Mr Billionaire's Borrowed Wife
When I picked up Sushi’s litter box and felt like I was lifting the weight of my past sins.
“I told them we couldn’t bring everything,” I muttered, holding my breath against the scent of prematurely packed cat sand. “But of course, everything had to come. Because God forbid this billion-dollar cat suffers the slightest discomfort.”
I dragged the box out of the room, past a narrow hallway now jammed with suitcases, bags, and a unicorn plush that looked like it had just survived a shipwreck.
The kitchen was already noisy. Angela sat at the table eating a sandwich, holding a bottle of serum in one hand. Sienna stood on a chair, dressed in her purple mermaid costume, plastic crown on her head, a