Humble son-in-law in the day, Billionaire at night

2

Aiden frowns. “Why?”

“Because…sir, you really have to be here.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Actually… one of the partner companies needs your signature. There’s a new contract. Something like that.”

He balances the phone between his shoulder and jaw, scrubbing at a plate in the sink. “Since when do I handle the boring-ass paperwork? Tell me the truth.”

Silence. Too long.

“Sir… actually…” The voice drops low. “My sister is going in for surgery tomorrow.”

Aiden stops cold. His hand clenches the soapy plate. “What the fuck?” His voice is low, sharp. “You trying to make me look like the villain now? Some heartless corporate bastard?”

“I’m sorry, sir—”

“Save it. You’re lucky I don’t fire your ass right now.” He hangs up, teeth gritted, and immediately dials another number. “Yeah. Get him to his sister. Private chopper. I don’t care what it costs. If he misses it, I’ll bury your contract myself.”

He tosses the dishcloth aside and storms toward his room. Shirt off. Clean one on. Still muttering curses under his breath.

The worst part? He gets it. He used to be like that—chasing deals, ignoring everything else—family and everything in-between. And he paid the price for it.

Maybe if he'd done things differently back then...maybe he wouldn't be in this house planning for revenge.

Ten minutes later, Aiden’s stepping out of a beat-up cab, flipping the driver a faded ten-dollar bill. The cabbie stares at him like he’s either lost or on drugs. Maybe both.

Aiden ignores the look and walks across the lawn toward the grand venue. The kind of place where shoes alone could pay someone’s rent for a year.

Then—blaring honks.

He barely sidesteps in time as two sleek black cars slice past him like they own the damn grass.

He turns sharply, jaw clenched, ready to throw hands.

The cars screech to a dramatic stop. Men in black suits rush out. One of them opens the back door with robotic precision.

And out comes a man Aiden could recognize from just the cocky tilt of his head.

Wesley Asher.

Of all nights.

Of all people.

Aiden hisses through his teeth and turns toward the hall without sparing a glance. If there’s one person on earth he doesn’t want seeing him like this, it’s that overfed, overconfident, high school prom king wannabe.

“Aiden? Is that you?”

He keeps walking, jaw tight.

Then—damn it—a hand clamps around his arm, yanking him to a stop.

Shit.

Aiden forces a smile as he turns. “Good evening. So nice to see you here, Mr. Wesley.”

Wesley’s eyes trail over him with that patented sneer. “And… what exactly are you doing here?”

“Oh,” Aiden chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I drove Harper here—”

“Impossible,” Wesley cuts in. “I sent my driver to pick them up.”

Panic lights up behind Aiden’s eyes. Crap. Think, think, think. He searches his head for a new lie, but the lies all evaporate at once like smoke.

Wesley narrows his eyes. “That driver of mine must be losing it. Paid help, and he can’t follow one damn instruction?” He pulls out his phone. “I should call Harper. Make sure everything's okay—”

Aiden’s heart lurches. Harper? No—hell no. She and her parents must not know he's here.

Without thinking, Aiden smacks the phone clean out of Wesley’s hand. It hits the concrete. Hard. The screen shatters like a gunshot.

Instantly, every bodyguard lunges at him.

“Let him be,” Wesley says, lifting a hand. His voice is low, calm, like a villain in a designer cologne ad.

The guards freeze mid-step, confused. One of them points at the broken phone. “But sir… your iPhone…”

“It’s nothing,” Wesley says, his fake smile still glued to his face. “I was going to upgrade anyway.”

The bodyguards back off, baffled, clearly wondering how he can stay so calm after getting his latest tech baptized by concrete. But once they're gone?

Wesley’s grin vanishes like it was never there.

He steps closer. His voice is ice. “You got a death wish?”

Aiden meets his stare, no smile now. “I’m sorry about the phone. I’ll get you another one if you want.”

Wesley runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, glancing around. Too many people watching. If they weren’t here, Aiden wouldn’t be walking away with all his teeth.

“Be warned,” he says slowly, each word loaded with venom. “I don’t do second chances. You’re crawling under my skin way more than I can tolerate.”

Aiden shrugs, calm like he's got nothing to lose. “Then do your worst.”

Wesley smirks. “I don’t need your permission, old man.” He pulls out another phone—of course he has a backup—and flicks through it.

“I was planning to propose to Harper tonight. After sealing the deal with Vicholas Group.” He tilts the screen toward Aiden, revealing a photo of a glittering diamond ring, the kind that says ‘I have more money than sense’.

Then, with the arrogance of a man who’s never been told no: “And guess what? You’ll be the one to drive her to where I’m going to pop the question.”

Aiden’s lips twitch—half smile, half snarl. “How sure are you that you’re even getting the contract?”