All Chapters of Becoming Mom To The Billionaire Daughter.: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

THIRD PERSON POV Mr. Wolfe’s voice thundered through the phone as he snapped, “What the hell do you mean Diane made the caretaker from France insane? She’s an eight-year-old child!” Dana Ellis winced on the other end, scrambling to defend herself. “Sir, believe me, it wasn’t my fault. She kept live lizards in her purse, and when the caretaker saw them, she couldn’t help but shriek and run straight out of the mansion,” she said, panic creeping into her voice. Shawn pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, exhaling sharply. “Dana, look, I don’t care how you do it—just get a new caretaker before I come downstairs. Otherwise, you’ll be the one doing her laundry.” He ended the call abruptly, leaving Dana muttering curses under her breath as she dropped her phone onto the desk. “Damn it. Where in this city am I supposed to find a caretaker in under five hours? If I don’t, I’ll be the one washing her dishes,” she cursed, pacing the room. She wandered back and forth, brainsto

RENNIE'S POV Mr. Shawn stared at us like a math teacher whose students couldn’t solve his equations. “What’s going on here?” he asked sharply, his eyes darting between me and his daughter. Diane’s hands were shiny with grease, her mouth full of crumbs. He raised his voice. “I said, what’s going on!” Before I could say a word, both of us blurted out, “It was her fault!” We froze, turned to each other, and shouted in unison, “Hey! How could you snitch on me?” Mr. Shawn’s jaw tightened. “Is this the level of professionalism you bring to my house?” His tone was cold enough to turn the room into an icebox. “I didn’t expect this from someone with your so-called excellent recommendations.” My heart sank. First day on the job, and I was already one foot out the door. Diane stepped forward, her little face serious. “It’s not her fault, Daddy. It’s all mine.” Mr. Shawn blinked. “What?” “I snuck into her room and took her takeout,” she muttered guilt evident, through her facial rea

RENNIE’S POV The darkness swallowed everything but my heartbeat. It pounded loud, thunderous—not in my ears, but in my chest—echoing through me like a warning… or a wish. Shawn let out a low breath, shifting the air. I felt the heat of it brush against my cheek, curling something inside me. Our eyes were locked, and then—slowly, like a decision already made—he moved. Not away. Closer. The air thickened, hotter, tighter. I could taste his cologne, feel electricity buzzing off his skin. His hand rose, brushing my jaw—featherlight, soft, almost hesitant—and I almost forgot how to breathe. “Mr Shawn…” My voice came out lower than before, thick with need as his hands slipped beneath my robe. “W-we should stop-p. We really should,” I stuttered. He gave a soft chuckle—barely a sound, more of a warm exhale. “Funny,” he murmured, “you don’t sound like you want to stop.” My cheeks heated. “I—I didn’t say that.” “Didn’t have to,” he whispered. “Your eyes say it all.” Truly, I didn't

RENNIE'S POV I stepped into Diane’s room while she was still curled up in her oversized pyjama, her dark curls packed inside the hood of her pyjama. “Time to wake up, sleepyhead,” I whispered, running my fingers across her hair. “Five more minutes…” She groaned like a grumpy kitten. There wasn't much time; it was already 6:50 AM. I scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom. The scent of strawberry foam and vanilla bath pearls filled the air as I lowered her into the oversized bathtub. Rubber ducks around her, along with floating dolphins and a lavender bathroom air freshener. “Spa day again?” she teased, her sleepy eyes lighting up. “Every day is spa day for a little queen,” I replied, moving the soft sponge and gently washing behind her ears. “Can we hurry up? I've got school. Can we skip washing my feet? What could happen if I don't wash my feet?” she asked. “Then they'll send everyone out the classroom,” I said with a grin. “Ewww,” she drawled, spraying the water on me.

RENNIE'S POV The drive home was silent. Shawn refused to talk, and I couldn’t—judging from his face, it was either he would’ve hit me or thrown me out of the car. We got home, and as he drove in, I thought he’d open the door. He only parked and threw the keys to the guard. He didn’t even unlock the passenger-side doors, talk more of opening the door for me like he did earlier. Thinking we would reconcile, I refused to get angry, not knowing the hostility had just started. The hostility started with coffee. Not the comforting kind, but the scorching, bitter kind. The kind that splashes across crystal glasses and hand-sewn Italian rugs—not by accident, but purposely. “Clean it up.” Three words. Arrogant. Icy. Domineering. I stared at the mess for half a second too long. The steam still rose from the spilled pot on the boardroom table, dripping slowly to the floor. No one moved. No one breathed. Shawn Wolfe didn’t look at me. Not once. He was seated at the end of the ta