My Fake Husband Is A Ruthless CEO

The Starlight Motel room was cramped and grimy, with two double beds covered in threadbare floral comforters. A single, bare bulb cast long, dancing shadows on the stained walls. It smelled of stale cigarettes and mildew. Aliana had paid for three nights with the last of the cash in her wallet—the emergency money Zane had grabbed before the taxi came.

"It's an adventure!" she said, her voice bright and brittle as she tucked the children into the lumpy bed. "We're going camping indoors."

Mila clung to her leg, her small body trembling. Riley's lower lip quivered. Only Zane seemed unaffected, his gaze sweeping the room with a cold, analytical curiosity.

Once the children were settled, Aliana slipped into the tiny, grimy bathroom. She turned the faucet on full blast, the sound of rushing water covering the harsh, ragged sobs that she could no longer hold back. She had nothing. No money. No home. Three children depending on her, and her mother—

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. The caller ID read: Oakwood Psychiatric Facility.

"Ms. Hunt?" The voice on the other end was professional but urgent. "I'm calling about your mother, Arla Pruitt. Her monthly payment is overdue. The attending physician has ordered a new course of treatment, but we can't proceed until the outstanding balance is cleared."

Aliana's hand tightened on the phone. "How much is the balance?"

"Fifty thousand dollars, ma'am. And the payment was due yesterday."

The number hit her like a physical blow. Fifty thousand dollars. "I—I'll come in today," she stammered. "I'll figure something out."

She hung up and stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her dress was still torn. She looked like a woman who had lost everything—because she had.

She splashed cold water on her face and walked back into the main room. The children were huddled together on one of the beds, watching her with wide, worried eyes.

"Mama has to go check on Grandma," she said, kneeling to bring herself to their eye level. Her voice was steady now, the tears pushed down deep where they couldn't see them. "Zane, you're in charge. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"We know the rules, Mama," Zane said solemnly.

She kissed each of their foreheads and slipped out the door, the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders.

After she left, the room fell quiet. Zane stared at the door for a long moment, his small jaw tight. Then he turned to his sisters.

"We need a plan," he said, his voice low.

Riley looked up from her teddy bear. "What kind of plan?"

"A plan to protect Mama." Zane walked to his backpack and pulled out a battered, second-hand laptop he had built himself from discarded parts. "She needs someone strong. Someone who can't be pushed around by people like Jairo."

Mila clutched her unicorn blanket tighter. "Like a superhero?"

"Like a dad," Zane corrected, his fingers already moving across the keyboard. "The most powerful dad in the whole city. Someone who can give us a home and make sure nobody ever hurts Mama again."

He opened a web browser. His sisters crowded behind him, watching as the screen flickered to life.

"How do we find the most powerful dad?" Riley whispered.

Zane's dark eyes narrowed with a determination far too old for his four-year-old face. "We find the most powerful man in the city. And we make him an offer he can't refuse."

His fingers moved across the keyboard. He typed words into the search engine—most powerful CEO in the city, richest man in Sterling Bay, billionaire philanthropist. A flood of news articles and corporate profiles appeared. Zane scanned them, his eyes moving quickly from one headline to the next. He cross-referenced names, filtered out the married ones, eliminated anyone too old. A single name kept appearing at the top of every list. Benedict Hays. Hays Global Enterprises.

Zane looked at the address on the screen, then over at his sisters. A look of grim determination settled over his features. "Tomorrow," he said, "we're going to meet our new dad."

Miles away, in a silent office on the top floor of the Hays Global Enterprises tower, the air was thick with menace.

Benedict Hays sat behind a desk of polished mahogany, his face unreadable. He stared at the report his executive assistant, Mark Fisher, had placed before him.

It contained everything. Security footage of Jairo leading a drugged Aliana to the hotel. Financial records of Jairo's failing startup. And a real-time update on Aliana's current situation.

Benedict's fingers began to tap a slow, steady rhythm on the polished wood. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Each sound was like a hammer blow to Mark's already frayed nerves.

Benedict's eyes scanned the lines detailing the locked doors, the three small children at a motel on the corner of 5th and Elm.

The tapping stopped.

The silence that followed was more terrifying than any sound.

"Mark," Benedict said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Sir?"

"Jairo Barrett's company. I want every line of credit pulled. Every investor scared off. I want him to file for bankruptcy protection by the end of the week."

"Yes, sir." Mark turned to leave, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere.

"Mark."

Mark froze. "Sir?"

"Where is she now?"

"The Starlight Motel, sir. Room twelve."

A deep, forbidding frown creased Benedict's brow. 5th and Elm was one of the most dangerous intersections in the city. "Keep eyes on that motel," he ordered. "I want to know the moment anything threatens her. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."