The Billionaire's Reluctant Nanny
When Alessia Romano's ex-husband destroys her family's company to drag her back to him, she refuses to beg. But refusing comes at a cost she never expected.
Billionaire Adrian Virelli pays off every debt and saves Romano Industries from ruin. The price is simple. Three years of her life, living under his roof as his daughter's nanny.
Adrian is cold, controlled, and completely off limits. Alessia tells herself she feels nothing.
But when she discovers a hidden room filled with portraits of a woman wearing her face, the truth hits harder than any betrayal she has ever known
She was never the woman he wanted. She was only a replacement.
She walks away. Then his ex-wife returns, and the danger that follows is nothing like Alessia expected. Someone wants her dead, Adrian nearly dies saving her life, and when he finally opens his eyes again, he remembers nothing.
His ex-wife is standing at his bedside, ready to rewrite every memory he has left.
And Alessia is running out of time to make the man she loves remember that he loved her too.
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Chapter 2
Alessia's Pov
The room froze.
All eyes shifted to the man who had just walked in. He was tall, with broad shoulders, dressed in a dark suit. Calm. Every movement measured and deliberate.
He didn't rush. He didn't flinch. He simply moved toward the center of the hall, past rows of staring guests, until he stopped near the stage.
Julian Mercer's frown deepened. "Excuse me," he said, voice tight. "This is a private auction. You have no business here unless you have an invitation."
"I don't need an invitation," he said nonchalantly, not even bothering to look back at Julian.
"I said," he repeated to the auctioneer, his voice smooth like velvet, "this auction is over."
The auctioneer blinked. "Sir, I'm afraid that's not possible. We are in the middle of-"
"Then make it possible. I've settled the debts of Romano Industries."
A murmur spread through the hall.
"The outstanding loans have been paid," he continued calmly. "Every creditor has been compensated. The assets currently being auctioned will be returned to the Romano family."
Gasps broke through the crowd.
"And the company," he finished, "now belongs to me."
Silence.
Julian stared at him for a moment before letting out a laugh, breaking the silence.
It was loud and mocking, meant to humiliate.
"You expect us to believe that?" he scoffed. "Some random man walks in and suddenly claims he bought Romano Industries?"
He gestured lazily toward me, still laying helplessly on the floor.
"Let me guess. You're here to play hero for my ex-wife, her knight in shining armor." He sneered.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, fury overriding my embarrassment and helplessness.
I let out a loud scoff as I got off the floor. The attention of the room rediverted to me instantly, eager to hear what I had to say.
"You act like you have some special place here when you don't."
"Oh, now your prince charming is here you have a backbone," Julian smirked at me.
He enjoyed toying with me in front of all these people.
Marissa walked up to me with a look of fake sympathy. Her red lips formed a pout as she grabbed my arm lightly, her nails digging into my skin drawing a faint line of blood as I winced.
"Alessia, Julian still cares about you even after everything you did," she said loud enough for everyone to hear. "You don't need to hire an actor just to save face. Just apologize and he'll forgive you."
"Let go of me," I said harshly, pushing her away. She staggered back before Julian caught her in his arms.
The mystery man simply lifted an eyebrow, his expression unreadable.
Julian glared at me. "Honestly, this is pathetic. Do you even know what kind of money it takes to-"
The doors behind them burst open again, interrupting him a second time.
A young woman hurried inside, heels clicking quickly across the floor as she made her way toward him, clutching a tablet and a folder thick with documents.
"Sir," she said, slightly breathless, "the transfers are complete. All funds have been wired, and the acquisition contracts have been finalized."
The room held its breath.
Julian scoffed again. "Oh please. Do you really expect anyone here to take this seriously?"
The woman turned slowly toward him.
"And who are you?" she asked impatiently.
He rolled his eyes as he adjusted his suit jacket. "Julian Mercer," he said with pride.
Her expression was unimpressed.
Then she gave a small, incredulous laugh.
"Mr. Mercer," she said, her voice carrying easily across the silent hall, "if you're going to insult someone, you should at least know who you're talking to."
Julian's smirk faltered.
She gestured casually toward the man beside her.
"This is Adrian Virelli."
The whispers died instantly.
Even the air seemed to grow heavier.
Julian's face drained of color.
Because everyone in that room knew exactly who Adrian Virelli was.
One of the most powerful men in the country.
A man whose companies swallowed corporations twice the size of Romano Industries before breakfast.
Julian had been after a partnership with them for years but had been rejected countless times.
Julian swallowed hard.
"Mr. Virelli," he said quickly, his tone shifting from arrogance to forced politeness in the span of a second. "I... didn't realize it was you. If there's been some kind of misunderstanding-"
Adrian didn't listen.
His attention had already shifted to me, shivering in the strapless white gown Marissa had doused in wine. My palm was raw from scraping the floor. My dignity scattered across the room for everyone to stare at.
For a moment, he simply looked at me, I shuddered under his gaze.
Then he removed his suit jacket.
The movement was smooth and effortless.
He stepped closer and draped it over my shoulders, the dark fabric hiding the stains and the humiliation.
A wave of whispers surged through the guests.
"Why is Adrian Virelli helping her?"
"Does he know the Romano family?"
"Are they dating?"
Julian clenched his jaw hard.
I barely heard them.
My mind was still struggling to process what had just happened as I slowly turned my head toward the stage.
My father was staring at Adrian.
Not with shock, but something else I couldn't quite put my finger on.
He met my gaze.
Then he gave a small nod toward the direction Adrian had already started walking.
A silent instruction but loud and clear.
Follow him.
Adrian was halfway to the exit.
I pushed myself to my feet, clutching the jacket around me as I hurried after him, the murmurs of the elite trailing behind me like ghosts.
I caught up to him in the corridor outside.
"Wait."
He stopped.
Slowly, he turned to face me.
Up close, his expression was calm and controlled.
Impossible to read.
I swallowed.
"You just saved my family," I said, my voice shaky but sincere. "Our company... our home... everything. I-"
"You don't need to thank me."
Relief flickered across my face.
It vanished just as quickly.
Adrian slipped his hands into his pockets, his gaze steady as he finished the sentence.
"I never do anything for free."
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7.8
Alayna was working a grueling catering shift in worn-out heels to support her broke college boyfriend, Caiden, who claimed to be studying at the library.
But through the crack of a VIP suite door, she saw him wearing a bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe watch, sipping expensive liquor.
"It's a little poverty role-play. Keeps things interesting."
He was laughing with his rich friends, mocking her as his clueless "charity case."
To make matters worse, she was forced into a humiliating mascot costume just in time to watch him passionately kiss his wealthy ex-girlfriend.
That same night, Alayna's mother collapsed with gastric cancer, requiring a half-million-dollar surgery.
When a desperate Alayna begged Caiden for help, he refused.
"Why don't you just apply for Medicaid? That's the path for people like you."
For two years, she had starved herself to buy his textbooks, his tickets, and his shoes.
He had stolen her sweat and her sacrifices, all for a cruel game.
The sheer audacity of his betrayal made her blood run cold.
When a billionaire stranger stepped in to pay her mother's medical bills in exchange for a one-year fake marriage, Alayna didn't hesitate to sign the contract.
She slipped the flawless diamond ring onto her finger, opened a spreadsheet, and sent Caiden an invoice for every single cent.
This time, she was going to dismantle his entire life.
9.7
I secured the lifeline investment for my fiancé's company and went to his office to surprise him.
Instead, I caught Preston sleeping with his top actress—the woman he publicly claimed as his stepsister.
Through the cracked door, I heard him call me his "scarred, ugly bitch shield" to hide their sickening affair.
I didn't cry. I hacked the live broadcast of the Star Awards and played their sex tape to two thousand people.
But that night, drunk and reeling from the agonizing nerve pain in my facial scar, I stumbled into the wrong hotel penthouse.
I was pinned down by a drugged billionaire, Josephus Hodges.
The next morning, he left me a million-dollar check and a Plan B pill.
When he later tracked me down to offer a cold, calculated fake marriage just to absorb Preston's ruined empire, I threw the contract at his chest and told him to go to hell.
But when I got home and looked in the mirror, the chronic, burning torture in my scar was completely gone.
His touch during that terrifying night had somehow cured the agony that had ruined my life.
I had just declared war on the only man on earth who could heal me.
Just then, my ruined ex-fiancé called, begging me to save him with a PR press conference.
"I'll do it, but I control the venue."
I booked it at Josephus's heavily guarded hotel. I was going to slaughter my ex on live television, and force the apex predator to look at me again.
7.9
On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."
9.7
For three years, I played the role of a devoted, naive wife to billionaire Conrad Whitney. I hid my true identity and foolishly believed in our fairy tale.
Then he handed me a harsh divorce agreement, ordering me to sign and walk away with absolutely nothing. He was leaving me to marry Cindy, the fragile woman he claimed had saved him from a fire.
He expected me to cry and beg. Instead, he watched coldly as Cindy and her family illegally transferred my father's trust fund. When I confronted them at the hospital, Conrad shielded her, calling me a greedy, toxic viper. He mocked me, completely blind to the fact that Cindy was a fraud. He truly believed I was just a pathetic, useless housewife who would be utterly destroyed without his money and status.
I looked at the man I had actually dragged out of that burning debris with my own soot-covered hands. My trauma, my sacrifices, and my love had all been reduced to a joke by his sheer arrogance and a few fake tears from a manipulative liar.
I didn't shed a single tear. I calmly signed the papers, drugged his wine, and left a crumpled one-dollar bill on his unconscious chest with a sticky note mocking his terrible service.
Then, I picked up my encrypted phone. It was time for the world's top surgeon, Dr. Hades, to return, and for Conrad to finally see the god he had just thrown away.
9.2
Celestia woke up heavily sedated, her wrists bound tightly to the legs of a grand piano in a cold, opulent room.
Before she could even process the panic, a towering billionaire named Sterling Sinclair IV stepped in, looking at her like a possessed piece of art.
The head maid then handed Celestia a thick surrogacy contract with her perfectly forged signature.
"You are here to bear an heir for Mr. Sinclair," the maid stated flatly.
Celestia screamed that they had the wrong person, but her desperate cries bounced uselessly off the soundproof walls.
Stripped of her clothes, phone, and identity, she was trapped on an isolated island surrounded by high-voltage electric fences and armed guards.
When she furiously fought back, Sterling physically overpowered her, punishing her resistance with brutal, terrifying dominance until she lost consciousness on the marble floor.
She didn't understand who had kidnapped her from her normal life.
Why was her biometric data perfectly faked in a classified dossier?
Who had framed her as a willing, ten-million-dollar premium product for a ruthless billionaire?
Driven by pure survival, Celestia began aggressively consuming raw garlic and bathing in harsh white vinegar to destroy her fertility and repel his touch.
And when Sterling finally reviewed her bizarre, self-sabotaging dietary logs, the terrifying truth hit his calculating mind like a physical blow.
The broken, innocent woman he had been brutally tormenting all week was never his hired surrogate.
8.4
Harlene was locked out of her own family's estate in a freezing blizzard, still trembling from a severe panic attack.
Her mother delivered a cold ultimatum through a security screen: attend her golden-child sister Estella's award gala, or lose her medical funds.
To make it worse, her ex-fiancé, Dennis, had chimed in to call her embarrassing and pathetic.
At the gala, Harlene was treated like a diseased outcast.
Dennis fiercely protected his new lover, Jailyn—the very woman who had stolen Harlene's designs.
But the ultimate betrayal came when Estella flaunted a silver-embroidered antique dress.
It was Harlene's grandmother's dress, her only pure memory of love, handed over to the enemy as a trophy.
When Harlene demanded answers, her own father slapped her across the face in front of the press, just to protect their pristine image.
They had stolen her career, her fiancé, and her inheritance, all while branding her the crazy, unstable daughter.
The sheer hypocrisy and cruelty finally severed the last thread of her sanity.
Why should she play the silent victim while they played the perfect family?
Instead of crying, Harlene smiled.
She drew a hidden dagger, slashed the antique dress to ribbons, and dragged Estella and Jailyn to the center stage.
Standing under the blinding spotlight with a bloody blade, she looked out at the terrified crowd.
"The Beaumont family is done hiding," she declared into the microphone. "Tonight, the curtain falls."