“Whose child is this?” the boss asks, nodding toward the little sofa where Mya is peacefully dozing.
I bite my lip and look at the man’s eyes, confused.
“My… This is my daughter.”
“I already warned you: no children in the office!”
I shrink back, expecting the man to throw us out right now. But I understand I won’t be able to wake up my daughter and drag her into the cold. I’ve only just gotten her fever down.
A little ball of fur, as if hearing us, sighs and turns over to the other side.
“I remember, but Nikolai Borisovich, don’t throw us out. I promise—tomorrow morning we’ll leave!” I fervently assure the man, who becomes even stricter.
“No—right now! Get ready! You’re coming with me!”
“But…”
“I said: get ready. You’re going with me!”
My fiancé cheated on me right on our wedding day. To get revenge, I gave a stranger a wonderful night and my virginity—and in the morning I ran away, regretting my rash decisions. I would’ve forgotten what happened as a nightmare, if it weren’t for the two lines on the test. Back then I still didn’t know that the father of my child is a famous oligarch—and my future boss.