the machine. Callum saved me from myself.

My hero. Margaret accepted the cup David handed her. Is Viven up yet? Haven’t seen her. I’ll go check. We need to figure out what time Meera is coming over for brunch. Margaret disappeared down the hallway and Callum heard her knock softly on Viven’s door.

He looked at David, who was watching him with an expression Callum couldn’t quite read. “You’re a good man, Callum Hayes,” David said quietly. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.” And Callum wanted to argue, wanted to explain that good men didn’t take money to lie to people, that good men didn’t play with other people’s emotions for profit, that he was anything but good.

But David had already turned away and the moment passed and Callum was left holding his coffee and wondering how everything had gotten so complicated so fast. Viven emerged a few minutes later, her hair still damp from a shower, wearing jeans and a sweater that made her look young and approachable. She smiled when she saw Callum, and it was a real smile, the kind that reached her eyes.

Morning, she said. Sleep okay? Better than I have in years, honestly. That guest room bed is incredible. Good. I’m glad. She moved to the coffee maker with the confidence of someone who actually knew how to use it. And Callum watched as she made herself a cup with practice deficiency. I was thinking we should have Meera over around 10:30.

That gives us time to get everything set up and for mom to finish whatever elaborate brunch she’s planning. Wait, your mother is cooking? God, no. She’s ordering from the same Italian place as last night, but she’s calling it cooking because she’s going to plate it herself. Vivien lowered her voice. My mother has many talents. Cooking is not one of them.

My father has very politely eaten burnt toast and questionable casserles for 40 years because he loves her. That’s actually kind of beautiful. It’s definitely something. She took a sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of her cup. How are you doing? Really? Last night was a lot. I’m okay. Your parents are great, by the way, in case I didn’t say that clearly enough last night.

They like you, too. My mom told me this morning that she approves, which apparently is a big deal. Does she not usually approve? She approved of James, and she was politely horrified by the guy I dated in college who turned out to be running a pyramid scheme. So, you’re batting in good company.

They were alone in the kitchen, and the morning light coming through the windows made everything feel soft and possible. Callum found himself moving closer without meaning to, drawn by something he couldn’t name. Vivien, he started, not sure what he wanted to say. But Margaret chose that moment to bustle back into the kitchen with her phone.

I’m placing the brunch order. Vivien, what does a six-year-old eat besides cookies? I mean, Callum would know better than me. Pancakes, Callum said. Meera loves pancakes and fruit. And honestly, she’ll probably eat anything if you tell her it’s special. Perfect. Special pancakes and fruit it is. Margaret began scrolling through her phone with determination. The moment was broken, and maybe that was for the best.

Callum checked the time. 9:15. He should go pick up Meera soon. Get her dressed in something presentable. Prepare her for meeting Viven’s parents. I should head out, he said. Get Meera ready. We’ll be back by 10:30. Want me to send a car? Vivien offered. It’s easier than the subway with a six-year-old. We’ll manage, but thank you.

He left the penthouse and rode the elevator down, feeling like he’d just escaped something dangerous and important. The morning air outside was crisp and cool, and the city was waking up around him, people heading to work, street vendors setting up, the endless rhythm of New York doing its thing. Callum took the subway home and tried to organize his thoughts.

Tonight was Saturday, tomorrow was Sunday. then this would all be over. He just needed to make it through one more day without everything falling apart. When he got home, he found Meera and Mrs. Chen making pancakes together. Actual pancakes, not cereal. Mera’s face lit up when she saw him. Daddy, Mrs. Chen taught me how to flip pancakes without making a mess. That’s impressive.

Show me. She demonstrated with careful concentration, and sure enough, the pancake flipped neatly. Callum felt his chest tighten with love and pride and the particular terror that came with being solely responsible for another human being. Good job, baby. Hey, remember how I told you about my friend Vivien? The one you’re helping this weekend? Yeah.

Her parents want to meet you. They’re having brunch at Vivian’s apartment and they invited you to come. Would you like that? Mera considered this with her usual seriousness. Will there be pancakes? Actually, yes. Special pancakes according to Viven’s mom. Then okay, but I need to wear my unicorn shirt because it’s my favorite. Unicorn shirt it is. They ate the pancakes Mrs. Chen had helped make.

Then Meera got dressed in her beloved unicorn shirt. Slightly too small now, but still her favorite. And the new shoes Callum had bought with the first installment of Viven’s Money. He brushed her hair and let her pick out a hair clip shaped like a rainbow. “Do I look fancy?” she asked seriously. “You look perfect.

” They took the subway downtown, and Meera pressed her face against the window the whole way, narrating everything she saw with the running commentary only six-year-olds could manage. By the time they reached Vivian’s building, Callum’s heart was hammering. This was a mistake. He should have said no.

Should have kept Meera separate from this whole elaborate lie. But it was too late now. The security guard waved them through. The elevator rose, the doors opened, and there was Viven waiting for them with an expression Callum had never seen before, nervous and hopeful and almost shy. “Hi,” she said. “You must be Mera.” Meera looked up at her with wide gray eyes. “Are you my daddy’s special friend?” “I yes, I guess I am.

” He said, “You have a really tall building. This is really tall.” “It is really tall. Would you like to see the view? Meera nodded enthusiastically. And just like that, they were inside. And Vivien was showing his daughter the city from 72 floors up, while Margaret exclaimed over the unicorn shirt, and David asked Meera serious questions about her favorite colors. And Callum stood back and watched his two worlds collide.

And somewhere in the chaos of that morning, with pancakes and laughter and his daughter’s hand in Vivians, as they looked out at the city together, Callum realized with sudden terrible clarity that he was in serious trouble, because this didn’t feel like pretending anymore. It felt like something real.

And in less than 24 hours, it would all be over. Meera had made herself completely at home within 15 minutes of arrival, which was both Callum’s greatest pride and his deepest anxiety. She sat at Vivian’s dining table with Margaret on one side and David on the other, explaining in exhaustive detail the complex social hierarchy of her first grade classroom while demolishing a stack of pancakes that seemed physically impossible for someone her size to consume. And then Emma said that unicorns aren’t real, but I told her that’s just what people who’ve never

seen unicorns say. Meera announced between bites, completely serious. Right, Daddy? Callum, who’d been helping Viven arrange fruit on a platter in the kitchen, looked over. I think what I actually said was that some things are real in our imagination, even if we can’t see them in real life.

That’s what I said. Not exactly, baby. Close enough. Meera turned her attention to David, who was watching her with barely concealed delight. Do you believe in unicorns? I believe in the possibility of unicorns, David said carefully, like he was negotiating a complex engineering problem. Which I think is different from believing they’re currently walking around somewhere. That’s a good answer.

Meera nodded approvingly. You’re smart. Thank you. You’re pretty smart yourself. Margaret was nearly vibrating with joy, which made Callum simultaneously happy and guilty. She kept finding excuses to touch Meera’s hair or straighten her unicorn shirt or refill her orange juice.

And every time she did, her face held such pure grandmotherly affection that Callum wanted to disappear into the floor. Vivien was a lot like you when she was your age, Margaret said, very opinionated, very sure of herself. I still am, Vivien called from the kitchen. Age hasn’t changed that. No, it certainly hasn’t. Margaret smiled. She once informed her kindergarten teacher that the classroom goldfish needed a more stimulating environment and proceeded to redesign the entire tank using drawing she’d made at home.

“Did it work?” Meera asked. The fish seemed happier. The teacher was less thrilled about a 5-year-old questioning her pet care methods. Meera giggled, and the sound filled the apartment in a way that made it feel less like a showroom and more like a home.

Callum caught Vivien watching his daughter with an expression that was hard to read. something between wonder and longing and fear. She’s great, Viven said quietly, just for him. Really great. She’s my whole world. It came out more intense than he’d meant it to, but it was true. Everything I do is for her. I can tell. Vivien’s eyes met his. You’re a good father, Callum. I’m trying to be.

They brought the fruit platter to the table and Margaret immediately started arranging it into what she called a proper presentation which seemed to involve a lot of strategic strawberry placement. David was now deep in conversation with Meera about whether dinosaurs or dragons would win in a fight.

A debate that was apparently quite contentious. Depends on the dragon. Mera insisted. A small dragon dinosaur wins, but a big dragon with fire dragon definitely wins. What about a water dragon with no fire? Then it’s close. I’d say 60/40 for the dinosaur. Those are very specific odds. I’ve thought about this a lot. Callum watched his daughter hold court with a billionaire’s parents and felt something shift in his understanding of the world.

A week ago, his life had been construction sites and medical bills and the particular exhaustion that came from single parenting on no money. Now he was in a penthouse watching his daughter debate mythical creature combat scenarios with people who’d probably never had to choose between groceries and electricity.

But they weren’t treating her like she was different. They were treating her like she mattered, like her opinions were valid, like she was exactly where she belonged. Your parents are naturals with kids,” Callum said to Viven as they sat down to join the group. “Mom taught elementary school for 30 years.

She knows how to talk to children without talking down to them.” Viven reached for a piece of melon. “Dad just likes anyone who will engage with his hypothetical questions.” “I heard that,” David said without looking away from Meera. “And it’s not my fault everyone else in this family lacks intellectual curiosity.” We have intellectual curiosity, Vivien protested.

We just don’t feel the need to debate the structural integrity of fictional castles. That was one time, and I maintain that Hogwarts makes no architectural sense. Meera leaned toward David conspiratorally. I think you’re right. All those moving staircases, the building would fall apart. See? Meera understands sound engineering principles.

Margaret caught Callum’s eye and smiled, a look that said clearly, “Men and their ridiculous debates.” He smiled back, and for a moment, it felt like they were in on some shared joke about the absurdity and beauty of family dynamics. Except this wasn’t his family. This was borrowed time, a performance that happened to include his daughter. The reminder hit him like cold water. Brunch stretched into early afternoon.

They ate and talked and played a board game that Meera won through what David insisted was statistically improbable luck. And what Meera insisted was being good at games. Margaret told stories about Viven’s childhood that made Vivien cover her face in embarrassment and made Meera laugh so hard she got hiccups.

At some point, Callum found himself alone with Viven on the balcony while Meera helped Margaret and David clean up inside. The city spread out below them, all glass and steel and endless possibility. “Thank you for bringing her,” Vivian said. “My mom hasn’t been this happy, and I can’t remember the last time.” “Mera has that effect on people. She’s like sunshine in human form.

” “She gets that from you,” Callum laughed. “I’m not sure anyone would describe me as sunshine.” “Maybe not sunshine, but something steady, something that makes people feel safe.” Vivien turned to face him, leaning against the balcony railing. I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, about the pancakes and letting go and not destroying yourself trying to be someone you’re not. You don’t have to Let me finish.

She took a breath. You were right. I’ve been using work as armor against grief because if I’m busy enough, I don’t have to think about the fact that James is gone and I’m still here and I don’t know why. I don’t know why the universe decided to save me and not him. He was better than me, kinder, more patient.

He would have been an amazing father someday. Her voice cracked. And I get to keep living while he’s just gone. Viven. And the worst part is that I’m angry about it. Not just sad. Angry at him for dying, at myself for surviving, at God or fate or whatever decided this was how things should be.

What kind of person gets angry at someone for dying in an accident that wasn’t their fault? Someone who’s human, Callum said quietly. I was angry at Sarah for months after she died. Angry that she got in the car that night. Angry that she didn’t see the drunk driver coming. Angry that she left me alone with a 4-year-old and no idea how to be a single parent. It’s not rational and it doesn’t make sense and it’s definitely not fair. But anger is part of grief. You’re allowed to feel it.

I don’t want to feel it. I want to feel nothing or everything. something other than this constant background noise of rage and guilt. And she stopped, pressing her hands to her face. I’m sorry. This is a lot to dump on you. You’re not dumping. You’re processing. He moved closer, careful not to crowd her. And for what it’s worth, I think James would want you to be angry.

Would want you to feel all of it because that’s what it means to actually grieve someone instead of just building monuments to them. Vivien lowered her hands and her eyes were bright with tears. How do you do it? How do you keep going when everything hurts? Honestly, Meera, I kept going because she needed me to.

Because every morning she’d wake up and need breakfast and help getting dressed and someone to convince her that school was worth attending. I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart completely. I could only fall apart in pieces late at night after she was asleep in the shower where she couldn’t hear me in moments stolen between being a person and being a parent. That sounds exhausting. It was. It is. But it’s also purpose.

Even on the days when I didn’t want to get out of bed, Meera needed me to. And eventually somewhere along the way, I started wanting to get up too. Not because the grief went away. It didn’t, but because I realized that living my life wasn’t betraying Sarah’s memory. It was honoring it. Viven was crying now, tears streaming down her face without sound. I don’t know how to honor James’ memory without the company, without the work.

It’s all I have left of what we built together. Then find a way to make the company about more than just succeeding. Make it about the thing you said last night. solving problems that matter, operating sustainably, making the world a little better. Do the work because it means something, not because you’re running from grief.

What if I can’t? Then you fail and you try again, same as everyone else. She laughed wetly, wiping at her eyes. You make it sound simple. It’s not simple, but it’s possible. That’s all you need. Possible. They stood there in the cool November air, and Callum had the wild urge to pull her into a hug, to offer the kind of physical comfort that words couldn’t provide. But that felt like crossing a line they hadn’t drawn yet.

So, he just stood close and let her cry and tried not to think about the fact that tomorrow this would all be over. A knock on the balcony door made them both turn. Meera was there, her face pressed against the glass, making ridiculous faces until Viven laughed despite her tears. I think someone wants our attention, Callum said. She’s very persistent.

You have no idea. They went back inside and Meera immediately attached herself to Vivien’s side. Margaret says you have a library. Can I see it? I Yes. Yes, you can see it. Viven glanced at Callum, who nodded, “Permission. It’s just down the hall.” She led Meera away and Callum was left with Margaret and David who were watching him with identical expressions of approval that made him want to confess everything right there.

She’s different with you. Margaret said lighter. I don’t know about that. I do. I’m her mother. I know when my daughter is pretending to be fine and when she’s actually starting to heal. Margaret touched his arm gently. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it, please. The guilt was overwhelming now, a physical weight crushing his chest. Mrs. Cross.

Margaret, I need to tell you something. Oh, God. You’re not married, are you? Please tell me you’re not married. What? No, nothing like that. Callum took a breath, trying to figure out how to confess without destroying everything. I just I want you to know that I care about Viven a lot, more than I probably should after 4 months.

And I’m going to do everything I can to to what? Not break her heart when this arrangement ended to somehow make this fake relationship real to be what she needs. David was studying him with those sharp engineers eyes. You’re a good man, Callum. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It was the second time David had said that, and it hurt worse than the first, because Callum was increasingly certain it wasn’t true. Good men didn’t take money to lie to grieving parents.

Good men didn’t let their daughters get attached to situations that had expiration dates. Good men didn’t start developing real feelings for the women paying them to pretend. Viven and Meera returned before he could spiral further into self-rrimation.

Meera was carrying three books that were clearly too advanced for her reading level. And Vivien was explaining something about first editions with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for her actual work. Daddy Vivien has a book that’s 100red years old. Meera announced 100? That’s very old. She said I could look at it if I was really careful. And were you really careful? So careful I used my library hands.

Library hands was what Mrs. Chen called the particular way Meera touched books when they visited the public library reverent and gentle like they were precious objects which Callum supposed they were. She was extremely careful. Viven confirmed better than most adults honestly. Margaret checked her watch and made a small noise of surprise. It’s already 3:00.

Where did the day go? Story of my life. David said time moves faster the older you get. Pretty soon it’ll be dinner time and then bedtime and then we’ll blink and it’ll be Sunday. Sunday? The word hung in the air like a threat. Meera yawned, which she tried to hide behind her hand but failed. She’d been up since early morning and running on pure excitement for hours. The crash was inevitable.

“Someone’s getting sleepy,” Callum observed. “I’m not sleepy,” Mera insisted, yawning again immediately. “I’m just resting my eyes. That’s what I always say, David told her seriously. Right before I fall asleep in my chair and your grandmother has to wake me up for dinner. David doesn’t rest his eyes. He snores loud enough to wake the neighbors. I do not snore.

You absolutely snore like a freight train. Meera giggled and Callum could see her fighting to keep her eyes open. He should probably take her home, let her nap in her own bed. But the thought of leaving this apartment, leaving Viven, felt wrong in a way he couldn’t articulate.

Why don’t you rest on the couch for a bit? Vivien suggested to Meera. We have very comfortable couches. Will you stay with me? Of course. Vivien led Meera to one of the angular couches that somehow became less intimidating with a six-year-old curled up on it. She found a blanket from somewhere and tucked it around Meera with surprising gentleness.

And Meera was asleep within minutes, her small hand clutching the edge of the blanket. “She’s out,” Callum said softly, coming to stand beside Viven. “Sorry about that. She gets excited and then crashes hard.” “Don’t apologize. She’s wonderful.” Vivien was still looking at Meera with that expression Callum couldn’t quite read. James and I used to talk about having kids someday. Not right away, but eventually.

We had names picked out and everything. What names? Alexander for a boy. Sophia for a girl. We’d argue about it sometimes. He wanted more traditional names. I wanted something unusual. We compromised on classics that could have nicknames. She touched the edge of the blanket lightly. I think about that sometimes about the children we’ll never have, the life we’ll never live.

It’s like mourning something that never existed. That’s the hardest kind of grief. Callum said, “The what-ifs, the might have been.” Yeah. They stood there watching his daughter sleep, and something shifted in the air between them, something that felt dangerously close to real intimacy. Callum should step back, should reestablish the professional distance this arrangement required.

Instead, he found himself moving closer. “Viven.” His phone rang loud and jarring in the quiet apartment. Meera stirred, but didn’t wake. Callum checked the screen and felt his stomach drop. “Mercy Hospital.” “I need to take this,” he said, already moving toward the balcony for privacy. His hands were shaking as he answered.

“Hello, Mr. Hayes. This is Nurse Patterson from Mercy Hospital. We have your contact listed as the emergency number for Mera Hayes.” “Yes, that’s my daughter. Why are you She’s right here. She’s with me.” A pause. I’m sorry. I think there’s been a miscommunication. We don’t have Merror here, but your neighbor, Mrs. Chen, gave us your number. She said you need to know that there’s been Mr.

Hayes, I’m going to transfer you to Dr. Michaels. Please hold. The hold music was some instrumental version of a song Callum couldn’t identify. His brain was racing trying to understand. Mrs. Chen had given them his number. Why would Mrs. Chen need to give the hospital his number? Mr.

Hayes? A new voice, male and professional. This is Dr. Michaels. I’m calling about the incident at your apartment building this afternoon. What incident? There was a gas leak in the building. Nothing catastrophic, but several residents, including Mrs. Chen, were treated for exposure. She’s fine.

Everyone’s fine, but she was quite insistent that we contact you regarding your daughter’s medical history. Something about asthma? Callum’s knees almost gave out. Gas leak. Mrs. Chen in the hospital. if Meera had been there, if she’d been exposed with her compromised lungs. Is Mrs. Chen okay? He managed. She’s stable and were keeping her overnight for observation.

But she wanted to make sure you knew about the building evacuation. You won’t be able to return to your apartment until tomorrow at the earliest while they clear the air and check all the units. Okay. Okay. Thank you for calling. Of course. Mrs. Chen also asked me to tell you that your daughter’s stuffed rabbit is safe. She grabbed it on her way out.

I’m not sure what that means, but she was very adamant. Callum laughed, but it came out choked. Bunny was Meera’s favorite toy, the one she’d had since birth, the one she couldn’t sleep without. Of course, Mrs. Chen had grabbed it. Of course, she’d thought of that even while being evacuated for a gas leak.

He hung up and stood on the balcony trying to process. His building was evacuated. They had nowhere to go tonight. His neighbor was in the hospital. if Meera had been there, if she’d been exposed. Callum. Vivien had come out to the balcony. What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. He explained about the gas leak, about Mrs.

Chen, about the evacuation. Vivien listened with increasing concern. Stay here, she said when he finished. Tonight, both of you. You can’t take Meera to a hotel when she’s already asleep and comfortable. And you definitely shouldn’t be alone right now. Viven, we can’t. Yes, you can. We have three spare bedrooms and you’re already here and my parents will think it’s weird if you leave now anyway.

She was using her CEO voice, the the one that didn’t accept arguments. Stay, please. What about your parents? They’ll expect me to stay in your room if we’re supposed to be dating. Seriously? Vivien’s expression flickered with something he couldn’t identify. Then stay in my room. We’re adults. We can share a space for one night without it being weird.

Vivien, unless you’re uncomfortable with that, in which case I’ll tell my parents you need to stay in the guest room because of Meera or something. But honestly, Callum, I don’t want you to leave. Not tonight. Not like this. There was something vulnerable in her voice, something that suggested this wasn’t just about maintaining appearances for her parents.

And Callum was too shaken, too grateful, too overwhelmed to argue. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll stay. Thank you.” They went back inside and Callum explained a carefully edited version of the situation to Margaret and David who immediately insisted they’d have a proper family sleepover and that Meera could sleep in the room next to theirs so they could check on her if needed. Are you sure? Callum asked.

She might wake up confused about where she is. Then we’ll be right there to comfort her, Margaret said firmly. And honestly, it’ll make me happy to have a little one close by. I miss that. David was already planning logistics where everyone would sleep, what they’d need, whether they should order dinner in again or venture out somewhere. He had that particular energy of someone who thrived on solving practical problems.

And Callum felt a wave of affection for this man he’d known less than 24 hours. Meera woke up around 5:00 confused and groggy, and Callum had to explain about the gas leak in terms a six-year-old could understand without getting scared. She took it remarkably well, probably because she was still half asleep, and because the idea of staying in Viven’s castle overnight sounded like an adventure. “Can I really sleep here?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Really, really?” Vivien confirmed. We’ll set up the room next to Margaret and David, and you’ll have your own bathroom and everything. Will Bunny be okay without me? Callum’s throat tightened. Mrs. Chen grabbed Bunny when she left the building. She’s keeping him safe at the hospital, and we’ll get him back tomorrow. Mrs. Chen is the best.

She really is. They spent the rest of the evening in a strange domestic tableau that felt both foreign and familiar. David ordered Chinese food because Meera had never tried it and decided she needed to experience proper dumplings. Margaret found a Disney movie on Viven’s streaming service and made everyone watch it despite David’s protest that animated movies were for kids. Vivien sat next to Callum on the couch.

And at some point during the movie, her hand found his and neither of them pulled away. Meera fell asleep again before the movie ended. Exhausted by the day’s excitement, Callum carried her to the guest room Margaret had prepared, and together he and Vivien got her settled under the covers. She didn’t even wake up when they removed her shoes.

“She’s so peaceful,” Vivian whispered, smoothing Meera’s hair back from her forehead. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to sleep that soundly. Give it 20 years and about a thousand more problems to worry about. It comes naturally.

” They stood there watching her breathe, and Callum felt something crack open in his chest, something that had been sealed shut since Sarah died. The feeling of sharing this moment with someone who wasn’t obligated to care, but chose to anyway. Margaret appeared in the doorway, her expression soft. She’s down for the count. Don’t worry, David and I are light sleepers. If she wakes up, we’ll hear her.

“Thank you,” Callum said, “for all of this. You didn’t have to.” “Of course we did. your family now. Margaret said it so simply, so certainly, like it was an established fact rather than an elaborate fiction. Come on, let’s let her sleep. I think we could all use an early night.

They retreated from the room, and suddenly Callum was very aware that he and Viven would be sharing a bedroom for the night, not for show, not for appearances, because there was nowhere else for him to go, and because Vivien had insisted he stay. Margaret and David said their good nights and disappeared into their room. The apartment settled into quiet, just the hum of the city far below and the soft sound of their breathing.

“So,” Vivian said, “My room is this way.” She led him down the hallway to a door he’d never been through. Her bedroom was different from the rest of the apartment, softer, more personal. There were books stacked on the nightstand, actual photographs on the dresser, a throw blanket in a jewel tone purple that looked well used.

It felt like Viven lived here, not just existed. I can take the couch, Callum offered. Or the floor. I don’t want to. The bed is king-sized. There’s plenty of room for both of us to sleep without, she trailed off, cheeks flushing slightly. Without it being weird. Okay. She showed him the bathroom, gave him a spare toothbrush, found him pajama pants that were obviously men’s sleepwear, and tried not to look embarrassed about it. Callum didn’t ask whose they were. He could guess.

They got ready for bed with the awkward choreography of people who didn’t know each other’s routines. Viven took forever in the bathroom with what sounded like an elaborate skin care ritual. Callum changed quickly, feeling strange in borrowed clothes in a borrowed room in a life that wasn’t quite his.

When they finally got into bed, they stayed on opposite sides, a careful distance between them. “This is weird,” Vivian said to the ceiling. “Yeah, but not bad weird.” “No, not bad.” Callum turned his head to look at her. Today was a lot. I’m sorry about your building and Mrs. Chen. That must have been terrifying.

For a minute there, all I could think was, “What if Meera had been there? What if I’d left her home this morning instead of bringing her here? She could have.” He stopped, unable to finish the thought. But she wasn’t. She was here, safe, eating pancakes and debating dragon combat with my father. Viven rolled onto her side to face him.

Sometimes the universe looks out for us, even when we don’t expect it to. Is that what you think happened today? The universe looking out for us? Maybe. Or maybe it was just incredibly lucky timing. Does it matter? I guess not. They were quiet for a moment and then Viven said, “Can I tell you something?” “Of course. I haven’t had anyone sleep in this bed with me since James died. I couldn’t.

It felt like betraying his memory or admitting he was really gone or something. But right now with you here, it doesn’t feel like betrayal. It feels like maybe I’m finally ready to stop living in the past. Callum’s heart was hammering. Viven, I know this is supposed to end tomorrow. I know that was the deal, but I’m starting to think. She stopped, closed her eyes. Never mind.

Forget I said anything. What? What were you going to say? Nothing. It’s late. We should sleep. But Callum couldn’t let it go. not when she’d opened that door and given him a glimpse of something real. “I don’t want this to end tomorrow,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“I know that was the agreement. I know we’re supposed to go back to our separate lives and pretend this never happened, but I don’t want to.” Vivian’s eyes opened, and in the dim light from the city coming through the windows, they looked almost luminous. You don’t? No. Because somewhere between the hardware store story and watching you tuck my daughter into bed tonight, this stopped being fake for me.

And I know that’s probably not what you want to hear. What if it’s exactly what I want to hear? The question hung between them like a dare. Callum moved closer, crossing the invisible line they’d maintained. Then what do we do about it? I don’t know. This is complicated. We’re complicated.

You have Mera to think about and I have a company to run and we’re from completely different worlds. We’re from the same world. We’ve just been living in different parts of it. That’s very poetic for someone who works in construction. I read sometimes between hammering things. She laughed soft and surprised. This is crazy. We barely know each other.

I know you take your coffee black, but you put cream in your second cup. I know you pace when you’re nervous and you bite your bottom lip when you’re thinking hard about something. I know you love your parents desperately and you’re terrified of disappointing them. I know you blame yourself for surviving when someone you love didn’t.

He reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away and touched her face gently. I know you’re brave enough to hire a stranger off the internet to lie to your family, but you’re scared to let yourself feel anything real. That’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair, but it’s true.

Viven’s breath hitched, and then she was closing the distance between them, and Callum was kissing her before his brain could catch up to what his body was doing. She tasted like toothpaste and possibility, and her hands came up to grip his shoulders like she was afraid he might disappear. The kiss was desperate and sweet and nothing like he’d expected.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Viven rested her forehead against his. This changes everything, she whispered. I know. My parents leave tomorrow. We were supposed to end this tomorrow. We don’t have to. What are we even doing, Callum? Really? I don’t know, but I’d like to find out. He pulled back enough to see her face. If you want to, no pressure, no obligation, just possibility.

She studied him for a long moment, and Callum could see her thinking, calculating, trying to logic her way through something that couldn’t be logicked. Finally, she nodded. “Possibility?” she echoed. “I think I can do possibility.

” They kissed again, slower this time, and it felt like making a promise neither of them knew if they could keep. When they finally settled into sleep, Vivien was curled against his side, and Callum lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering what he’d just done. He’d been hired to pretend to be her boyfriend for a weekend. Instead, he’d somehow started falling for her for real. And tomorrow, when her parents left and the performance ended, they’d have to figure out what happened next, if there even was a next. Callum must have eventually drifted off because he woke to gray morning light and the sound of his phone

buzzing insistently on the nightstand. Viven was still asleep beside him, her hair spread across the pillow, peaceful in a way he’d never seen her. He grabbed his phone, expecting it to be about Mrs. Chen or the building or something normal. Instead, it was a text from an unknown number.

Tell Cross to drop the Nakamura contract, or next time, the child won’t survive. Callum sat up so fast he nearly fell out of bed. His hands were shaking as he read the message again, trying to make sense of it. The child mirror. They were threatening Meera. He was out of bed and moving before conscious thought kicked in. his mind screaming danger and protect her and get her somewhere safe. He checked the guest room.

Meera was still asleep, curled up under the blankets, blissfully unaware. Margaret was already up, dressed in her cardigan and reading in the living room with a cup of coffee. She looked up when Callum appeared, disheveled and wildeyed. “Good morning,” she started, then stopped. “Allum, what’s wrong?” “I need.” He couldn’t finish the sentence. His throat had closed up. He held out his phone with the message displayed.

Margaret took it, read it, and all the color drained from her face. Oh, God. David. David appeared from the guest room, looking concerned. What’s he saw Callum’s face, then Margaret’s, then the phone. Jesus Christ. What’s the Nakamura contract? Callum demanded, his voice harsh.

What is that? It’s a major deal Vivien’s been negotiating for months, David said, his voice tight. worth hundreds of millions. If she lands it, it’ll establish CrossT as a major player in international logistics. But there are other companies bidding, companies that stand to lose a lot if she wins. Companies that would threaten a six-year-old child. I don’t I can’t imagine. Margaret pressed her hand to her mouth.

We need to call the police right now. Viven emerged from her bedroom looking sleepy and soft. And then she saw their faces and went very still. What happened? Callum showed her the message, watched as she read it, watched as understanding and horror and rage flashed across her face in rapid succession. They threatened Meera, she said, and her voice was ice.

They threatened your daughter. Who? Who’s threatening anyone? I have an idea. Viven was already moving, grabbing her phone from where it had been charging. There’s a rival CEO who’s been particularly aggressive about the Nakamura deal. Made some concerning comments in the last negotiation session about how I should watch my back.

I thought it was just posturing, but but now someone’s threatening to hurt my child. Callum felt rage building in his chest, hot and dangerous. Give me a name, Callum. We can’t. A name, Vivien, now. She met his eyes and must have seen something there that made her decide not to argue. Richard Chen, he runs Techflow Solutions.

They were the front runner for the Nakamura contract until I submitted our revised proposal last month. Not related to Mrs. Chen, I assume. Different Chen, no relation. Viven was scrolling through her phone rapidly. I’m calling my head of security. We need to You need to drop the contract, Margaret said suddenly. Right now. Call whoever you need to call and drop out of the bidding.

Mom, I don’t care about the money or the prestige or any of it. Someone just threatened my granddaughter. Margaret’s voice was shaking but firm. You dropped that contract right now. Vivien Rose. The use of her middle name, the one she’d tried to erase after James died, made Vivien flinch.

I’m not going to let terrorists win. That’s what this is, corporate terrorism. and I’m not going to let anything happen to that little girl sleeping in my guest room. Margaret was crying now, angry tears streaming down her face. You can make more deals. You can build another company. You can’t replace a child’s life.

David had his arm around his wife, but he was looking at Viven with a mixture of pain and understanding. Your mother’s right, Viv. Whatever this deal is worth, it’s not worth Meera’s safety or yours. Mine? You think they’ll stop with threats? David’s voice was gentle but firm.

If they’re willing to go after a six-year-old, they’re willing to go after you. Drop the contract. It’s not worth it. Viven looked between her parents, then at Callum. What do you want me to do? It was such a simple question, but it felt like it carried the weight of everything. The fake relationship that had become real. The life she’d built that was being threatened. The choice between business success and human safety.

I want you to do whatever keeps my daughter safe. Callum said. I don’t care about your company or your contracts or your rivalry with this Chen I care about Meera waking up this morning without knowing that someone wants to hurt her. Okay. Viven nodded. Decision made. Okay, I I’ll handle it. How? I’m going to meet with Richard Chen today. Get this on record. Get him to admit what he did and end this.

Absolutely not. Callum said, “You’re not meeting with someone who just threatened violence. It’s the only way to protect Meera. If I drop the contract without confronting him, he’ll think intimidation works. He’ll do it again to someone else. And next time, it might not be just a threat.” Viven’s jaw was set with determination.

I’m going to meet with him in a public place. I’m going to record the conversation, and I’m going to get him to confess. Then, we go to the police with evidence, not just a threatening text. Vivien, that’s insane. What if he What if he what attacks me in a crowded restaurant? He’s not that stupid. But her voice wavered slightly.

I have to do this, Callum. For Meera, for all the other people he might threaten in the future. This has to end. Margaret looked like she wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words. David just looked tired and scared and very, very old suddenly. Then I’m coming with you, Callum said. No, if he sees you, he’ll know we got his message and he’ll get suspicious.

It has to look casual, like I’m just reaching out to negotiate. Vivien was already typing something on her phone. I’m texting him now, suggesting we meet for coffee this afternoon to discuss the contract terms. Vivien, trust me, please. She looked up from her phone and her eyes were pleading. I know what I’m doing and I promise I’ll be careful.

The phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at it and something flickered across her face. He agreed. 2:00 at the Metropolitan Cafe. That’s 5 hours from now. Then we have 5 hours to prepare and make sure Meera stays safe and figure out exactly how to handle this. Viven moved toward the guest room where Meera was sleeping.

First priority is keeping her comfortable and unaware. She doesn’t need to know about any of this. Agreed. They spent the morning in a state of controlled panic. Viven called her head of security, who arrived within 30 minutes, a severe woman named Torres, who’d apparently worked for the Secret Service before going private.

She did a sweep of the apartment, checked all the security systems, and positioned herself near the entrance with the kind of alert calm that suggested she’d done this many times before. Meera woke up around 9:00, confused about where she was until she remembered the sleepover.

She was delighted to find Margaret making pancakes, real ones this time, from a mix, but still homemade, and completely oblivious to the tension thrumming through every adult in the room. Callum held his daughter and tried not to think about the threat, about someone wanting to hurt her to get to Viven, about the fact that he’d brought her into this situation by taking money for a fake relationship that had spiraled completely out of control.

“Daddy, you’re squeezing too hard,” Meera protested, wiggling. “Sorry, baby. Just really happy to see you. You saw me last night. I know. Still happy. Viven was on her phone constantly coordinating with Torres and someone from her legal team and apparently also the police, though she was keeping her voice low so Meera wouldn’t overhear. David and Margaret were doing their best to keep Meera entertained and distracted.

But their smiles were strained. At 1:30, Viven disappeared into her room to get ready. She emerged 20 minutes later looking every inch the powerful CEO. Hair perfect, makeup flawless, wearing a suit that probably cost more than Callum’s monthly salary had been when he still had a regular job. How do I look? She asked. Like someone who could negotiate world peace, Callum said.

Or start a war. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. She checked her watch. Torres is coming with me. She’ll be at a nearby table recording everything. If anything goes wrong, nothing’s going to go wrong. If anything goes wrong, she continued firmly. She knows to intervene immediately, and the police are aware of the situation. They’ll be monitoring from a distance. This is too dangerous.

It’s necessary. Viven came to stand in front of him, and her hand found his. I’m going to end this, Callum. I’m going to make sure Meera is safe. I promise. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Then I’ll keep this one. She squeezed his hand, then turned to where Meera was coloring at the dining table. Hey Mera, can I tell you something? Mera looked up. Okay.

Your dad is one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. And you’re pretty brave, too. So if anyone ever tells you that you can’t do something because you’re scared, you remember that being scared and doing it anyway is what brave means. Okay. Meera nodded seriously. Okay. Are you going somewhere? Just a work meeting.

I’ll be back before you know it. Will you bring back a cookie? Vivien laughed and it sounded only slightly broken. I’ll bring back two cookies, one for you and one for your dad. She left with Torres and the apartment felt immediately emptier, colder. Callum checked his phone obsessively. 2:00 came and went, then 2:15, then 2:30. No updates, no messages.

Margaret tried to distract him with conversation. David suggested they play a board game. Meera asked if they could watch another movie. Callum agreed to all of it while his mind spun in endless worst case scenarios. 3:00 still nothing 3:30. At 3:45 his phone rang. Unknown number. This is Mercy Hospital. Mr. Hayes Vivien Cross has been admitted after a fall from a balcony. She’s asking for you. The world tilted sideways.

Callum’s hands went numb. The phone nearly slipped from his grip as the words repeated in his head like a broken record. Fall from a balcony. Admitted asking for you. Which hospital? His voice came out strangled, barely recognizable as his own. Mercy Hospital surgical wing. She’s in emergency surgery now, but she was conscious when she arrived and specifically requested we contact you.

I’m on my way. He hung up and turned to find Margaret, David, and Meera all staring at him. Margaret’s hand was pressed to her mouth, her face ashen. David had gone very still, that particular stillness that comes before catastrophe. What happened? David’s voice was carefully controlled. The tone of someone preparing for the worst. Viven fell from a balcony. She’s in surgery.

The words felt surreal even as he spoke them. I need to go to the hospital now. Oh god. Oh god. Margaret was crying, her hands shaking. How did she What balcony? The cafe was ground level. There’s no I don’t know. I don’t know anything except she’s asking for me and I need to be there. We’re coming with you, David said, already moving to grab his coat.

Meera, I’ll call someone to stay with her. Torres, can Torres was with Viven. Callum’s mind was racing, trying to organize chaos into something manageable. If Vivien fell, where’s Torres? Why didn’t she call me herself? Nobody had an answer. Meera was watching all of this with wide, frightened eyes. She didn’t fully understand what was happening, but she understood enough to know something was very wrong.

Daddy. Her voice was small. Is Viven okay? Callum wanted to lie. Wanted to tell her everything was fine. But he’d promised himself after Sarah died that he wouldn’t lie to his daughter about important things. She’s hurt, baby. But the doctors are helping her. I need to go see her. I want to come. You can’t.

The hospital is for grown-ups right now. But I want to see Viven. Mirror’s voice rose, tears threatening. What if she needs me? Margaret knelt down beside her, somehow pulling herself together despite her own terror. Sweetheart, the best thing you can do for Viven right now is stay here and be brave.

Can you do that? Can you be brave for me? Meera’s lip trembled, but she nodded. David was on his phone calling someone. After a brief tur conversation, he hung up. Torres isn’t answering. I’m calling the police. Tell them to meet us at Mercy, Callum said. He looked at Margaret. Can you stay with Meera? I know you want to be there, but of course, of course, I’ll stay.

Margaret pulled Meera into a hug, and Callum could see her fighting to keep her voice steady. David, you go. Call me the second you know anything. I will. I love you. I love you, too. Please. Her voice broke. Please let our girl be okay.

Callum and David left the apartment at a near run, taking the elevator down in suffocating silence. A car was waiting. David must have called for one, and they climbed in, giving the driver the hospital address with an urgency that made him immediately pull into traffic without his usual questions. The drive took 18 minutes that felt like 18 hours. David sat rigid beside Callum, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t make it worse. Callum’s mind kept circling back to the last words Vivien had said to Meera. Being scared and doing it anyway is what brave means. She’d known it was dangerous. She’d known and she’d gone anyway.

And now she was in surgery because someone had what? Pushed her. How did you fall from a balcony at a ground level cafe? Unless it wasn’t at the cafe. Unless Richard Chen had changed the location, lured her somewhere else, somewhere with height and danger and the opportunity for violence. The thought made Bile rise in Callum’s throat.

They pulled up to the hospital’s emergency entrance, and Callum was out of the car before it fully stopped, David right behind him. The automatic doors slid open, and they rushed to the reception desk where a tired-looking woman in scrubs glanced up. Vivien Cross,” Callum said breathless. “She was brought in. Fall from a balcony. Where is she?” The woman typed something into her computer.

“Are you family?” “I’m her boyfriend. This is her father.” Something in his voice must have convinced her not to argue about visiting policies. Fourth floor surgical wing, but she’s still in O. You’ll need to wait in the family area. They didn’t wait for the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time.

The fourth floor smelled like antiseptic and fear. That particular hospital smell that Callum had come to associate with the worst moments of his life. Sarah’s accident. Meera’s first severe asthma attack. Every emergency that had stripped away the illusion that the world was safe. The surgical waiting area was a study in controlled desperation. Uncomfortable chairs, yearear-old magazines, a television playing the news on mute.

A handful of other people sat in various states of anxiety, but Callum’s eyes immediately found Torres. She was sitting in the corner, her face bruised, her arm in a sling, her expression somewhere between fury and guilt. When she saw them, she stood up so fast she swayed slightly. Mr. Hayes, Mr. Cross, I’m so sorry. I’m so godamn sorry. What happened? David’s voice was sharp.

Where were you when my daughter fell? We were at the Metropolitan Cafe like planned. Chen showed up. They started talking. Normal negotiation stuff at first. Contract terms, timelines, competitive advantages. I was at a table 20 ft away recording everything. Torres’s jaw was tight with rage. Then Chen suggested they continue the conversation somewhere more private.

Said he had an office nearby, top floor of the building next door. Viven hesitated, but he played it like a power move. Like if she was too scared to follow him, she wasn’t serious about the deal. So she went. It wasn’t a question. She went. I followed obviously, but Chen had security. They blocked me in the elevator, said the meeting was confidential.

By the time I fought my way past them, she stopped, her voice thick. By the time I got to the office, I heard shouting. Chen was backing Viven toward the balcony, threatening her, saying she needed to drop the Nakamura contract or face consequences. She was recording him on her phone, getting it all on video. And then he realized what she was doing.

Callum felt his blood turned to ice. He pushed her. He tried to. Vivien fought back. She’s stronger than she looks, but he was bigger and he was angry, and he got her to the railing. Torres’s hands were shaking. I broke through the door just as he shoved her over. I got him in a chokeold, but by then it was too late.

Viven was She went over the edge. David made a sound like he’d been punched. How far did she fall? Three stories, but there’s scaffolding on the building. Renovation work. She hit it on the way down, slowed her fall. Torres looked like she might be sick. If that scaffolding hadn’t been there, she’d be dead. As it is, the paramedics said she had a chance.

A chance? Callum’s voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. What kind of chance? I don’t know. They got her stabilized at the scene and rushed her here. She was conscious when they loaded her into the ambulance. She kept saying your name. Made them promise to call you. Where’s Chen now? Police custody.

I made sure of that before I came here. They have my statement. They have the video from Viven’s phone. It was still recording when she fell. And they have about 15 witnesses who saw him in the office with her before she went over. He’s not going anywhere. Good. The word came out flat and hard because if he does, I’ll find him myself.

A doctor emerged from the double doors that led to the operating room, still in surgical scrubs with a mask pulled down around her neck. She looked exhausted in the way that came from fighting battles against impossible odds. Family of Vivian Cross. David stepped forward. I’m her father. This is He gestured to Callum. This is Callum. He’s important to her.

The doctor’s expression was professionally neutral in a way that made Callum’s stomach drop. I’m Dr. Reeves. I’ve been overseeing Vivian’s surgery. She sustained significant injuries from the fall. Multiple fractures including her left femur, tibia, and several ribs. One of the ribs punctured her lung, which caused internal bleeding.

We’ve repaired the lung and stabilized the fractures, but she lost a lot of blood. But she’s alive. David’s voice was desperate. She’s going to be okay. She’s alive. Whether she’ll be okay is a question that’ll take time to answer. The next 72 hours are critical. We’re watching for complications, infection, blood clots, internal bleeding we might have missed.

Her vitals are stable for now, but she’s in intensive care and will be heavily sedated while her body begins to heal. Can we see her? Callum asked. Dr. Reeves hesitated. Immediate family only for the first 24 hours. I’m sorry, but he’s family. David’s voice left no room for argument.

If my daughter was conscious enough to ask for him specifically, then he’s family. He sees her. The doctor studied them both, then nodded slowly. 10 minutes. She won’t be conscious, but sometimes hearing familiar voices helps. Follow me. She led them through the double doors down a hallway that seemed to stretch forever into the intensive care unit where machines beeped and hummed with the sound of people being kept alive by technology and stubbornness.

Viven’s room was at the end, glasswalled so the nurses could monitor constantly. Nothing could have prepared Callum for seeing her like this. She looked impossibly small in the hospital bed, diminished by tubes and wires and machines. Her face was bruised, her left arm in a cast, her chest rising and falling with mechanical assistance.

The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only reassurance that she was still alive, still fighting. David made a sound like a wounded animal and moved to her bedside, taking her uninjured hand in both of his. Viv, sweetheart, I’m here. Dad’s here. She didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. The machines breathed for her while her body tried to remember how to exist.

Callum stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move closer, unable to process the fact that 48 hours ago he’d answered a Craigslist ad for money. And now the woman who’d hired him was fighting for her life because she’d tried to protect his daughter. “This is my fault,” he said, and his voice sounded strange and distant. She did this because of the threat to Meera, because of me. No.

David didn’t look away from his daughter, but his voice was firm. This is Richard Chen’s fault. He made the threat. He pushed her. You didn’t do this. I brought Meera into this situation. If I hadn’t agreed to this whole fake relationship thing, if I just said no when Viven offered me money, then my daughter would have hired someone else and she’d be just as alone in that hospital bed. except she wouldn’t have you.

David finally looked up and his eyes were red- rimmed but steady. You made her happy, Callum. For the first time since James died, she was actually happy. I saw it. Margaret saw it. Don’t you dare take that away from her by drowning in guilt. She’s unconscious. She can’t hear you. She can hear. David turned back to Viven, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. She’s always been a fighter.

Even when she was little, stubborn as hell, never gave up on anything. She’s not giving up now. Callum forced himself to move closer, to stand on the opposite side of the bed from David. Up close, he could see the cuts and bruises that marked Viven’s fall. Could see the way her chest struggled against the tubes.

Could see everything that was broken and trying to heal. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” he said quietly, feeling foolish, but needing to say it anyway. “But you need to wake up.” Merror is asking about you. She wants to know if you’re okay, and I don’t know what to tell her because I don’t know if you’re going to be okay.

And your mom is back at the apartment trying to be brave, but she’s terrified. And your dad is here trying not to fall apart. And I His voice cracked. I need you to wake up because I just figured out I’m falling in love with you. And I need the chance to tell you that when you can actually hear me. The machines kept beeping their steady rhythm. Viven didn’t move.

A nurse appeared in the doorway. I’m sorry, but I need to do some checks. You’ll have to step out for a few minutes. David squeezed Vivien’s hand one more time, then stood. We’ll be right outside, sweetheart. Right outside. They retreated to the waiting area where Torres was still standing guard despite her injuries. Other people had come and gone.

Families with their own crises, their own loved ones fighting battles in sterile rooms. The world kept spinning, indifferent to individual suffering. Callum’s phone rang. Margaret. How is she? Margaret’s voice was thick with tears. Alive. Stable. But it’s bad, Margaret. It’s really bad. Callum explained what the doctor had said, trying to keep his voice even and failing. They won’t know more until she wakes up.

If she wakes up. When? When she wakes up. Margaret was crying openly now. How’s David holding up? Callum looked over at David, who’d sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs and put his head in his hands. About as well as you’d expect. Tell him I love him. Tell him to call me when he can. I will.

How’s Meera? Worried? She keeps asking when Viven is coming home. I told her Vivien needs to sleep at the hospital for a while so the doctors can make sure she’s all better. I don’t think she fully understands, but she’s trying to be brave. Callum’s chest achd. Tell her I love her. Tell her I’ll be home as soon as I can. You stay as long as you need to. Viven needs you there.

After he hung up, Callum sat down next to David. They didn’t speak. There was nothing to say that would make this bearable. Hours passed in a blur of waiting and occasional updates from nurses. Vivian’s vitals remained stable. No complications yet. She was tolerating the ventilator.

The words were medical and precise and told them nothing about whether the person they loved was still in there fighting to come back. Around midnight, Dr. Reeves appeared again. We’re going to try reducing her sedation in the morning. See if she can breathe on her own. If she does well, we can excubate and she might regain consciousness. Might? David latched on to the word. It’s always uncertain with traumatic injuries this severe, but her brain activity looks good.

No signs of significant head trauma despite the fall. I’m cautiously optimistic. Cautiously optimistic felt like the crulest phrase in the English language. David and Callum took turns sitting with Vivien through the night, 10 minutes at a time, while the other tried to rest in the waiting area. Neither of them actually slept.

Torres stayed too, refusing to leave despite the fact that her own injuries needed attention. “This is my job,” she said when Callum suggested she go home. “I failed at my job. The least I can do is make sure she wakes up so I can apologize in person.” “You didn’t fail. You saved her life by getting to that office when you did.” “I should have gotten there faster.

You got there. That’s what matters.” Dawn came slowly, gray light filtering through the waiting room windows. Callum’s phone buzzed with a text from Margaret saying Meera had finally fallen asleep around 3:00 in the morning and was still out. He sent back a thank you and a promise to call when there was news.

At 7:30, Dr. Reeves returned. We’re starting the weaning process now. If you want to be there when she potentially wakes up, now’s the time. They followed her back to Viven’s room. A respiratory therapist was already there adjusting settings on the ventilator.

Over the next hour, they gradually reduced the sedation and mechanical breathing support, watching Viven’s body remember how to function on its own. Good oxygen levels, the therapist murmured. Breathing pattern is regular. I think we can extate. The process of removing the breathing tube was clinical and efficient. And when it was done, Viven was breathing on her own with just an oxygen canula, but she still didn’t open her eyes.

Sometimes it takes a while. Dr. Reeves said the body needs time to clear the sedation, but all her signs are positive. She should wake up within the next few hours. Should, another word that promised nothing. David held his daughter’s hand and talked to her in a low, steady voice about memories from her childhood, about her mother waiting at home, about how proud he was of her strength.

Callum listened and felt like an intruder on something private and sacred. But then Vivian’s fingers twitched. Did you see that? David’s voice was sharp with hope. Her hand moved. They watched, barely breathing themselves as Viven’s face scrunched slightly as her breathing pattern changed as she began the slow climb back to consciousness. Her eyes moved beneath closed lids, rapid and searching.

“Vivien,” David said louder now. “Sweetheart, can you hear me? Open your eyes.” It took another minute, an eternity, but finally, slowly, Vivien’s eyes opened, unfocused at first, confused, scanning the room without comprehension. Then they found her father’s face, and something clicked into place. Dad. Her voice was barely a whisper, raw from the breathing tube.

I’m here. I’m right here. David was crying openly now, his hand gripping hers like she might disappear if he let go. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. What? She coughed, winced at the pain it caused. What happened? What do you remember? Vivien’s eyes closed again, and for a moment, Callum thought she’d slipped back into unconsciousness, but then she spoke, her voice faint, but clear. Chen, the balcony.

He tried to Her eyes opened wide with sudden terror. Meera, is Meera safe? She’s safe, Callum said, moving closer so she could see him. She’s at your apartment with your mom. She’s completely safe. Vivien’s eyes found him, and something in her expression shifted. Relief mixed with something deeper. You’re here. Of course, I’m here.

Where else would I be? I thought when I was falling, she coughed again, her face contorting with pain. Thought I wouldn’t get to tell you. Don’t save your strength. We can talk later. No. Need to. She was fighting to stay conscious. Fighting against pain and exhaustion and medication. Need to tell you that this weekend wasn’t fake for me. Hasn’t been fake since Friday night when you told me about the pancakes. I was falling for you before I fell off that balcony.

Callum felt his throat close up. Vivien, let me finish. Don’t know if I’ll have the courage to say it again. She managed a weak smile. I love you. I know that’s crazy. I know it’s too fast and we barely know each other and I’m a mess and you have Meera to think about, but I love you and I needed you to know in case you’re not dying, Callum said firmly, blinking back tears.

You hear me? You’re not allowed to die because I love you, too. And we have a lot to figure out and I need you alive to help me figure it out. You love me. I love you even though this started as a business arrangement and you’re a billionaire and I’m nobody. You’re not nobody. You’re everything. She was fading, her eyes struggling to stay open. Promise me something. Anything.

Don’t let Meera forget me. If something happens, nothing’s going to happen. Promise me, Callum. I promise. But you’re going to be around to remind her yourself, so it won’t matter. Vivien smiled and then her eyes closed and she slipped back into sleep. Natural sleep this time, not sedation. The heart monitor kept its steady rhythm. Her chest rose and fell without assistance. She was alive and she was healing.

And she’d just told Callum she loved him in front of her father and a room full of medical equipment. Dr. Reeves, who’d been monitoring from the doorway, nodded with satisfaction. That’s good. That’s very good. She’ll probably drift in and out for the next day or so, but the fact that she woke up and was coherent means we’re past the worst of it. She’s going to recover. David’s voice shook.

It’ll be a long recovery. Months of physical therapy, likely some chronic pain from the fractures, but yes, I believe she’s going to recover. Your daughter is incredibly strong. She gets that from her mother. Dr. Doctor Reeves left them alone, and David turned to Callum with an expression that was hard to read. So, you love my daughter? Yes, sir.

I know this is complicated, and I know I’m not what you probably wanted for her. You’re exactly what I wanted for her. You’re someone who sees her as a person, not as a company or a fortune or a project. You’re someone who makes her happy. David’s voice was thick with emotion. And you’re someone she’s willing to fight to come back to.

That’s all that matters. I don’t even know how to process this. 3 days ago, I was answering a Craigslist ad for money. Now I’m in a hospital confessing love to a woman who almost died protecting my daughter. Life’s funny that way. Changes everything when you’re not looking. David stood up stiffly, his knees cracking. I’m going to call Margaret.

Tell her Vivien woke up. You should call Meera. Let her know Vivien is okay. She won’t understand all of this. She doesn’t need to understand. She just needs to know that Viven is coming home. Callum stepped out into the hallway to make the call. Meera answered on the second ring.

Margaret must have been holding the phone. Daddy. She sounded sleepy and scared. Is Vivien okay? She’s okay, baby. She woke up. She’s going to be in the hospital for a while getting better, but she’s okay. Can I talk to her? Not right now. She’s sleeping again. But soon. Okay. As soon as she’s feeling better, you can talk to her. Tell her I love her. The words hit Callum like a physical blow.

His six-year-old daughter, who’d known Viven for less than 48 hours, had already decided she loved her. And somehow that didn’t feel too fast or too crazy. It felt exactly right. I’ll tell her, Callum said. I love you, Mera. Love you, too, Daddy. Come home soon. He hung up and stood in the hallway, trying to organize his thoughts into something that made sense.

The last 3 days had been a whirlwind of lies that became truth, business that became personal, performance that became reality. He’d come here for money and ended up finding something worth infinitely more. Torres appeared beside him, somehow silent despite her injuries. She awake? Yeah. Conscious and talking. Told her father and me she loves me in front of God and medical staff. That’s very viven.

no sense of appropriate timing, but Torres was smiling slightly. I’m glad she’s okay. And I’m sorry, Hayes, for all of this. If I’d been faster, “You did your job. You kept her alive. That’s all that matters. I should have kept her from falling in the first place. Then you would have been two women against one man willing to commit violence. You did what you could, and it was enough.

” Callum met her eyes. Thank you for being there, for fighting for her. Torres nodded once, accepting the gratitude. What happens now? I don’t know. I guess we wait for her to get better. Figure out what comes next. And the arrangement, the whole fake boyfriend thing wasn’t fake.

Maybe it started that way, but it hasn’t been fake since since when? Since Friday night when she’d cried on the balcony. Since Saturday morning with Meera and Pancakes. Since the moment he’d first seen her pacing in her penthouse, terrified and human beneath all that polish. Since the beginning, probably. I just didn’t realize it. Love’s like that sometimes. Sneaks up on you when you’re looking the other way.

They stood in companionable silence for a moment and then Torres’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it and her expression hardened. Police want my statement about Chen. I need to go to the station. Tell them he needs to rot in prison for a very long time. Oh, don’t worry. Between the attempted murder charge and the threatening a minor charge, he won’t see daylight for decades. Torres headed toward the elevator, then paused.

Hayes, take care of her. Viven, I mean, she deserves someone who will take care of her. I will. I promise. After Torres left, Callum returned to Viven’s room. David had fallen asleep in the chair beside the bed, exhausted from hours of vigil. Viven was still sleeping, peaceful now, the lines of pain smoothed from her face.

Callum sat in the other chair and watched her breathe, watched the monitors confirm her continued existence and let himself feel the full weight of everything that had happened. She’d almost died. His daughter had been threatened. A man was in custody for attempted murder. And somehow, impossibly, in the middle of all that chaos and terror, he’d fallen in love.

The sun rose higher outside the window, filling the room with golden light. People moved through the hallways, nurses and doctors and other families with their own crises and joys. Life continued its relentless forward march. Viven stirred around noon, her eyes opening more easily this time.

She looked around, oriented herself, then found Callum sitting beside her bed. Still here,” she murmured. “Where else would I be?” Thought maybe I dreamed the part where we confessed our feelings. “Not a dream, very real, very public. Your father heard everything.” “Good. Saves me from having to explain later.” She winced as she tried to shift position. “Everything hurts.

You fell three stories. Everything’s supposed to hurt. Did they get Chen?” Police have him. Torres made sure of it. And apparently your phone was still recording when you went over the balcony. They have everything on video. The threats, the assault, all of it. Good. Viven’s jaw was set with satisfaction despite her obvious pain. Mirror’s safe. Completely safe.

She’s asking about you constantly. Told me to tell you she loves you. Something in Viven’s expression crumbled. She barely knows me. Apparently, that doesn’t matter to six-year-olds or to 32-year-old construction workers for that matter.

We really are doing this, aren’t we? This relationship that started as a business transaction and became real somewhere along the way. Seems like it. Unless you want to back out now that you’re thinking clearly. I’m on heavy pain medication. This is probably the least clearly I’ve thought in years. But she reached for his hand with her uninjured arm. I don’t want to back out. I want to see where this goes.

Even though it’s complicated and messy and probably going to require extensive negotiation about things like where we live and how we blend our lives and whether Meera can handle having a stepmother who almost died protecting her. You’re already planning that far ahead. I’m a planner. It’s what I do. Plus, the pain medication is making me very emotionally honest. Callum laughed despite everything.

Then I should probably ask you questions while you’re in this state. Get all the truth I can. Ask me anything. Do you regret hiring me off Craigslist? No. Best $10,000 I ever spent and I once paid that much for a single bottle of wine at a charity auction.

Did you really not know it wasn’t fake before Friday night? Vivien was quiet for a moment. I knew, maybe not consciously, but I knew. When you talked about Sarah and the pancakes and letting go of grief, that’s when I couldn’t pretend anymore. That’s when I realized I’d hired you to play a role and you’d somehow become real instead. And you’re really okay with all of this, with me and Meera, and the fact that we come as a package deal? I love Meera.

I know I barely know her, but I love her. She’s funny and smart, and she looks at the world like it’s full of possibility instead of problems. And you, Vivien, squeezed his hand. You remind me that life is supposed to be lived, not just survived. You make me want to be better, not more successful. Better.

That might be the pain medication talking. It’s not. It’s me finally being honest about what I want. She yawned, fighting against exhaustion. I want you. I want a life that includes more than board meetings and quarterly earnings. I want Sunday breakfasts and bedtime stories and someone to come home to who cares about me as a person instead of as a company valuation. I can do that.

I want to do that. Good. Because I’m going to be in this hospital for at least a week and then I’ll need physical therapy and probably someone to help me navigate stairs and remember to take my medication. Fair warning. I’m not going anywhere. Promise? I promise. Vivien’s eyes were closing again, her body demanding rest. “Love you,” she mumbled.

“Even though that’s terrifying and irrational and definitely too fast.” “Love you, too. And it’s not too fast, it’s exactly the right speed for a relationship that started with a Craigslist ad and ended with attempted murder.” She laughed softly, already half asleep. “We’re going to have the weirdest how we met story.” “Yeah, we really are.

” Callum sat with her as she drifted back into healing sleep. And David woke up and they took turns keeping watch. And the day passed in the particular timelessness of hospitals, where minutes stretched and hours disappeared. Margaret arrived in the evening with Meera, who’d insisted she needed to see Vivien with her own eyes to believe she was okay. Dr.

Reeves bent the rules about children in the ICU, probably because David asked nicely, or possibly because even doctors recognized that some things mattered more than regulations. Meera approached the hospital bed with her characteristic seriousness, taking in the casts and bruises and machines with wide eyes. “Vivien,” she said softly, “are you awake?” Vivien’s eyes opened, and when she saw Meera, her whole face lit up despite the pain. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m awake.

Daddy said you fell. That sounds scary. It was scary, but I’m okay now. The doctors fixed me up. Did it hurt? Yes, quite a lot. But it’s getting better every day. Mera considered this, then very carefully climbed up onto the chair beside the bed so she could see Vivien better. I made you a drawing. Want to see it? I would love to see it.

Meera produced a folded piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it with great ceremony. The drawing showed three stick figures, one tall with dark hair labeled Vivian, one medium with lighter hair labeled daddy, and one small with a rainbow shirt labeled me. They were all holding hands and above them was a massive rainbow and several stars.

That’s us, Mera explained. We’re a family. Because Margaret said families take care of each other and we’re taking care of you. So, that means we’re a family, right? Vivien was crying, tears streaming down her face as she looked at the drawing. Right. That’s exactly right. We’re a family. Don’t cry.

You’re supposed to be getting better. These are happy tears, baby. Sometimes people cry when they’re happy. That’s weird. Yeah, it kind of is. Meera reached out and very gently touched Viven’s hand, careful of the IV line. I love you, Vivien. Even though I just met you. Is that okay? That’s more than okay.

That’s perfect. Vivien looked over at Callum, her eyes bright with tears and joy and something that looked like hope. I love you, too, Meera, so much. Callum watched his daughter and the woman he loved connect over a crayon drawing, and he felt something settle in his chest, something that had been broken and afraid for so long, finally finding peace.

This wasn’t how he’d expected his life to go. But maybe the best things never were. Margaret was watching, too. And when she caught Callum’s eyes, she mouthed, “Thank you.” with such sincerity that he nearly started crying himself. David just smiled and nodded, the kind of approval that meant everything. They stayed until Meera started yawning, and then Callum carried his sleepy daughter out to the car while Margaret and David said their good nights to Viven. In the elevator, Mera rested her head on his shoulder.

Daddy. Yeah, baby. Is Viven going to live with us when she gets better? I don’t know. We haven’t talked about that yet. Would you want her to? Yes. I like her. And she needs someone to take care of her because she got hurt saving us. She didn’t save us, Meera. She saved herself. But she did it because someone was mean about us. Margaret told me.

She said, “Vivien was brave and protected our family.” Meera yawned again. “So, she’s a hero, and heroes should live with the people they save. That’s how stories work.” Callum kissed the top of his daughter’s head, breathing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. “You know what? You might be right about that. I’m always right.

You tell me that all the time. I tell you, you’re smart. That’s different from always being right.” Close enough. They drove back to Vivien’s building. their building now, at least temporarily, since the gas leak evacuation was still in effect.

Margaret had insisted they stay in the penthouse as long as they needed, and Callum was too tired to argue. Besides, it felt right somehow, staying in the space where this whole impossible story had started. He got Meera into pajamas and tucked into the guest bed, then sat with her until she fell asleep. When he emerged, he found Margaret in the kitchen making tea. “She’s out,” he said.

Today was a lot for her. It was a lot for all of us. Margaret handed him a cup. How are you holding up? Honestly, I don’t know. 3 days ago, my biggest worry was making rent. Now I’m in love with your daughter, and someone tried to kill her, and my whole life has been turned upside down. But is it a good upside down? Callum thought about it.

Yeah, yeah, it’s a good upside down. Terrifying, but good. That’s how the best things usually are. Margaret sipped her tea thoughtfully. I need to tell you something about the money. What money? The $10,000 Vivian paid you. David and I know about the arrangement. Callum felt his stomach drop. She told you? She didn’t have to. We’re her parents. We’ve known her for 31 years. We could tell something was off.

The timing was too convenient. The story was too practiced. But you know what we also saw? What? We saw a genuine feeling underneath the performance. We saw Viven looking at you the way she used to look at James. We saw you being kind to her, not because you were paid to, but because you actually cared. Margaret set down her cup.

So, yes, we knew it started as a business arrangement and we didn’t say anything because we wanted to see where it went naturally. Turns out it went somewhere beautiful. You’re not upset. Why would I be upset? My daughter found someone who loves her for her, not for her money. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.

She could have found someone without hiring them off the internet. Maybe. Or maybe this was exactly how it needed to happen. Someone meeting her without any preconceptions, without being intimidated by her success, without wanting something from her except to help her parents rest easy. Margaret touched his arm gently. You gave us peace, Callum.

Not because you lied, but because you showed us that Viven was capable of letting someone in again. That alone was worth everything. Callum felt tears prickling his eyes. “I don’t know how to do this. Be with someone like Viven. Our worlds are so different. So were Margaret and mine when we met,” David said, appearing in the kitchen doorway. She was a teacher making 30,000 a year.

I was an engineer making three times that. Her family thought I was too focused on work. My family thought she was too idealistic. Everyone had opinions about why it wouldn’t work. But you made it work anyway. Because we loved each other more than we cared about what other people thought. That’s the secret.

Not compatibility or shared interests or being from the same world. It’s choosing each other every day, even when it’s hard. David joined them at the counter. You and Vivien, you’ll have challenges, different lifestyles, different resources, different expectations. But if you keep choosing each other, you’ll figure it out.

And if we don’t, then at least you tried. At least you took the chance when it was offered instead of running away because it was scary. They talked for another hour about logistics and possibilities and the thousand practical details that would need addressing once Viven was released from the hospital.

Where they would live, Callum’s building was still dealing with the gas leak aftermath, and his apartment had never been suitable for a family anyway. how they would blend their lives, Viven’s high-powered career with Callum’s construction work and Meera’s school schedule, what they would tell people, the truth, mostly, minus the Craigslist ad.

By the time Callum fell into bed, Viven’s bed, which still smelled like her perfume, he was exhausted and overwhelmed and happier than he’d been in years. His phone buzzed with a text from Viven. She must have convinced a nurse to give her phone back. Still can’t believe you love me. Must be the pain medication talking. He texted back.

Not the medication, just reality. Get some sleep. I’ll be there tomorrow. Counting on it. Tell Mer I’m keeping her drawing next to my bed. We’ll do. Love you. Love you, too. Even though this is crazy, especially because it’s crazy. Callum sat down his phone and stared at the ceiling.

And somewhere between replaying the day’s events and worrying about tomorrow, he fell asleep smiling. because sometimes the craziest things turned out to be exactly right. The next six days blurred together in a rhythm of hospital visits, physical therapy sessions witnessed through glass windows, and Meera asking every morning when Viven could come home.

Callum split his time between the hospital and the penthouse, between being the support Vivien needed and the father Meera deserved, and somehow managing to be present for both. Even when exhaustion made his bones ache, Viven proved to be a terrible patient in the best possible way.

She complained about the hospital food, argued with the physical therapist about her limitations, and tried to conduct board meetings from her hospital bed until Dr. Reeves threatened to confiscate her laptop. But she also worked harder than anyone at her recovery, pushing through pain that made her gasp, determined to heal fast enough to reclaim her life. “You don’t have to prove anything,” Callum told her on day four, watching her grit her teeth through leg exercises that clearly hurt more than she’d admit. “I’m not proving anything. I’m getting better, so I can come home. The penthouse isn’t going

anywhere. Take your time. It’s not the penthouse I’m in a hurry to get back to. She looked at him with such naked honesty it made his chest tight. It’s you and Meera. I want to be part of your daily life, not just the person you visit in a hospital. You’re already part of our daily life.

Meera talks about you constantly. She’s planning all the things she wants to show you when you’re better. her toy collection, her favorite playground, the library where Mrs. Chen takes her on Saturdays. Mrs. Chen got released yesterday, right? Yeah. Clean bill of health. She wants to visit you, but I told her to wait until you’re home.

She feels guilty about the gas leak, even though it wasn’t remotely her fault. Tell her to come whenever she wants. I owe her for taking care of Meera all those times and for apparently grabbing a stuffed rabbit while evacuating a building. She’s a special kind of person, the rare neighbor who becomes family, whether you plan for it or not.

Viven was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. I’ve been thinking about family a lot, about what it means, how it’s built. I always thought it was something you were born into or created through marriage and children. But maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe it’s just the people who show up when things get hard.

Like your parents flying across the country to meet a boyfriend they’d never heard of until 5 days before. Like that. Or like a construction worker taking a ridiculous job off Craigslist to pay his daughter’s medical bills and somehow ending up as the most important person in my life. Second most important, Callum corrected.

Your parents clearly rank higher. You’re tied. Don’t argue about it. Wouldn’t dream of it. The police came on day five to take Vivian’s formal statement. She recounted the meeting with Richard Chen with clinical precision. Every threat, every shove, the moment she realized he intended to kill her.

Her phone footage corroborated everything. And the detective told them Chen’s lawyer was already making noises about a plea deal. Over my dead body, Viven said flatly. He threatened a six-year-old child and tried to murder me. He gets the maximum sentence or I make it my personal mission to ensure he never works again.

Ma’am, that’s really a decision for the DA. Then tell the DA I’ll be calling. I have lawyers. Very good lawyers. Very persistent lawyers. The detective left looking slightly shell shocked. And Callum couldn’t help but smile. You’re terrifying when you want to be. I’m a billionaire CEO who clawed her way to the top of a male-dominated industry.

Terrifying is part of the job description. But then her expression softened. Although I’m trying to be less terrifying in my personal life, more approachable, more human. You’re plenty human. Trust me. Am I though? Before all this, I’m not sure I was. I was a machine optimized for success. Everything else was secondary.

And now, now I’m remembering what it feels like to want things that can’t be measured in quarterly earnings. Like Sunday mornings with no agenda, like teaching a six-year-old about first edition books. like falling asleep next to someone who makes me feel safe instead of alone.

They hadn’t talked explicitly about what happened after she was released from the hospital. But the assumption had settled between them like bedrock. They were doing this, building something real out of the wreckage and chaos. The details could be worked out later. Margaret and David extended their trip indefinitely, telling their friends back in Boston there was a family situation that required their presence. They fell into a routine at the penthouse that felt surprisingly natural.

Margaret cooking elaborate breakfasts that were only slightly burnt. David helping Meera with puzzles while dispensing engineering wisdom she absolutely didn’t need. All of them pretending this was normal while secretly marveling at how strange and wonderful life could become when you stop trying to control every variable.

You know what I realized? David said one evening while Callum helped him clean up after dinner. This whole situation, the fake relationship, the real feelings, the dramatic near-death experience, it’s exactly the kind of story Viven would have dismissed as unrealistic before it happened to her.

You think she would have hired someone like me if she’d known it would turn out this way? I think she hired you hoping it would turn out exactly this way, even if she didn’t consciously realize it. My daughter is brilliant, but she’s also terrified of vulnerability. Hiring a stranger for a weekend meant she could control the situation. defined beginning, defined end. No actual risk to her heart.

David dried a plate thoughtfully, except she picked someone who turned out to be genuinely good, and who saw through her armor, and who made her want things she’d convinced herself she couldn’t have anymore. You give me too much credit, and you don’t give yourself enough.

You walked into an impossible situation and made it work through sheer decency and emotional honesty. That’s not nothing. I fell in love with her. That’s not exactly virtuous. That just happened. Love doesn’t just happen, Callum. It’s a choice you make every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. You chose to see Vivien as a person instead of a paycheck.

You chose to be honest about your grief and your struggles instead of performing someone you thought she wanted. You chose to bring your daughter into the situation, even though it made everything more complicated. Those were all choices, and they were all good ones. Callum set down the dish he’d been drying and looked at David directly. Can I ask you something, father to father? Of course.

Do you think I’m good enough for her? Really? Because I look at what she’s built and who she is and the life she could have. And then I look at what I can offer. A tiny apartment once the gas leak is fixed. A part-time job that barely pays the bills. A daughter with medical expenses that never stop. And I don’t see how this works long term.

David was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of lived experience. When Margaret and I got married, my mother pulled me aside and told me I was making a mistake. Said Margaret was too different from our family, too idealistic, too focused on her students instead of building wealth or status.

Said I’d regret choosing someone who couldn’t give me the kind of life I deserved. What did you say? I told her that Margaret was the only person who’d ever made me want to be better instead of just more successful. That she made me laugh and challenged my assumptions and loved me for who I was instead of what I could provide.

And that if my mother couldn’t see the value in that, it said more about her values than Margaret’s worth. David smiled slightly. We didn’t talk for 2 years after that. But Margaret and I built something real, messy and imperfect, and absolutely worth every sacrifice. Viven deserves better than messy and imperfect.

Viven deserves real. She’s had perfect, perfect apartment, perfect company, perfect life on paper. And she was slowly dying inside because perfect isn’t the same as fulfilled. You make her fulfilled. You and Meera remind her that life is supposed to include joy and spontaneity and people who matter more than board meetings.

David gripped Callum’s shoulder. So yes, you’re good enough for my daughter, more than good enough. And anyone who suggests otherwise can take it up with me. The conversation stayed with Callum as the week progressed. As Viven grew stronger and the discharge date approached, he’d been so focused on the immediate crisis, keeping everyone safe, supporting Vivian’s recovery, maintaining normaly for Meera that he hadn’t fully processed what came next.

They loved each other, yes, but love and logistics were different things entirely. On day seven, Dr. Dr. Reeves declared Vivien ready for discharge with strict instructions about physical therapy, pain management, and not returning to work for at least 3 weeks. Viven negotiated this down to 2 weeks and limited remote work, which Dr.

Reeves accepted with the resigned air of someone who knew pushing further was futile. “You’re a menace to medical authority,” the doctor said, but she was smiling. “I’ll see you for followup in 2 weeks. Try not to fall off any more balconies before then. I’ll do my best, my ch. They transported Viven home in a wheelchair she insisted she didn’t need but couldn’t quite walk without yet.

And when the elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse, Meera was there waiting with a banner she’d made that said, “Welcome home, Vivien.” in rainbow letters with glitter that was already shedding everywhere. “You made this?” Vivian’s voice was thick with emotion. Margaret helped with the spelling, but I did all the decorating.

Meera approached the wheelchair carefully, mindful of the casts and bruises that were still healing. Does it still hurt? A little, but seeing you makes it hurt less. That’s not how medicine works. Maybe not, but it’s how feelings work. Mera considered this with her characteristic seriousness, then nodded like Vivien had passed some internal test.

Okay, do you want to see my room? Margaret said I could pick any guest room and I picked the one with the window that faces the park because sometimes you can see dogs walking and dogs are important. Dogs are very important. I’d love to see your room.

Callum pushed the wheelchair gently over Viven’s protest that she could do it herself and followed his daughter down the hallway. The guest room had been transformed over the past week into something that looked like Meera actually lived there. Her drawings covered one wall. Her toys were organized in the closet. Her favorite books lined the shelf.

Margaret had even found a stuffed unicorn to keep Bunny company now that he’d been retrieved from Mrs. Chen. This is amazing, baby. Callum said. When did you do all this? Margaret helped me every day while you were at the hospital. She said if we’re staying here, I should make it feel like home. Meera looked between her father and Vivien. Are we staying here for real? The question hung in the air.

unanswered logistics suddenly demanding resolution. Vivien looked at Callum, a question in her eyes. “What do you think? Is this home?” “I don’t know,” Callum said honestly. “It’s your home. We’re just guests.” “That’s not true. This place has been more of a home in the past week with you and Meera here than it’s been in the 3 years I’ve owned it.

Before it was just where I slept between work commitments. Now, it’s where I want to be.” She reached for his hand. I want you to stay, both of you. Not as guests, as family. Viven, that’s We can’t just move into your penthouse. That’s too much. Why? It has plenty of space. Meera clearly loves it here based on the decorating job, and I need someone to help me through physical therapy and make sure I don’t try to sneak back to work before I’m supposed to. She squeezed his hand.

Besides, your building is still dealing with the gas leak aftermath. The landlord told you it could be another month before residents can return, right? Yeah, but I can find temporary housing or you could stay here with me and save money on rent and we could see what it’s like to actually live together instead of just visiting in a hospital. Vivien’s voice was soft but determined.

Unless you don’t want to, in which case I understand and we can figure something else out. Callum looked around the room at Mera’s drawings on the walls. At the toys that suggested permanence, at the unicorn sitting next to Bunny like they’d always belonged together. Then he looked at his daughter, who was watching this conversation with an intensity that suggested she understood far more than her six years should allow.

What do you think, Meera? Do you want to live here? Yes, obviously. She said it like it was the simplest question in the world. Viven needs us and we need her. That’s what families do. They need each other. When did you get so wise? I’ve always been wise. You just don’t always listen. Viven was crying again. The happy tears she’d been prone to since waking up in the hospital. So that’s a yes.

You’ll stay on one condition. Callum said, “I pay rent or contribute to expenses somehow. I’m not a charity case and I’m not comfortable living off your money. You’re not living off my money. You’re living with someone who loves you and happens to have resources that make life easier. There’s a difference.

It doesn’t feel like a difference from my side. Then what would make it feel okay to you? Callum thought about it. I keep working. I contribute to household expenses within my actual means. And we split Meera’s costs. I don’t let you pay for her school or medical bills or anything like that. She’s my responsibility.

What if I want to help with those things because I love her and want to make her life easier? Then we discuss it case by case and I get veto power if it makes me uncomfortable. Viven studied him and he could see her CEO brain working through negotiations. Counter offer. You keep working because I know that’s important to your sense of self.

You contribute to household expenses in whatever way feels right to you. Whether that’s money or cooking or helping Margaret with grocery shopping or building the bookshelf I’ve been meaning to install for two years. And regarding Mera’s expenses, we discuss everything, but I get to occasionally spoil her with gifts that have nothing to do with necessity and everything to do with me wanting to see her smile.

Occasional gifts are fine. Private school tuition is not. What about dance classes if she wants to take them? We can discuss dance classes, piano lessons, also discussable. A pony, absolutely not. But if I happen to buy a small pony, Vivian, we live in a penthouse in Manhattan. Where exactly would we keep a pony? I could buy a house with land, Connecticut, maybe.

Weekend place for family trips. Callum laughed despite himself. You’re impossible. I’m in love and I’m rich and I want to make the people I love happy. Sue me. Can I have a pony?” Meera asked, her eyes wide with hope. “No,” Callum said firmly. “Maybe,” Vivien said at the same time. They looked at each other and then both started laughing, Vivien wincing because it hurt her ribs.

Callum shaking his head at the absurdity of negotiating pony logistics when a week ago he’d been worried about making rent. “We’ll discuss the pony later,” Vivian said. diplomatically. Much later, like when Meera is 16. I’m 6 now. That’s a long time to wait. Good things are worth waiting for.

Margaret appeared in the doorway with a knowing smile. Sounds like we’re having important negotiations about household pets. Should I come back? No, we’re done. Callum and Meera are staying permanently, or at least long term. We’re still figuring out the details. Vivien looked tired but happier than Callum had ever seen her. And apparently I’m not allowed to buy a pony.

Wise decision. Ponies are expensive and temperamental. Margaret came into the room, but I think this calls for a celebration. I’ve been planning a welcome home dinner all week. David’s setting the table as we speak. They gathered in the dining room an hour later, and Margaret had outdone herself.

Roast chicken that was only slightly overdone. vegetables that were perfectly cooked, fresh bread from the bakery down the street, and a chocolate cake for dessert that she’d definitely not made herself, but proudly presented anyway. To family, David said, raising his wine glass. Both the family were born with and the family we choose.

To family, they echoed, and Meera clinkedked her juice glass against everyone else’s with great ceremony. The dinner was long and loud and full of the particular chaos that comes from people who are still learning each other’s rhythms but are committed to figuring it out.

Meera told elaborate stories about kindergarten drama that seemed impossibly complex for six-year-olds. David and Callum debated the best way to install the bookshelf Vivien had mentioned, which somehow devolved into a discussion of loadbearing walls and engineering principles that went completely over everyone else’s heads. Margaret kept jumping up to get things people didn’t need but appreciated anyway.

More butter, extra napkins, a pillow for Viven’s back. Halfway through dessert, Vivien’s phone rang. She glanced at it, and her expression shifted to something like resignation mixed with determination. It’s my VP of operations. I should take this. It’s probably about the Nakamura contract.

You’re supposed to be resting, not conducting business, Margaret said, but without much hope of being obeyed. It’s just a phone call. I’ll be quick. Viven excused herself to the living room, and they could hear her talking in low, professional tones. When she returned 15 minutes later, her face was unreadable. Everything okay? Callum asked. The Nakamura representatives heard about what happened with Richard Chen.

They’re pulling their offer from Techflow Solutions and want to expedite negotiations with CrossT. She sat down heavily, careful of her injuries. They said my willingness to risk my life to expose corporate terrorism demonstrated the kind of integrity they want in a partner. That’s good news, right? David said, “You win the contract.

” I win the contract. $400 million establishes CrossT as a global leader. everything I’ve been working toward for three years. Viven looked down at her hands. And all I can think is that it’s not worth what it cost. Not even close. You didn’t do it for the contract, Callum said quietly. You did it to protect Meera. I did it for both. I won’t pretend I was purely altruistic.

I wanted the contract and I wanted to protect your daughter and I wanted to prove I could take down someone who thought he could intimidate me. She looked around the table at her parents, at Callum, at Meera, who was watching this conversation with fascination despite probably understanding only half of it.

But you know what I realized while I was on that phone call? The contract doesn’t make me happy. It makes me successful, which I used to think was the same thing. But sitting here with all of you, eating Margaret’s slightly burnt chicken and listening to Meera’s stories and planning bookshelves with my father and my She stopped looking at Callum.

What are you exactly? Boyfriend seems inadequate. Partner sounds too clinical. How about the person who loves you? Callum suggested. The person who loves me, Vivian repeated, testing the words. This makes me happy. The contract is just work. Important work, but still just work.

Margaret was crying again because apparently emotional tears were hereditary in the Cross family. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say something like that. I know, Mom. I’m sorry it took a near-death experience to figure it out. Better late than never. They finished dinner and moved to the living room where David insisted on watching a movie that everyone agreed to, despite it being clearly chosen for his benefit alone.

Meera fell asleep halfway through, curled against Vivian’s uninjured side like she’d been doing it her whole life. Margaret and David eventually excused themselves to their guest room, and Callum carefully lifted Meera to carry her to bed. She’s gotten heavy, he murmured, adjusting his grip. She’s growing up, Vivien said. Um, that’s what kids do. Don’t remind me. She’s already six. Next thing I know, she’ll be 16 and wanting that pony you promised.

I didn’t promise. I said maybe. In parent language, maybe means yes. Then I guess we’d better start looking at properties in Connecticut. Callum got Meera settled in her room, Bunny and the unicorn tucked in beside her, nightlight glowing softly. When he returned to the living room, Vivien was standing by the windows, looking out at the city. She moved slowly, carefully, still limited by healing bones and damaged tissue.

He came to stand beside her. How are you feeling? Really? tired, sore, like I got hit by a truck and then had surgery and then tried to negotiate a $400 million contract from a dining room table. She leaned against him slightly, but also happy. Genuinely happy for the first time in 3 years.

Because of the contract? Because I almost died and discovered I had something worth living for. Multiple somethings, actually. She turned to face him, and in the dim light from the city, her eyes were luminous. Can I tell you something? I’ve been afraid to say out loud. Anything. When I was falling, those few seconds between Chen pushing me and hitting the scaffolding, I wasn’t thinking about my company or my achievements or anything I’d built professionally.

I was thinking about you and Meera and how much I wanted to survive so I could have breakfast with you the next morning. That’s when I knew this was real. That’s when I knew I’d been lying to myself about what mattered. Vivian, let me finish. I’ve spent 3 years building an empire as a monument to James as proof that his death wasn’t meaningless, as evidence that I could survive without falling apart. But I wasn’t surviving.

I was existing, going through motions, hitting metrics, collecting achievements like they could fill the hole inside me. She took his hand. You showed me the difference. You and Meera reminded me that life is supposed to include more than work. That grief doesn’t mean giving up on joy. That it’s okay to want things even when you’re scared of losing them.

I didn’t do anything except fall in love with you. You did everything. You saw me, really saw me, when everyone else just saw the company or the money or the potential business connection. You saw a person who was hurting and lonely and desperately trying to convince herself she was fine. She squeezed his hand.

I’m not fine, Callum. I’m probably not going to be fine for a long time, but I want to try. I want to build something real with you, even though it’s terrifying. And I have no idea what I’m doing. And I’ll probably screw it up multiple times before I figure it out. We’ll screw it up together.

That’s what relationships are. Mutual screw-ups with occasional moments of getting it right. That’s very romantic. I’m a construction worker who answered a Craigslist ad for money. I’m not winning any prizes for romance. You’re wrong about that. Viven reached up to touch his face, gentle despite the IV bruise still visible on her hand.

Everything about this has been romantic in the way that actually matters. Not grand gestures or expensive gifts, but real intimacy, real vulnerability, real choice. Callum kissed her then, soft and careful, mindful of her healing ribs and the pain she wouldn’t admit to. She kissed him back with the particular intensity of someone who’d faced death and chosen life, who’d let go of ghosts to embrace possibility. When they finally pulled apart, Viven was smiling.

So, this is really happening. We’re really doing this. Apparently, you’re stuck with me and my daughter and our complete lack of sophistication. Good. I have enough sophistication for all of us. She yawned, and Callum could see exhaustion pulling at her. I should probably go to bed, Dr.

Reeves said rest was important for healing, and I’ve been ignoring that advice all day. Shocking. You ignoring medical advice? I contained multitudes. He helped her to the bedroom, their bedroom now, which was still a strange thought, and got her settled with pillows positioned to support her casts and a glass of water and her pain medication within reach.

She fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted by her first day home. Callum lay beside her and watched the city lights paint patterns on the ceiling, and he thought about trajectories. A week ago, this had been a job, a transaction, a desperate man taking money from a desperate woman so they could both maintain the illusion of having their lives together.

Now, it was something else entirely, something real and complicated and terrifying and absolutely worth every risk. His phone buzzed with a text from David. Thank you for loving my daughter, for seeing her. Margaret and I leave tomorrow morning, but we’ll be back soon. Take care of each other. Callum typed back.

Thank you for trusting me with her and for not calling me out when you knew this started as a business arrangement. We knew you’d figure it out. Sometimes people need permission to want what they want. Consider this your permission. In the morning, Margaret and David packed their bags with the particular efficiency of people who’d been married for decades and knew each other’s packing routines by heart.

“Mera was devastated by their departure, having grown attached to her grandparents during the intense week they’d shared. “But you just got here,” she protested, her lip trembling. “We’ve been here for over a week, sweetheart,” Margaret said, kneeling down to hug her. “But we’ll be back soon.

Maybe you and your dad and Vivien can come visit us in Boston. We have a much smaller house, but it has a backyard and your grandfather’s workshop and my garden. Will there be cookies? So many cookies. I’ll bake a different kind every day you’re there.

Even the chocolate chip ones with walnuts, especially those that seemed to satisfy Meera, who extracted promises of phone calls and video chats and photographic evidence of the cookies before allowing Margaret to stand up. David said his goodbyes with characteristic brevity. Hugs all around. A long look at Viven that communicated volumes without words. A firm handshake with Callum that turned into a brief embrace.

Take care of my girls, David said quietly. I will. I promise. And take care of yourself, too. You can’t pour from an empty cup. Did Margaret teach you that phrase? She has many phrases. I’ve learned to listen to most of them. After Margaret and David left, the penthouse felt simultaneously larger and more intimate.

Just the three of them now, Callum and Vivien and Meera, figuring out how to be a family without the buffer of grandparents or the distraction of crisis. The first few days were awkward in the way that new living arrangements always are. They negotiated bathroom schedules and cooking responsibilities and quiet hours for Meera’s bedtime.

Viven attended physical therapy appointments with grim determination, pushing through pain to regain mobility. Callum returned to work part-time, careful to be home in the afternoons when Meera got back from school. Meera adjusted to her new routine with the flexibility of childhood, accepting this strange new life where she lived in a penthouse with her father and his girlfriend, who she decided to love with the totality that six-year-olds brought to all decisions. Mrs.

Chen visited one afternoon, bringing homemade dumplings and apologies she didn’t need to make. “I’m so sorry about the gas leak. If I’d known, if I’d checked, it wasn’t your fault,” Callum said firmly. “And you saved Meera by grabbing Bunny. That’s what matters.” “Still to think what could have happened if you’d been home,” Mrs. Chen shuddered. “I’m just grateful everyone is safe.

” She stayed for tea and Meera showed her the new room with great pride and Vivien listened to stories about the old apartment building with genuine interest. When Mrs. Chen left, she hugged Callum tightly. You’re a good man, Callum Hayes. That girl is lucky to have you. I’m lucky to have her. Both of them. I can see that.

And I’m glad you finally let yourself be happy again. Sarah would want that for you. The mention of Sarah’s name still hurt. probably always would, but it was a gentler pain now, the kind that came from remembering love instead of drowning in loss. 2 weeks after Viven came home from the hospital, Richard Chen’s trial date was set.

The DA called to discuss Viven’s testimony, and she spent an afternoon going over her statement with prosecutors, who seemed almost gleeful about the strength of their case. Between Viven’s video recording, Torres’s eyewitness account, and multiple charges ranging from attempted murder to corporate terrorism to threatening a minor, Chen was looking at decades in prison.

He’s trying to negotiate a plea deal, the DA told Vivien. His lawyers are pushing hard. They want to avoid trial. What kind of deal? 15 years with possibility of parole after 10. No. Viven’s voice was flat. He tried to kill me. He threatened a six-year-old child. He doesn’t get to negotiate his way out of consequences.

Miss Cross, with all due respect, a trial means you’ll have to testify. Relive the experience publicly. Face him in court. I know what it means, and I’m prepared to do it. The prosecutor looked at her with something like, “Respect. Then we’ll see you in court.” After the call ended, Vivien sat very still on the couch and Callum came to sit beside her.

you okay? I’m terrified, but I’m doing it anyway. She leaned against him. You were right, you know, about brave meaning doing things even when you’re scared. I was quoting you to Meera. You’re the one who said it first. Then we’re both wise. What a team. The trial was scheduled for 3 months out, which gave them time to settle into something resembling normal life.

Vivien slowly reduced her pain medication as her body healed, trading pills for physical therapy and sheer stubborn will. She started working from home in limited bursts, attending virtual meetings and reviewing contracts, but delegating the day-to-day operations to her executive team with surprising ease.

“Turns out the company doesn’t fall apart when I’m not micromanaging every detail,” she said one evening, sounding almost surprised. “Who knew?” “Everyone except you,” Callum said. Fair point. She also started attending therapy, real therapy, with a psychologist who specialized in trauma and grief.

She didn’t talk much about the sessions, but Callum could see changes. She cried more easily, but also laughed more freely. She talked about James without the weight of guilt crushing every word. She made plans for the future instead of just managing the present. My therapist thinks I used work as a way to avoid processing James’s death.

Vivian said one night as they were getting ready for bed. Like if I just achieved enough, accomplished enough, built something big enough, it would somehow make his death meaningful, or prove I deserve to survive. And now, now I’m learning that his death doesn’t need to be meaningful. Sometimes terrible things just happen.

And surviving doesn’t require justification. It’s just what happened. The randomness is actually freeing in a weird way. I don’t have to earn my continued existence. I just get to live it. That’s very philosophical for Midnight. Therapy makes you philosophical, also exhausted, but in a good way.

Meera thrived in her new environment, though she occasionally asked about their old apartment with the nostalgia children bring to even difficult memories. Callum explained that the building had finished repairs, but they were staying in the penthouse now, and she accepted this with a shrug that suggested she’d already moved on. She and Vivien developed their own relationship independent of Callum.

Inside, jokes he didn’t understand, rituals he wasn’t part of, a bond that grew naturally from spending time together. Viven helped with homework and attended school events and learned the complex social dynamics of first grade friendships with the same intensity she’d once brought to board meetings. “Did you know that Emma, who said unicorns aren’t real, is now Meera’s best friend?” Viven asked one evening, genuinely baffled. “I thought they were enemies.

” “6-year-old social politics are complicated. Best not to question it. But just last week, Meera said Emma was mean and she never wanted to talk to her again. And now they’re best friends. Tomorrow they might be enemies again. It’s a wild ride. Business negotiations are less confusing than this. Welcome to parenting.

3 months passed in a blur of routine and healing and slowly building something sustainable. The trial approached and Viven prepared with her lawyers, going over testimony and evidence and strategy. She was nervous but determined, ready to face Richard Chen in court and ensure he couldn’t hurt anyone else. The trial itself lasted 2 weeks. Viven testified on day three, walking the jury through the meeting, the threats, the assault, the fall.

She spoke clearly and calmly despite obvious emotional toll. And when Chen’s lawyer tried to suggest she’d somehow provoked the attack, she shut him down with such precision that even the judge looked impressed. Torres testified the next day, her account corroborating every detail. The video footage was played for the jury.

Chen’s threats, Viven’s attempts to deescalate, the moment he shoved her toward the balcony railing. Several jurors looked ill by the end of it. The prosecution rested their case, and Chen’s defense tried to paint him as a desperate businessman pushed too far by competitive pressure.

It took the jury less than 4 hours to find him guilty on all counts. At sentencing 2 weeks later, the judge gave Chen 25 years without possibility of parole for the first 15. Vivien sat in the courtroom and felt something release in her chest. Not satisfaction exactly, but closure. The man who tried to kill her would spend decades in prison. Mera was safe. Justice had been served.

Outside the courthouse, reporters shouted questions about the trial, about Cross, about her recovery. Vivien ignored them all, finding Callum in the crowd and taking his hand. It’s over, she said. How do you feel? Like I can finally move on. They went home. And it was home now. undeniably the penthouse that had started as Viven’s sterile showroom had become something warm and lived in and full of love. And Meera was there with Mrs. Chen, who’d agreed to watch her during the sentencing.

“Did the bad man go to jail?” Meera asked with characteristic directness. “He did,” Vivian confirmed. “For a very long time.” “Good. He was mean to you. Very mean. But he can’t be mean anymore because he’s in jail. Because he’s in jail. Meera considered this, then nodded with satisfaction and returned to her coloring book.

Crisis resolved, world order restored. Time to focus on staying inside the lines. That evening, after Meera was asleep, Callum found Vivien on the balcony. Not the one she’d fallen from, but the one at the penthouse, safe and enclosed, with the city spreading out below like a promise. I’ve been thinking, she said without preamble, about what comes next.

What comes next? I’m going to step back from day-to-day operations at CrossTech, promote my VP to CEO, stay on the board, keep some oversight, but let someone else handle the management. She turned to face him. I want to start a foundation, focus on supporting single parents, helping with child care costs, medical expenses, legal aid, all the things you struggled with after Sarah died.

things that shouldn’t be struggles but are because our systems are broken. Viven, that’s that would be incredible. It’s what James and I always talked about. Doing something meaningful with success once we achieved it. I think he’d approve. She smiled.

And it’ll give me something purposeful to work on that doesn’t require 16-our days and constant crisis management. Something that lets me have dinner with you and Meera without emails interrupting every 5 minutes. You don’t have to change your whole life because of us. I’m not changing my life because of you. I’m changing it because I want to. Because I almost died and realized I’d been living wrong. You and Meera just showed me what living right could look like.

Callum pulled her close, careful of her still healing ribs, and breathed in the scent of her perfume mixed with the city air. I love you, he said. in case I haven’t mentioned that recently. You mentioned it this morning and last night and approximately 47 times in between, but she was smiling. I love you, too.

Even though you leave wet towels on the bathroom floor and drink milk straight from the carton and have terrible taste in movies. That was one time with the milk. It was three times I counted. You’re very particular about milk etiquette. I contain multitudes. They stood there as the city lights came on below them, as the day transitioned into night, as the world kept spinning with its usual indifference to individual stories of love and loss and second chances.

6 months later, Viven reduced her role at Cross Tech officially and launched the Cross Foundation for single parent support. The announcement made headlines. Billionaire CEO steps back to focus on philanthropy. And suddenly, everyone wanted interviews and profiles and think pieces about her motivation. I’m not doing this for attention,” she told one particularly persistent journalist.

“I’m doing it because someone I love showed me how hard single parenting is, and because I have resources that could make it easier for others.” That’s it. That’s the whole story. The journalist tried to dig deeper to find scandal or drama or some hidden agenda. Eventually, they gave up and wrote a straightforward piece about a woman using her wealth to solve real problems, which was apparently revolutionary enough to be newsworthy.

The foundation’s first major initiative was partnering with children’s hospitals to cover medical costs for uninsured families. Viven thought of all the bills Callum had struggled with, all the choices he’d been forced to make between Meera’s health and basic expenses, and she built systems to ensure other parents wouldn’t face those same impossible decisions.

You’re going to save lives with this, Callum told her when the program launched. I’m going to save sanity. Lives are already being saved by doctors. I’m just making sure families can afford the saving. On their one-year anniversary of meeting, though technically it was the anniversary of Callum answering a Craigslist ad, which seemed both absurd and perfect, Viven took him and Meera to Boston to visit her parents.

Margaret had indeed baked a different cookie every day of their visit, and David showed Meera his workshop, where he’d been building a custom dollhouse for her arrival. “This is for me?” Meera’s eyes were huge. You made this? Every piece. Your grandmother helped with the decorating decisions, but the construction is all mine. And David looked pleased with himself.

It’s structurally sound, too. Loadbearing walls, proper foundation, everything a real house would have. It’s perfect. Meera threw her arms around him. You’re the best grandfather ever. I’m your only grandfather. That’s why you’re the best. No competition. That evening, after Meera was asleep in the guest room and Margaret and David had retired to their bedroom, Callum and Vivien sat in the backyard under the stars. “Your parents are incredible,” Callum said. “They are.

I got lucky with them.” Meera got lucky with them, too, and with you. I think I’m the lucky one in this scenario. I got you and Meera and a second chance at happiness I didn’t think I deserved. Everyone deserves happiness, Vivian. Maybe, but not everyone gets it. The fact that I do, that we do, feels like a gift I should be more grateful for every day.

Callum reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He’d been carrying it for weeks, waiting for the right moment. This felt right. Under the stars, in her parents’ backyard, with Meera sleeping peacefully inside and their future stretching out before them with possibility. I have something for you.

Vivien looked at the box and her expression shifted to something between hope and terror. Callum, let me say this before I lose my nerve. He opened the box, revealing a simple ring, not a diamond because Vivien had once mentioned she thought diamonds were overpriced, but a sapphire that matched her eyes. I know we’ve only been together a year. I know we started this whole thing as a business arrangement.

I know there are probably a thousand reasons why this is too fast or too soon or too complicated, but I also know that you’re the person I want to build a life with. You and Meera and whatever comes next. So, Vivien Cross, will you marry me? She was crying, of course, because emotional tears were her default setting.

Now, you’re right that this is fast and possibly too soon and definitely complicated. That’s not an answer. I’m getting there. Let me finish. She wiped at her eyes. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you because you’re right that we should probably wait and be sensible and think through all the logistics.

But I almost died and I learned that waiting for the perfect moment means missing the real moments. So, yes. Absolutely yes. He slid the ring onto her finger, and it fit perfectly because he’d secretly gotten her ring size from Margaret weeks ago. She looked at it in the starlight, turning her hand to catch the gleam. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. That’s very cheesy.

I’m a construction worker who proposed in your parents’ backyard. Cheesy is part of the package. She kissed him then, long and deep and full of promise. When they finally pulled apart, she was smiling through her tears. When should we tell Meera? Tomorrow morning. Let her sleep tonight. She’s going to have so many questions.

She’s going to plan the entire wedding in under 5 minutes. Oh god, you’re right. She’ll want unicorns everywhere. At least three unicorns, possibly a rainbow. I can work with that. They stayed in the backyard until the cold drove them inside, talking about wedding plans and foundation initiatives, and whether they should buy that house in Connecticut. After all, life had become something they built together instead of something that happened to them.

And the difference was everything. In the morning, they told Meera over Margaret’s pancakes. She screamed with joy loud enough that David came running from his workshop thinking someone was hurt. When she understood what was happening, that Viven was going to officially be part of their family, that they’d have a wedding with cake and fancy clothes and maybe even unicorns, she insisted on calling everyone she knew immediately to share the news.

“Can I be a flower girl?” she asked. “You can be whatever you want to be,” Vivian said. I want to be a flower princess with a unicorn crown. Flower princess with unicorn crown it is. They got married 6 months later in a small ceremony at the penthouse, the place where their story had started with lies and become truth. Margaret cried through the entire service.

David gave Vivien away with pride written all over his face. Meera served as flower princess with enthusiastic dedication, throwing petals everywhere with the particular intensity of a seven-year-old who’d been given an important job. Torres was there, recovered from her injuries and serving as Viven’s maid of honor because she’d earned that right by keeping Viven alive. Mrs. Chan attended and brought enough dumplings to feed everyone twice over.

Vivien’s executive team came genuinely happy to see their former CEO so obviously in love. The ceremony itself was simple traditional vows with personal additions that made everyone cry. Callum promised to always see Viven as a person before a billionaire to challenge her when she worked too much and to love her daughter as his own.

Vivien promised to remember that life included more than work, to show up for Meera’s school events, even when it meant rescheduling meetings, and to believe she deserved happiness. When the officient pronounced them married, Meera cheered louder than anyone else.

“That’s my family,” she announced to everyone in attendance. “My dad and my mom and me. We’re a family.” Vivien froze at being called mom, and Callum saw tears spring to her eyes. She looked at Meera, who was grinning with gaptod pride, and she smiled through her tears. “Yeah, baby,” she said, her voice shaking. “We’re a family.

” The reception was exactly as chaotic as expected. Too much food, too much cake, music that ranged from Margaret’s preferences to Meera’s current favorites with no coherent theme. They danced and laughed and celebrated a union that had started impossibly and become inevitable. Late in the evening, after Meera had fallen asleep in a chair and most of the guests had left, Callum and Vivien stood on the balcony overlooking the city.

“One year ago, I was answering a Craigslist ad for money.” Callum said, “Now I’m married to a billionaire and adopting her mission to save single parents from the struggles I went through.” “Technically, you’re not adopting my mission. You’re co-directing it. Big difference. I’m co-directing a charitable foundation. Me, the guy who couldn’t pay rent.

You’re also the guy who understood what single parents actually need because you lived it. That perspective is invaluable. She leaned against him. Besides, we’re a team now. Your struggles, my resources, our combined determination to fix broken systems. When you put it that way, it almost sounds reasonable. It is reasonable.

Just like us getting married is reasonable, even though we met through the most unreasonable circumstances possible. Do you ever regret how we started? The lying, the fake relationship, all of it. Viven was quiet for a moment, considering, “No, because the lie showed me what I wanted the truth to be. Pretending to love you taught me how to actually love you. Does that make sense?” Perfect sense.

In a completely illogical way, the best things usually are. They stood there as the city lights twinkled below, as their wedding guests slowly filtered out, as Meera slept peacefully in a chair with cake frosting still on her chin.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed and horns honked, and life continued with its usual chaos. But up here, 72 floors above the noise, Callum and Vivien had built something quiet and real and worth fighting for. a family that started with a Craigslist ad and became the foundation of everything that mattered. “I love you,” Callum said. “Because it never got old saying it.” “I love you, too,” Vivian replied.

“Because hearing it never got old, either.” And in that moment, with his daughter sleeping nearby, and his wife in his arms, and a future stretching out before them, filled with possibility and purpose, Callum Hayes understood what Margaret had tried to tell him months ago. Sometimes the best things in life came from the most unlikely places.

Sometimes desperation led to discovery. Sometimes lies became truth and business became love. And broken people found each other and built something beautiful from the wreckage. Sometimes a billionaire needed a boyfriend to meet her parents and a single dad refused to sleep on the sofa. And everything changed in ways neither of them could have predicted. Sometimes that was enough. Sometimes that was