The Billionaire And His Children's Tutor
She was supposed to tutor his children.
Not steal his heart.
After a brutal breakup and one very bad night, Hannah Milton becomes a live-in tutor at the powerful Walton estate-where rules are strict, emotions are buried, and falling in love is absolutely forbidden.
Benjamin Walton is older, untouchable, and completely off-limits. He's built his life on control, but Hannah's wit, warmth, and chaos threaten everything he's worked to protect.
As desire ignites and secrets surface, one woman inside the house is determined to destroy Hannah before love can win.
Because some loves aren't meant to happen...
until they do.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 1
How a Breakup, Bad Wine, and a C
How a Breakup, Bad Wine, and a Cliff Almost Ruined My Life
(Hannah's POV)
If heartbreak had a smell, it would be cheap red wine and betrayal.
I learned that the hard way.
It started in Barry Winston's apartment-the one I used to think we'd eventually decorate together. White walls, gray couch, ambitions that no longer included me.
Barry stood by the window, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared like he was preparing for a business presentation instead of a breakup.
"Hannah," he said carefully, which was the first sign I was about to lose something important. "I've been thinking."
That was the second sign.
People never think before saying good things. They think before destroying you.
I forced a smile. "That's new. Should I sit down?"
He didn't laugh.
Strike three.
"I got the job," he said. "At Walton Empire."
I blinked. "I know. I congratulated you. Twice. I even cried a little."
"That's not the point."
Oh.
Here we go.
He turned to face me fully, eyes sharp, confident-too confident. The kind of confidence that comes with money, power, and suddenly believing you deserve better.
"I'm moving up fast," he continued. "My salary just doubled."
"I'm proud of you," I said softly.
He sighed, like I was exhausting him.
"Hannah... you're still in school."
Ah.
There it was.
"I graduate in six months," I said. "You know that."
"But six months is still six months," he replied. "And after that, you'll probably start small. Entry-level. Internships."
I stared at him. "Barry, what are you saying?"
He hesitated. Not because he was kind-but because he was a coward.
"I think... we're in different leagues now."
The words hit harder than any slap could have.
"Different leagues," I repeated. "Like football?"
"This isn't a joke."
"I'm trying to make it one so I don't cry."
He finally looked uncomfortable.
"You deserve someone at your level," he said. "And I deserve someone at mine."
I laughed then.
Actually laughed.
Because what else do you do when the man you planned to marry decides you're suddenly beneath him?
"So let me get this straight," I said. "You get a paycheck, and I lose a future?"
He looked relieved that I was taking it calmly.
"This is for the best."
"For who?" I asked.
"For both of us."
That was the moment I stopped listening.
I grabbed my bag, my dignity-what was left of it-and walked out before I begged him to stay.
I did not beg.
I was very proud of that.
The pride lasted approximately forty-seven minutes.
---
The wine came next.
I didn't buy it to get drunk.
That's what everyone says before they get drunk.
I bought it because my chest hurt and I needed something to quiet the noise inside my head-the what did I do wrong, the was I ever enough, the how could he leave so easily.
One glass turned into three.
Three turned into a decision to "get fresh air."
Which is how I ended up on a hiking trail at dawn, slightly buzzed, emotionally wrecked, and wearing shoes that had absolutely no business being near dirt.
I sat under a tree, staring at nothing, sipping from a bottle like a woman in a tragic indie film.
"This is fine," I told myself. "Very healthy coping mechanism."
That's when I saw him.
A man standing at the edge of a cliff.
Tall. Still. Silent.
My heart seized.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
He wasn't pacing. He wasn't on his phone. He wasn't taking pictures like a normal human.
He was just... standing there.
Too close.
Too calm.
My brain-already compromised by wine and heartbreak-made a decision without consulting logic.
He's going to jump.
I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping over my own misery.
"Hey!" I shouted, running toward him. "Don't do it!"
He didn't turn.
Panic exploded in my chest.
"No no no-please don't-"
I grabbed his coat and yanked with everything I had.
And immediately realized two things:
1. He was much heavier than anticipated.
2. He was very much not planning to die.
He spun around, eyes sharp, hands gripping my arms to steady us both.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
I screamed.
Not a dignified scream. A full-blown, horror-movie scream.
"Let go of me!" I yelled.
"I'm trying to keep us from falling!"
"YOU WERE TRYING TO JUMP!"
"I WAS STANDING!"
"That'S WORSE!"
I yanked free, my heart pounding, and spotted a plank of wood on the ground.
Don't ask me why there was a plank of wood on a hiking trail.
The universe knew I was unstable.
I swung.
The sound it made when it hit his head will haunt me forever.
He collapsed.
Silence followed.
"Oh my God," I breathed.
I dropped the plank and knelt beside him.
"Please wake up," I whispered frantically. "I can't go to prison. I have student loans."
Nothing.
I backed away slowly.
And then-I ran.
---
The police found me before guilt could kill me.
They brought him in too-alive, thankfully, but furious.
At the station, reality hit.
He hadn't been suicidal.
He'd been quiet.
Grieving.
Normal.
And I had assaulted him because my ex-boyfriend got a promotion.
"I'm so sorry," I said for the hundredth time, staring at the floor. "I really thought you were going to jump."
He was silent for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
"I won't press charges."
My head snapped up. "You won't?"
"It was a misunderstanding," he said calmly. "An aggressive one. But still."
I almost cried again.
I thanked him. Apologized. Promised never to drink and hike again.
He left with a bandage and dignity intact.
I left with shame.
I assumed that was the end of it.
I was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Because a weeks later, I walked into a job interview at the Walton's Estate...
And found myself staring at the man whose head I had nearly cracked open with a plank of wood.
Benjamin Walton.
The richest man in the country.
And, apparently, my future problem.
You may also like
9.6
After getting drunk at a wedding party, Maya had spent a night with a man. She then found herself pregnant after that. She wanted to keep the child, but the man had other plans. She tried to run away but was caught. "If you want to keep the child, marry me. Well divorce after two years, and meanwhile, don't touch me-not even holding hands," the man said, backing her into a corner. She found the man utterly shameless.
"Holding hands? Dream on."
After the marriage, the man said, "I know you are scared. Let's sleep together tonight."
"I'm not scared."
"I saw you in a dream and heard you say you're scared and want to sleep with me."
"Have you no shame, Charles Darwin?"
"Shame? What is shame?"
7.2
Five years ago, I, Claire Parker, ran away for love with Daniel Carter, the broke boy everyone looked down on. But on the very day we were supposed to leave together, he abandoned me.
Overnight, I became the laughingstock of the entire city and was forced into a marriage alliance with a terminally ill man, Ryan Cooper.
Five years later, my husband died, the marriage arrangement fell apart, and the Cooper family threw me out without a shred of mercy.
Meanwhile, Daniel, the man everyone once sneered at, returned home in glory and became the hottest rising name in the business world.
And somehow, he ended up becoming my boss.
I wanted nothing to do with him, yet he kept closing in on me, cornering me with sarcasm sharp enough to draw blood.
Then one day, Daniel caught me on a date with another man.
His eyes reddened instantly as he pinned me against the wall. "Claire... are you abandoning me again?"
7.6
To pay for her father's life support, Haleigh sold herself into a marriage with Fabian Blackburn, a ruthless billionaire in a deep coma.
But on her wedding day, she caught her boyfriend cheating with her stepsister, laughing about how they would steal the inheritance the second Fabian stopped breathing. Cornered and desperate, Haleigh secretly underwent IVF using her comatose husband's frozen sperm to secure the family trust.
Weeks later, a miracle happened. Fabian woke up.
But instead of gratitude, he treated her like trash. He threw annulment papers at her face, completely disgusted by the arranged marriage.
"If you try any dirty tricks to get pregnant, I will personally drag you to a clinic and have that bastard scraped out of you."
Terrified, Haleigh hid her positive pregnancy test and desperately tried to hack her way to enough cash to escape. But while using his computer, she accidentally opened a highly classified folder.
Inside was a medical file and a photo of a severely disabled girl who looked exactly like Fabian.
Before she could process it, Fabian walked in. Seeing the screen, his cold mask shattered into pure, unhinged madness. He lunged across the room, lifting her off the floor by her throat, completely ignoring her desperate gasps for air.
"Lock her in the basement," he roared to his guards. "No food. No water."
Curled on the freezing concrete, clutching her newly pregnant belly, Haleigh didn't understand what she had just seen that turned him into a murderous monster.
But she knew one thing: if she didn't escape this terrifying estate, both she and his unborn heir would die in the dark.
7.1
They ruined her face. Stole her child. Now she's back-and nothing will stop her.
Five years ago, Raina Carrington lost everything: her beauty, her family, and her newborn baby.
Now she's returned-unrecognizable, unbreakable, and with one goal in mind: to find her son and make them pay. But revenge is never simple, especially when it draws the attention of Leif Vexley-the most powerful and dangerous man in the city-who just might hold the key to her child's past.
Yet she's not the victim anymore.
She's the storm-and she's ready to strike.
8.9
Aubree Hamilton was the top-tier executive assistant to Wall Street's most ruthless titan, Beck Franco. A month ago, she made a catastrophic mistake and spent the night in his bed.
Thinking she had erased the mistake with a morning-after pill, she panicked upon his return and lied about being engaged to push him away.
But Beck, a man who despised disloyalty above all else, immediately suspended her and ordered her escorted out of the building. Her nightmare only escalated when her toxic ex-boyfriend attacked her on the street, tearing her purse open and exposing the empty morning-after pill box to the public—and to Beck, who was watching from his penthouse. After having his security rescue her, Beck trapped her in his car, ruthlessly tearing apart her fake engagement. Later in her apartment, the suffocating tension between them almost ignited into a kiss, but a violent wave of nausea suddenly hit Aubree.
She shoved him away with all her strength and violently threw up in the bathroom.
Beck took it as the ultimate physical disgust. He walked out, deeply humiliated and dangerously obsessed, unleashing his resources to investigate her every move.
Left alone and trembling, Aubree finally checked the crushed white box. The pill she took had expired a month ago.
Staring at the two bright pink lines on the pregnancy test, she made a desperate vow: Beck Franco could never know she was carrying his child, and she had to disappear before he found out.
8.6
I was on my knees in the Ohio dirt, frantically scooping wet coffee grounds back into a torn trash bag while my foster mother screamed that I was a useless waste of space.
Then, ten black Escalades rolled into our rotting trailer park like a funeral procession, and a woman in silk fell to the mud, sobbing that she had finally found her "Elara."
I was whisked away to a mansion that looked like a castle, but the nightmare didn't end with a warm bed and sterilized air.
My brother Harlen looked at me with pure disgust, and when he slapped a chicken leg out of my hand at our first dinner, I instinctively dove under the table to eat it off the rug, begging for mercy through my tears.
My billionaire father, Arthur, watched in silent agony as I tried to wash my own rags in a gold-plated sink at dawn, terrified that I would be starved if I didn't "earn my keep."
He promised me a thousand silk dresses and ordered the trailer park bulldozed to the ground, but I still felt like a prey animal caught by very large, very sad predators.
The trauma wasn't a smudge I could wash off; it was a map of cigarette burns and bruises that I was desperate to hide from the family that had spent millions searching for me.
Just as I thought I might be safe, a black helicopter banked over the lawn, carrying a medical team and a cold order from my oldest brother, the "Shark" of New York.
"No one is ever taking you away," my father growled, shielding me from the men in white coats.
But as the rotors shook the windows, I realized that being found was only the beginning of a different kind of war within the Bridges empire.