“What are you to the girl?” the doctor asked in a routine tone.
“W-well, I—I—” I looked timidly at my boss, blushing, and mumbled: “Aunt.”
“Diana?” he raised his eyebrows and, seeing me with disbelief, shook his head.
“And you?” the doctor asked a little louder, adjusting her glasses.
“— He’s her father,” I mewled, trying not to look toward the boss, and repeated: “Her real father.”
“What?!” My personal hell roared.
“Are you out of your mind?!”
“The button… it’s…” I gathered my courage, shut my eyes, and bravely blurted out:
“Maria is your button, boss!”
** *My arranged contract marriage was quite happy—until my husband decided to remind me of the obligations he once gave me. Even after putting myself back together after escaping the golden cage, I didn’t expect life to change so drastically.
My hopeless sister left me a generous inheritance: an influential and horribly harmful boss who broke her heart and abandoned her while she was pregnant. And a newborn daughter—now the one who became my most beloved own child.