My Son Mistook The Heir For His Dad

Cecilia suddenly found herself wrapped in Bruno's arms, his bare skin pressing against hers, and she froze like a deer in the headlights.

"What the heck?! I'm not your wife! Let me go!"

Bruno didn't loosen his grip; if anything, he tightened it, his hand slipping under the edge of her pajamas.

"Cut the crap," he warned. "I'll ask you one more time—who am I?!"

Pinned against him, Cecilia trembled, a mix of fear and humiliation burning through her. She realized she couldn't keep making things up.

"I swear, I have no idea! Last night, you were hurt on the side of the road. You promised me five hundred grand to help you, so I brought you home!"

"Then why did your kid call me 'Daddy'?"

"His dad died three years ago. I told him his daddy was overseas for work and would be back soon. He's never even seen a photo, so he got confused!"

"What else did I say yesterday?"

"You kept saying no one could know where you were, and then you blacked out! That's it, I swear!"

Bruno glanced down at the stab wound in his side, then at her flushed, trembling face. She didn't look like she was lying. He let her go.

Cecilia stumbled back a few steps, glaring at him. "I don't want your damn money. Just get the hell out of my house!"

The money was tempting, but her son's safety—and her own—came first.

The struggle had Bruno's wound bleeding again, cold sweat beading on his forehead from the pain. The mysterious knife injuries, along with his urgent instructions to Cecilia, told him one thing: stepping outside could put him right back in danger.

His tone softened a fraction, though it held no warmth. "I need to lie low here for a few days. I'll get you your half a million one way or another."

Cecilia wasn't stupid enough to fall for that again. A man with no money and no clue who he was? How the hell was he gonna make good on that promise? And he was terrifying—the thought of living under the same roof with him scared her half to death!

She was about to refuse when his icy glare sent a chill racing down her spine, killing the words in her throat.

"Where are my things?" Bruno asked.

Reluctantly, she handed over a treasured ring. "Aside from your clothes, just this. But you gave it to me, remember? You wouldn't want it back, would you?"

Bruno turned the ring over, spotting the 'RY' engraved inside. He mulled it over, but nothing clicked.

At last, he handed it back to her—a fiercely contested heirloom from the Ryan family, though he had no idea. "Looks valuable. Take good care of me these next few days."

Cecilia breathed a little easier—at least she hadn't lost it all. Catching the engraving, she frowned. "So your last name is Ryan?"

Hearing the odd note in her voice, Bruno asked, "Got a problem with the Ryans?"

Something dark flashed in her eyes. "That's none of your business," she said coolly.

Clutching the ring, she left the room. To keep up the illusion that Santos's father was still around, she kept some men's toiletries and clothes at home, which she now offered to Bruno.

Bruno, however, had no strength left. "I can't... handle it. Can you help?"

She noted he at least asked nicely.

Cecilia's eyes flicked to his bare, sculpted chest for a moment, her cheeks heating. Steeling herself, she moved to help him dress.

The shirt went on easily, but the pants were a battle. Trying to make it less awkward, she straddled his legs and bent close.

"Lift your hips a little," she said.

He did, straining to lift himself up, arms braced against the bed. With Cecilia leaning forward and Bruno arching upward, the situation was undeniably suggestive.

The indecent image that popped into her head made her cheeks burn, her ears going red.

Bruno caught her embarrassment right away. A 'lonely widow'... he thought wryly, frowning. After three years, who wouldn't be a little... frustrated?

A sharp pain ripped through his abdomen. His arms buckled, and he collapsed onto the bed, unable to hold the pose. With his pants still undone, Cecilia tumbled right on top of him!

"Ugh—ah—" Bruno groaned, his face twisting in pain. "Get... off!" he bit out.

Cecilia's face turned tomato-red.

"Ah... I can't move... My back seized up—probably from hauling you around last night..."

Her job involved driving deliveries and unloading, which had done a number on her back.

Bruno half-suspected she was exaggerating, the 'lonely widow' thought still in his head, but he didn't have the strength to shove her off.

Mortified, Cecilia squirmed on top of him, trying to scramble off.

"...Just hang on, I'm almost—almost there..."

Her sluggish movements only made his pain worse, and he groaned even louder.

One battling a bad back, the other suffering from a wound—the two of them were trapped in a mess, panting hard.

Cecilia finally managed to sit up, still straddling Bruno's lap, when a sudden cry from outside snapped her head around.

"Cecilia, I'm here to pick up— Oh my goodness, what in the—! Good heavens!"

It was Kahlani, the neighbor, who shrieked and fled. Cecilia often left Santos with her while she worked. Hearing noises, Kahlani's curiosity got the better of her, and she'd peeked inside.

The sight was downright scandalous! A man with his pants around his ankles and Cecilia on top of him, both slick with sweat and breathless...

In her sixty-plus years, Kahlani had seen plenty—and she drew her conclusion fast: a daytime romp!