The Trillionaire Driver.

The glass doors of the Lewis Group tower swung open as Deborah Lewis stormed out, her heels clapping hard against the marble. She didn’t wait for her assistant, didn’t look back at the boardroom that had just humiliated her.

Her father’s voice still echoed in her mind  “Maybe you’re not ready to lead yet.”

Her phone buzzed. She jabbed at the screen, ordering a car through the app, then folded her arms and scanned the line of black sedans outside. It was raining lightly, the kind of drizzle that blurred reflections and made the city glow with silver haze.

A black car pulled up. No logo. No driver’s name flashing on her phone. She didn’t care.

She yanked open the door, slid into the back seat, and exhaled. “Drive. You’re late.”

From the driver’s seat, Chris Alphonso glanced back, startled. He was dressed plainly, dark jacket, no tie, no company emblem on the dashboard. The woman who’d just entered spoke like someone who’d never been told no.

“Uh… I think” he began.

She waved a manicured hand. “You’re twenty minutes late, and you want to start a conversation? Are you kidding me?”

Chris’s brow lifted slightly. Her tone was sharp, commanding. He could have corrected her, could have said this wasn’t her ride, but something in her voice made him curious. It wasn’t arrogance; it was exhaustion hiding behind control.

He started the engine, “Where are we headed?”

“High Street,” she snapped, looking at her phone. “And please, don’t talk.”

He almost smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Traffic swallowed them. The silence was filled with the hum of rain against glass and the clicking of her nails on the screen.

Chris watched the city lights reflected in her window, she was stunning, but there was a strain behind the perfection. She was the kind of person used to fighting battles no one else saw.

After a few minutes, she sighed. “You drive too slow.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk.”

“That doesn’t mean you should crawl,” she said, glancing up. Her eyes were sharp. “Speed up. I’m late already.”

Chris tapped the wheel. “Late for what, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She narrowed her gaze. “You’re persistent.”

“I like context.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Dinner with my family. Another circus. They’ve decided my inheritance depends on finding a man ‘worthy’ of the Lewis name.” She used air quotes like they were weapons. “You can imagine how thrilled I am.”

Chris chuckled under his breath. “Sounds like fun.”

“Fun? My brothers think I’m a failure, my father’s CFO keeps lecturing me about mergers, and my uncle, don’t get me started. He’s practically measuring my office curtains already.”

She paused, surprised at herself for saying that much. The stranger’s voice was calm, easy. It made her drop her guard just a little.

“You’re surprisingly chatty for someone who got yelled at five minutes ago,” Chris said.

Her lips pressed into a line. “You talk too much for a driver.”

“Occupational hazard,” he said. “People like to unload when they get in the car.”

“Lucky you,” she murmured.

He glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “You have no idea.”

They drove in silence again, until her phone buzzed with a message. She stared at it, jaw tightening. Her father. One line: Don’t embarrass me tonight.

Chris saw her reflection in the mirror, the flash of hurt she tried to hide. “Bad news?”

She laughed without humor. “Just family.” He nodded. “That’ll do it.”

When the car stopped at a red light, Deborah leaned forward suddenly. “How much would you charge to act like my boyfriend for one night?”

Chris blinked. “Sorry?”

“You heard me.” She folded her arms. “My father thinks I can’t attract anyone serious. The board thinks I’m too focused on business. I just need someone who looks confident and quiet enough not to embarrass me.”

He tilted his head. “That’s… not a usual request for a driver.”

“You’ll get paid,” she said quickly. “Name your price.”

Chris’s lips twitched. He was half amused, half intrigued. “You really don’t want to show up alone?” She looked away. “You don’t know my family. If I walk in alone tonight, it’ll be open season.”

He studied her for a moment, the rain flickering across the windshield like static. “You don’t even know my name.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “You look decent enough. Clean shirt, quiet eyes. That’s all I need.”

Chris’s laugh was soft, disbelieving. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

He considered the offer. His life was ruled by caution, every movement planned, every interaction filtered through layers of secrecy, but this woman had just invited chaos into his passenger seat, and somehow he didn’t want to say no.

“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll do it.”

She blinked. “Just like that?”

“I’m efficient.”

She frowned, studying him. “Fine. Don’t talk too much. Don’t touch anything. And follow my lead.”

Chris smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

The car pulled into the circular driveway of the Lewis mansion, a sprawling estate lit like a museum. Valets moved in rhythm, security guards in suits, a line of luxury vehicles gleaming under the portico.

Chris parked between a Bentley and a Rolls-Royce that cost less than his watch, not that she knew that, Deborah straightened her posture, touched up her lipstick, and took a deep breath. “Remember, fiancé. Wealthy enough to impress, humble enough not to brag. Got it?”

Chris nodded. “Got it.”

She glanced at him again, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Chris.”

“Just Chris?”

“Unless you prefer something fancier.”

She rolled her eyes. “Chris it is.”

He opened the door for her. For a moment, the rain slowed, the world pausing between lightning and thunder. Deborah stepped out first, chin up, smile ready, mask on. Chris followed, a step behind, invisible and yet impossible to ignore.

Inside, the mansion buzzed with low voices, glasses clinking, polite laughter with sharp edges. A dozen eyes turned as Deborah walked in. Her mother’s smile froze halfway; her father’s brows rose slightly. And then.

“Deborah,” her father said, crossing the marble floor, his gaze moving past her to Chris. “And who is this? ”She forced a smile. “Father, this is Chris. My, fiancé.”

The room fell silent, Chris extended a hand, his face unreadable. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

The older man shook it slowly, confusion tightening his jaw. Around them, murmurs began, her siblings exchanging looks, her uncle’s smirk slicing through the tension like a blade.

“A fiancé?” her mother said softly. “Since when?”

“Recently,” Deborah said. “We wanted to tell you tonight.”

Uncle Raymond stepped forward, wine glass in hand, eyes gleaming. “And what do you do, young man?” Chris’s smile was easy. “A bit of everything.”

Raymond chuckled. “That’s a creative way of saying unemployed.” Deborah’s fists clenched. “He’s being modest.”

“Is he?” Raymond said. “Because from where I stand, he looks like someone who got lost on his way to valet parking.”

A ripple of laughter followed. Deborah’s throat tightened. Chris didn’t flinch, his calm was unnerving. He turned slightly, meeting Raymond’s eyes. “Some of us prefer not to advertise what we have.”

“Or don’t have,” Raymond shot back.