The Billionaire's Maid
No older than eight, but braver than anyone I’d ever known.
I grabbed his small hands, clutching them tight, then bent to kiss his forehead. My tears dripped onto his skin. “Thank you. Thank you, sweet boy.”
“You’re welcome, Miss,” he said, his grin wide, proud. “I like helping people.”
“This is my son, Jack,” the man behind him said, his voice steady but edged with concern.
“And this is my dad, Ryan Smith.” Jack said in a lively voice.
I looked up. Ryan Smith. Tall. Broad shoulders. Brown eyes warm and kind, grounding me when I felt like I was still falling. A man who radiated protection without even trying.