Getting A Mom: Baby Sitting His Daughter
Desperate for a way out of rejection and poverty, Pearl Augustine accepts a nanny job with an outrageous salary-working for billionaire Ace Warren. What she doesn't expect is his daughter.
Mia Warren is spoiled, sharp-tongued, and feared by everyone in the mansion. Behind her cruelty is a lonely child longing for a mother. As Pearl becomes the only one who can reach her, walls begin to fall-especially those around Ace, a grieving man hiding behind wealth and control.
What started as "just a job" quickly turns into something dangerous: attachment.
Sometimes, healing begins where you least expect it.
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Chapter 5
Chapter 5
(The Warren Manifesto)
The door to Mia’s suite swung open, and Pearl froze on the threshold. She had seen the living room, but this… this was a kingdom.
The room was a vast expanse of royal purple, larger than the entire apartment Pearl shared with Ella. A queen-sized bed sat like an island in the center, draped in a lavender duvet so plush it looked like a cloud. At the foot of the bed lay a massive purple teddy bear, its glass eyes reflecting the glow of a wall-mounted television that could rival a small cinema screen. To the left, a walk-in closet stood ajar, revealing rows of designer labels and a shoe rack that would make a socialite weep.
Pearl forced a bright, morning-show smile. Focus, Pearl. Breathe. Don’t look like you’re overwhelmed.
“Morning, Mia,” she said.
Mia didn’t look up from her vanity. “Finally. I thought you’d decided the commute wasn’t worth the trouble.” Her tiny reflection in the mirror looked far too weary for a child—like a miniature general evaluating her troops.
Pearl’s smile twitched. Almost. But not enough to seem scared… “Am I late?”
“Almost. But since you’re here, I need to get ready for school. You’ll be handling that from now on.” Mia stood, smoothing her silk pajamas like she was straightening a royal decree.
“Let’s do it then,” Pearl said, masking irritation with a calm tone. Act normal. Don’t let her see panic.
“You have a lot to learn,” Mia noted, her voice eerily calm. She walked to her desk, picked up a crisp white sheet of paper, and handed it to Pearl like a legal summons.
Pearl blinked. What now? She took the paper, her eyes widening as she scanned the title: MIA WARREN: MANDATORY WANTS AND NEEDS.
1. You must sing for me before I go to bed.
2. A good morning peck and a good night peck are non-negotiable.
3. You will prepare my breakfast once in a while (I dislike the chef’s omelets).
4. I hate noise.
5. I hate repeating my words.
6. Do not touch my ears. Only Dad is allowed to do that.
7. I hate dirt. I expect you to be immaculate.
8. You will escort me to Dad every morning for my morning kiss.
Pearl stopped at number eight, her heart skipping a beat. Every morning? And there are at least twenty more…
“I think you know what to do next,” Mia said, hopping onto her bed and crossing her legs. “My bathroom flip-flops.”
“Where are they?”
“In the inner closet,” Mia directed with a sharp pointed finger.
Pearl stepped into the closet, trying to ignore the miniature designer paradise surrounding her. Focus. Get the shoes. Survive. She grabbed a pair of purple velvet flip-flops and hurried back.
“Are you ready?” Pearl asked.
“We are ready,” Mia corrected, a ghost of a smile appearing. Then she stopped and fixed Pearl with a stare that could cut glass. “I heard that most smiles people wear are fake. Are yours real, Nanny? Or are you just a good actress?”
Pearl felt her chest tighten. Oh no. Not the trust test already. Before she could answer, Mia swept past her and headed for the door, leaving Pearl standing in stunned silence.
They reached the heavy, reinforced doors of the Master Suite. Mia pushed them open without knocking, triggering a soft, melodic security chime.
“Who’s there?” a voice barked from within.
“It’s Mia, Dad.” She signaled for Pearl to follow.
The air inside Ace’s room was different—scented with expensive sandalwood and the sharp edge of power. Ace was at his mirror, adjusting a silk tie. He looked lethal in a charcoal suit.
“Good morning, Dad,” Mia sang. Ace turned, the ice melting instantly as he scooped her up. He kissed her cheek, eyes softening in a way they never did for anyone else.
“Morning, sir,” Pearl said, bowing her head slightly. Keep it neutral. Don’t make him notice fear—or awe.
Ace’s gaze shifted to Pearl. The warmth evaporated. “Are you handling her perfectly?”
“Pretty good, sir,” Pearl replied evenly. Lie if you have to. Just survive.
“You’re going to be late for school, Mia,” Ace said, setting her down.
Mia’s face fell instantly. She sat on the edge of his bed, crossing her arms. “You promised to take me today.”
“I didn’t promise. I said ‘soon,’ Mia.”
“Another failed promise,” she groaned, voice thick with practiced disappointment.
Ace sighed, a man defeated by his own heart. “I always keep my word, Mia. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“Fine.” Mia hopped up, mood switching back to business. She stopped and looked back at Pearl, who was still taking in the sheer opulence. “Are you coming? Or planning to stay here and stare? Maybe you want to move in?”
Pearl’s face flushed. Just breathe. Don’t answer like a fool. “Oops! I’m so sorry—”
“Mia,” Ace interrupted, voice gentle but firm, “you shouldn’t talk to your nanny that way. Not if you want her to stay.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Mia exclaimed, throwing her hands up before storming out.
Pearl caught Ace’s eye for a split second—a moment of shared exhaustion—before turning to follow. Focus. She’s right. Don’t flop. Don’t stare. Just survive.
Then, as she stepped into the hallway, a shadow shifted in the corner—a figure watching from the security panel screens. Pearl’s stomach twisted. So it begins…
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9.0
Adaline Poole thought she had escaped her family's toxic corporate grip by moving to London and adopting a stray cat named Monty.
But when she returns to her empty apartment, her father delivers a chilling ultimatum: he has kidnapped the cat and will euthanize it by morning unless she accepts an arranged marriage with Barron Cooke, a notoriously elusive billionaire.
Her entire family becomes complicit in her sale. Her mother demands she secure their elite status, and her brother secretly spies on her social media to feed Barron her every move. Horrified to discover Barron is a thirty-three-year-old "fossil" twelve years her senior, Adaline resorts to sabotage. She goes to a Soho club, takes a scandalous photo with a frat boy, and sends it to the old billionaire to disgust him into canceling their upcoming dinner.
But her rebellion backfires horribly when the frat boy spikes her drink with a powerful narcotic. As her body burns with a terrifying, feverish heat, she collapses in a dark corridor. Stripped of her phone and betrayed by her bloodline, she is left utterly defenseless as a predator approaches to drag her away.
Suddenly, the heavy fire door is kicked open by a towering, terrifyingly handsome stranger who effortlessly neutralizes her attacker.
"Please... help me," Adaline begs, deliriously throwing her burning body into his arms.
She has absolutely no idea that the handsome savior she is clinging to is Barron Cooke himself.
8.9
My father was marrying a gold-digger, the mother of my cheating ex-boyfriend.
To end the charade, I crashed their luxury wedding with a ten-foot funeral wreath.
In front of hundreds of elites, my father slapped me across the face, calling me a vicious bitch while his new wife smiled in victory.
I triggered the estate's fire system to ruin them, but a terrifying stranger in the VIP section bypassed my military-grade hack in seconds.
He was Kavon Velasquez, a dangerous billionaire heir who had been missing for twelve years.
Instead of exposing me, he shielded me from my father's second blow.
When my pathetic ex tried to drag me away, I grabbed Kavon and kissed him to humiliate my ex.
I shoved a $500,000 check into Kavon's pocket as hush money and left.
I thought that was the end of it.
But why did this apex predator move into the penthouse right next to mine at 2 AM?
Why did he violently crush my ex's face the next morning just for grabbing my arm?
"She is my woman. If you ever come within ten feet of her again, I will bury you."
I didn't understand why a man with lethal skills was suddenly hunting me.
Then I found out he had just blackmailed my father with undeniable proof of corporate money laundering.
His demand wasn't money. It was me.
He ordered my father to announce our engagement by tomorrow sunset, and this dangerous game officially began.
9.2
Arla was supposed to marry Clinton Freeman, the perfect fiancé who had promised to love her and protect her five-year-old son.
But instead, the cold steel of a dagger pierced her chest.
As she collapsed onto the freezing basement floor, she watched her adoptive sister Blair laugh.
"Look at her," Blair sneered, kicking her son's small, blue, lifeless body.
Clinton stood there, calmly wiping the bloody blade on a pristine handkerchief.
In her dying moments, the horrifying truth became clear. Her fiancé and her adoptive family had been plotting all along to steal her massive trust fund.
To break her, they had secretly tortured her child. Clinton had watched Blair pierce the little boy's arms with sewing needles, rewarding him with candy to keep him silent.
Arla's lungs burned with the taste of copper and ash.
She couldn't understand why the family she trusted could be so monstrous, or why they had to brutally murder an innocent child just for money.
The darkness swallowed her whole, drowning her in suffocating hatred and absolute despair.
Then, she gasped for air.
The concrete floor was gone, replaced by the silk sheets of a hotel penthouse suite.
Arla had been reborn to the exact night six years ago—the very day Blair first dragged her son into the dark attic.
This time, she picked up a solid silver letter opener, ready to burn them all to the ground.
8.0
Aliya woke up in a dingy, freezing apartment with a throbbing headache, only to realize a horrifying truth.
She had transmigrated into the American romance novel she read just last night, becoming the ultimate vicious supporting character. The exhausted man walking through the front door was Cyrus Pace, an amnesiac billionaire currently living under the delusion that he was a broke laborer.
The original owner had trapped him with fabricated memories of being childhood sweethearts. Worse, she relentlessly abused him. Her phone was filled with toxic texts calling him a useless loser, and she had just staged a psychotic hunger strike to force him to buy a designer bag. Cyrus already looked at her with bone-deep, visceral disgust. In the original plot, the moment he regained his memory, his ruthless revenge would send her straight to a maximum-security prison for the rest of her life.
"Are you done playing your hunger strike game?"
Hearing his cold, mocking voice, the sheer terror made Aliya's blood run cold. How was she supposed to survive living with a future tyrant who already despised her? Every time his massive shadow fell over their cramped, shared mattress, her heart stopped. A single wrong move—even a microscopic mistake like accidentally crossing a physical line—would completely seal her doom.
Staring at the torn box of condoms hidden under the bed, Aliya made a desperate, life-or-death decision.
She had to completely rewrite her toxic persona, secretly hustle a high-commission real estate job, and save enough money to flee the country before the billionaire remembered exactly who he was.
9.0
Seventeen years after going missing, Brooklyn was finally brought back to her ultra-wealthy biological family.
But instead of a tearful reunion, her parents and sisters treated her like infectious garbage, mocking her cheap clothes and calling her a country bumpkin.
They dumped her into a remedial class to hide her away, cut off her allowance, and threatened to lock down her trust fund to force her into absolute submission.
One night, Brooklyn stood in the shadows of the estate and overheard a conversation that shattered everything.
She hadn't wandered off as a child.
Her parents had deliberately thrown her away because a fake fortune teller claimed her birth chart was a jinx to the family's wealth.
They felt zero remorse, only plotting to banish her again the moment she turned eighteen.
Her biological father thought he was putting a leash on a helpless, uneducated girl by cutting off her pocket change.
He had no idea that Brooklyn was the anonymous VIP who casually dropped sixty million dollars on an emerald at the city's most exclusive auction.
He didn't know she was the elusive medical genius that the world's most powerful billionaires were currently tearing the city apart to find.
The last microscopic shred of hope for a family withered into cold ash in her chest.
"Lock down my trust fund?"
She pulled out her encrypted phone and activated her shadow networks, severing herself entirely from their pathetic surveillance.
Since they believed she was a jinx, she was going to show them exactly what a real curse looked like.