Marrying His Dad

Confession time: I might have ruined my life. Or won the lottery. I cant tell yet.

Heres the situationto get the ultimate revenge on my ex-boyfriend, I married his billionaire father.

I know, I know. Youre picturing a sexless, transactional marriage where we sleep in separate wings and I wait for him to kick the bucket while I shop. I was prepared to play the role of the trophy wife. I was ready to be the dutiful, untouched ornament.

Instead?

Im literally crying on Reddit the morning after the wedding because what the hell?

Since when does a man old enough to be a father have a six-pack that looks like it was carved out of granite?

And more importantly, how does one human being go through an entire box of condoms in a single night?

Chapter 1

Burnout isnt a badge of honor. Its a scam.

After working myself to the bone only to be ruthlessly laid off, I finally made peace with myself.

The world isn't fair. So why should I be the one to suffer?

Why kill myself for a paycheck when I could just make it everyone else's problem?

Im done grinding.

I made a decision. Im going to bag a big fish. Marry into the 1%. Become untouchable. And once I reach the peak of high society, Im going to walk right up to Brockmy former bossand backhand that corporate leech across the face. I want to ask him if he regrets squeezing every ounce of value out of me before tossing me aside like garbage.

Step one: The look.

I spent the morning curating my face like a weapon. The "no-makeup" makeup look. Dewy skin, wide eyes, soft lip tint. I transformed into the "Doe-Eyed Innocent." The fragile flower. The perfect bait for the corporate sharks at Fitzgerald Enterprises.

Two months ago, I crossed paths with the heir apparent, Camden, the Crown Prince of the tech world.

We were just two corporate teams clashing in a boardroom, but the moment he saw me, he froze. Visibly stunned. Later in the meeting, he went out of his way to praise my prep work. As we left, his assistant slipped me a business card.

Back then? I ignored it. I had a steady salary, a mortgage approval, and way too much pride to be a gold digger.

Fast forward to now. I just closed on a condo. My savings are drained for the down payment. And Im unemployed.

The bank is practically sharpening their knives.

I want to time-travel and strangle my past self for having "morals."

I applied to Camdens tech startup first. Rejected. Round one. That stung.

Desperate, I aimed higher. I sent my resume to the parent company, Fitzgerald Enterprises. Its notoriously exclusive, prestigious, and shares the same skyscraper as Camdens office. It was the closest orbit I could find to the Prince.

The irony? The Prince rejected me.

But his fatherthe Emperor of the city, Fitzgerald himselflet me in.

Two grueling interviews later, I was officially an employee of Fitzgerald Enterprises.

I swear, when I eventually marry Camden, I will be the most "devoted" daughter-in-law Fitzgerald has ever seen.

I stepped into the elevator, inhaling sharply. "Game face," I whispered. I needed to reach the 31st floor, Project Management.

But the universe has a twisted sense of humor.

Ding.

The doors slid open at the 27th floor.

Camden stormed in.

He wore a scowl that could peel paint, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. He didn't even glance in my direction. To him, I was furniture.

But Seth, the male assistant trailing behind him, clocked me immediately. Seth offered a curt, recognizing nod.

My heart slammed against my ribs, threatening to bruise the bone.

Future Father-in-Law, I thought, clutching my bag, you really are my guardian angel.

Chapter 2

Day one on the job, and the Cinderella story was already revving its engine. Or so I thought.

Just as I opened my mouth to drop a casual "remember me?", a pale, slender hand shot through the closing elevator doors.

I was standing maybe twenty inches away from that hand. Five seconds later? My dreams of being a billionaires wife shattered into a million jagged pieces.

The doors slid open. A woman with a face carved by angelsGenevieverushed in and threw herself directly into Camdens arms.

Her voice was thick with tears, breathless. "Camden, please don't be mad at me. I didn't want to leave. I had to"

She buried her face in his chest. "You promised youd never leave me behind"

Camden didnt say a word. But that scowl hed been wearing? It melted. His arms tightened around her.

My heart didn't just sink; it plummeted into the basement.

Seth, the assistant, shot me a frantic look. I took the hint, scrambling out of the elevator right behind him.

The silver doors began to slide shut again.

This time, no one stopped them.

Seth reached over and pressed the button for the next car. "Sorry about that. Its early. You wont be late."

I nodded, feeling dead inside, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "Looks like Camdens got good news coming."

Seth looked at me, his expression complicated.

Just as the next elevator chimed, he leaned in, voice low. "Thats Genevieve. The One That Got Away. They grew up together."

I kept my tone light, feigning indifference. "Thats nice."

Unexpected? Maybe. Logical? Absolutely.

The Good News: I have a job. My mortgage is safe.

The Bad News: The position of Crown Princess is officially filled.

The Bottom Line: Stop dreaming, corporate slave. Get back to work.

I buried my gold-digging ambitions and threw myself back into the grind. Welcome back to the 9-to-9 life.

Because my performance at my last job was actually stellar, one week later, I was pulled into a massive bidding project.

And wouldn't you know it? It was the exact same project I had just finished prepping for at my old company right before they fired me.

Now, I was sitting on the other side of the table as their competitor. The fire of revenge roared to life in my chest.

The bid opening was in a few days. I was going to win this contract for Fitzgerald Enterprises and slap my old boss across the face with it.

That night, after snagging a free late-night meal at the office cafeteria, I went to call an Uber.

Company policy: Rides after 10 PM are expensed.

My new condo is way out in the booniespractically a different time zone. That ride isnt cheap.

Score, I thought, feeling smug.

I stepped into the elevator, phone in hand.

And froze.

Standing there was the Emperor himself. Fitzgerald.

Id spent the last week pasting his terrifyingly impressive resume into our bid documents. I knew his face better than my own mothers.

I immediately backed out, checking the sign above the door. Wait, isnt this the executive lift? No its the general bank.

Inside, Fitzgerald pressed the 'Open' button, holding the door.

His voice was deep, unexpectedly gentle.

"Get in."

Chapter 3

I banished the feral, thirsty expression from my face and plastered on my best corporate smile. I stepped inside.

The elevator dipped.

And then, my body betrayed me.

Burp.

A loud, treacherous burp escaped my throat.

A low chuckle vibrated through the small space.

Fitzgerald didnt look at me, but the corner of his lip quirked up. "How is the food in the cafeteria?"

I straightened my spine. Finally, a topic I was qualified to discuss.

Id only been here a few days, but I was pretty sure Id already eaten half a paycheck's worth of food.

"Incredible. Top tier," I said, enthusiastic. "Though if we could add a build-your-own spicy noodle station? That would be life-changing."

Fitzgerald actually paused to consider it.

"Made-to-order dishes increase prep time," he said, his tone serious. "With our current headcount, it would create a bottleneck and cut into productivity."

He shot down my idea, but my heart did a little flip.

He listened. It felt like writing a fan letter to a celebrity and actually getting a handwritten reply.

"You're right," I said, pivoting immediately to sycophant mode. "Its perfect as is. No notes."

The elevator dinged at the ground floor. I bid the Big Boss a polite goodnight and scrambled out before I could humiliate myself further.

He headed for the underground garage. I headed for the curb.

I found a spot under a flickering streetlamp to wait for my Uber. My fingers flew across my phone screen.

Jenna: [Holy hell. Just shared an elevator with the Big Boss. He is violently handsome. I am unwell.]

I forwarded two candid shots a colleague had snuck of him during a meeting.

Zara: [Voice Note]

I meant to hit 'transcribe.' My clumsy thumb hit 'play.'

Zaras voice, at full volume, tore through the quiet night air.

"Girl, you are God's favorite!! That is not a Dad. That is a DADDY. That is the final boss of DILFs!"

"I need a full bio in ten minutes! How old is he? There is no way that man is an 'old man' over forty. He looks like he bathes in the blood of virgins."

"Find out his dermatologist! I will literally do a backflip into a volcano for his skincare routine!!"

The messages were auto-playing. One after another.

Panic seized me. I frantically jabbed at the screen to kill the app.

Silence returned.

I exhaled, clutching my chest. Safe.

Then, a voicesmooth, amused, and terrifyingly closespoke from right behind my left shoulder.

"Im thirty-four. And Ive never been to a dermatologist."

My blood turned to ice. My soul simply left my body.

He continued, casual as the weather. "And regarding Camden yes, please keep this confidential. He is actually my late older brother's son. I adopted him due to special family circumstances."

I wanted the asphalt to crack open and swallow me whole.

I was dead. Deceased.

It wasn't enough that the main character caught me thirsting over him. No. I had to accidentally unlock a Level 10 family secret.

Why is he explaining this to me? I didn't pay the subscription fee for this premium content!

Chapter 4

A sleek black sedan glided to the curb, the driver stepping out to hold the rear door.

Fitzgerald looked at me. "Get in. I'll drop you."

I offered a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "No need, Boss. I live way out in the boonies. Plus, I already called an Uber."

Fitzgerald didn't blink. "Get in."

He really I could cry.

Does anyone know the exact cancellation window for an Uber before they charge you? Asking for a friend. Its urgent.

I slid into the leather interior. Fitzgerald cracked the seal on a bottle of water and handed it to me.

I held it like it was a holy relic.

This wasn't just water. This was that artisanal, volcanic-filtered, glass-bottle stuff I used to side-eye at Whole Foods when I was trying to look rich in front of my competitors.

God, I hate wealthy people.

But sitting here, Fitzgerald wasn't fitting the profile. Based on his press photos and the terrified whispers in the breakroom, I expected a cold, distant ice king. A man with boundaries made of razor wire.

Instead? He was unsettlingly normal.

Shame. Well never be family.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Being a "good leader," he decided to conduct an impromptu performance review.

"Is the compensation package satisfactory?"

I switched to bootlicker mode immediately. "Its fantastic. Much higher than my last gig."

Fitzgerald nodded. "Is it sufficient for the cost of living here?"

I decided to pivot to honesty. "Well, I impulsively bought a condo recently. After the mortgage eats its share, Im basically living on vibes and instant noodles."

He fell silent. I could practically hear his brain trying to compute the concept of "financial struggle."

The traffic was light. We traded small talk until the car pulled up to my complexa brutalist block far from the city center.

I turned to bid the King farewell, deciding to sprinkle a little extra loyalty on top.

"Boss, Ill give 110% to help the Group win that West Side project."

He looked surprised. It was a small shift, a raising of the brows, like he hadn't expected the grit.

A moment later, he offered a small, genuine smile. Then, he opened his door and stepped out into the night air.

"Come on. I'll walk you to the building."

Wait.

Pitch black night. Isolated location. Just a man and a woman. Is this HR compliant?

But I

I didn't dare say no.

If I hadn't already humiliated myself with Camden and learned my lesson, I might have thought he was making a pass at me.

But let's be real. If the gap between Camden and me was an ocean, the gap between me and Fitzgerald was the distance between a penthouse suite and the subway tracks.

Hes ten years older. Hes the Emperor. Im the ant.

I didn't have a single deluded thought in my head.

We walked to the entrance of my building. He stopped at the glass doors.

"What floor?"

"Seventeenth," I said, voice tight.

He nodded, hands in his coat pockets. "Go up. Ill wait here until I see your light turn on."

My breath hitched.

I didn't argue. I didn't want to waste a second of his time. I sprinted through the lobby, smashed the elevator button, unlocked my door with trembling fingers, and slapped the light switch.

I threw myself against the window, looking down.

Chapter 5

"Sorry, Boss. Can't see you down there. I'm just going to assume you vanished safely into the night."

I stepped away from the window, satisfied.

Twenty minutes later, I was deep in decompression mode. Hot shower. Sheet mask plastered to my face. A trashy reality show blaring on the TV.

Then, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

A single notification from an unsaved number.

[Fitzgerald: Get some rest.]

I frowned, tapping the profile. No photo. No bio.

I didn't even remember adding this number. Who the hell was this?

Paranoia crept in. I typed back tentatively.

[Jenna: Boss?]

The reply was instant.

[Fitzgerald: Hm.]

[Fitzgerald: Still up?]

My stomach dropped through the floor. Holy sh*t. The Emperor is in my contacts? Since when? And how was I the last person to know?

I paused the TV. I sat up straighter on my couch, pulling my robe tight as if he could see me through the screen.

[Jenna: Just going to sleep! Thanks again for the ride today, Boss.]

[Fitzgerald: Hah.]

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Hah?

What does "Hah" mean? Is that a sarcastic "Hah"? An amused "Hah"? A "You're fired" "Hah"?

Before I could dissect the three-letter text any further, a series of audio messages popped up.

It felt like being called into the principal's office, but in order to get my beauty sleep, I wanted this weird interrogation to end. I tapped play with a trembling finger.

His voice filled the small apartment. Low. Baritone. The kind of voice that vibrates in your chest.

"I live in the city center. Nowhere near here. That wasn't 'on the way'."

I swallowed hard.

"Jenna. Take a guess. Why was I there when you got off work? Why did I offer you a ride? Why am I still talking to you right now?"

The next message played automatically. The tone dropped an octave, smooth and dangerous.

"And why exactly am I already in your contact list?"

My brain short-circuited. My brain was fried.

I decided to play dead. Ghost him. Silence is the best defense, right?

Buzz.

[Fitzgerald: Think about it. Answer me.]

[Fitzgerald: Tonight.]

I glanced at the clock. 11:30 PM. "Tonight" gave me exactly thirty minutes.

I gritted my teeth and decided to nuke the conversation with the nuclear option.

[Jenna: Boss, are you hitting on me? Just so you know, I don't sleep my way up the corporate ladder. Im not that kind of girl.]

I hit send with the energy of a woman walking to the gallows.

I waited for the inevitable. I waited for him to text back: You're delusional. You're fired.

My phone remained silent.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell screamed through the apartment.

At the exact same second, a new text landed.

[Fitzgerald: Open the door. Let's talk.]

Fck!

Panic exploded in my chest.

I looked like a swamp creature. My hair was a frizzy explosion. I was wearing a sheet mask that made me look like Hannibal Lecter. Underneath my robe, I was wearing a flimsy silk slip.

And my apartment looked like a tornado had hit it.

The bastard never left. Hed been waiting downstairs the whole time.

I ripped the mask off my face, tied my hair into a chaotic bun, and shoved a pile of laundry into the hallway closet with the force of a linebacker.

Deep breath.

I unlocked the door.

Chapter 6

It was him. Fitzgerald.

He took in the sight of mecharcoal sheet mask still clinging to my face like a second skin, hair a bird's nest. He paused, just for a fraction of a second.

"I don't do text tag," he said, his voice clipped. "And I don't have the patience to wait for you to connect the dots on your own."

My heart pole-vaulted into my throat. If he confessed his undying love right now, while I looked like a swamp monster, I would have to fake my own death.

He adjusted his cuffs. "May I come in?"

I swallowed, clutching the doorframe. "Do you mind if the water I serve is generic store-brand? Its not exactly imported from the Alps."

He stepped inside. The air in the room instantly felt heavier, charged with his colognesandalwood and cold cash.

"Water is fine," he said.

I scrambled to the bathroom, scrubbing the black goop off my face in record time. When I emerged, fresh-faced and panting, I froze.

He was sitting on my cheap beige sofa. The plastic bottle of generic water was open on the coffee table. Hed actually taken a sip.

My tiny studio apartment suddenly felt different. Expensive. His presence warped the real estate value just by occupying space.

I sat on the opposite end of the sofa, spine rigid, hands on my knees. I felt like a kindergartner summoned to the principals office.

Fitzgerald looked at me. "It's your home. Relax."

I grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it against my chest like a shield. "You show up at my door at midnight and tell me to relax? Thats not how adrenaline works."

He leaned back, his gaze heavy. "Fair point. A little tension is good."

He didn't blink. "Youve likely deduced my intentions. So, lets skip the games. Tell me what you require in a partner."

My jaw went slack.

People say older men are subtle. Reserved.

This man was a sledgehammer.

If this were Camden, hed still be playing mind games. Fitzgerald just wanted the spec sheet.

But I I couldn't do this. He was the Emperor. I was the serf.

I shrank into the sofa cushions, picking at a loose thread. "I want someone my own age. Ideally. Someone with shared generational trauma. I want a slow burn. You know, starting with a single rose, a formal confession, a romance that everyone knows about."

Take the hint, I begged silently. Back off, Boss.

Fitzgerald didn't speak.

I risked a glance. His brows were knitted together. A frown.

Panic seized my chest. I could practically see my new employment contract shredding itself in mid-air.

"Boss," I stammered. "Do you like me? Because this is crazy. We just met. What could you possibly like? My excel skills?"

"I don't care how open-minded I am," I continued, voice rising. "I can't discuss marriage with a man I met three days ago. It doesn't feel real. It feels like a hallucination."

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, Fitzgerald stood up.

He took a step toward me.

I yelped, scrambling backward into the corner of the sofa. "Don't do anything crazy! Im warning you, I have one hundred and thirty-eight followers on TikTok! I will expose you! I will go live right now!"

Fitzgerald stopped in front of me.

He didn't grab me. He didn't loom over me.

He crouched down.

He lowered himself until he was looking up at me, placing himself in a position of absolute submission.

"This isn't the first time weve met," he said, his voice a low rumble.

"Six years ago. The bodega on 5th. You forgot your wallet at the register."

He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and turned it toward me.

It was our chat history. Scrolled all the way to the top.

There it was. A digital receipt. A transfer from six years ago.

"I paid for you."

Chapter 7