I Accidentally Texted My Billionaire Boss For Baby Formula — Then Discovered His Dark Secret

Part 1

Lily wailed against my chest, her tiny fists clenched in raw hunger.

It had been hours since her last bottle, and my heart clenched with every desperate cry.

“Will you stop that child from crying?”

an elderly woman’s voice cut through the supermarket din.

I forced a sickeningly sweet smile while panic twisted in my gut.

“She’s just expressing existential dread about the rising cost of baby formula,” I shot back.

The formula sat on the very top shelf, mocking my five-foot-four stature.

I stretched onto my tiptoes, my fingers barely grazing the can before knocking it further back.

Sweat beaded on my forehead as the elderly woman sniffed in loud disapproval.

“I promised your mom you’d never go hungry,” I whispered to Lily, my voice cracking.

The memory of hospital lights and my sister Heather’s flatlining monitor flashed behind my eyes.

With the help of a borrowed mop handle and zero remaining dignity, I finally secured the can.

I hurried to the checkout counter, juggling the squirming baby and my phone.

My bank account displayed a grand total of eight dollars and forty-seven cents.

The formula cost twenty-seven ninety-nine, and my night cleaning job wouldn’t pay me for another three weeks.

Pride and desperation waged a vicious war inside my chest.

I already owed my best friend Brian way too many favors.

Asking for money made my stomach churn, confirming everything my parents ever said about me being a screw-up.

But Lily’s whimpers cut through my pride like a jagged blade.

“Sorry, dignity,” I muttered under my breath, pulling up my contacts.

“Emergency.

Need $20 for baby’s tummy.

Will totally repay when not destitute.”

I added three yellow hearts and the praying hands emoji to mask my burning embarrassment.

The man behind me cleared his throat impatiently just as my thumb hit send.

I bounced Lily with increasing desperation, ignoring the impatient glares from the line.

A sharp ping wrenched my attention back to my cracked phone screen.

“There you go,” the text read.

Relief flooded my system as I blindly tapped my virtual card on the scanner.

That was when I noticed my new bank balance.

It didn’t say twenty-eight dollars.

It said eight hundred and eight dollars.

I shook my head, assuming the banking app was glitching again.

I gathered Lily and my bags, practically running out the automatic doors before checking my phone again.

I froze in the middle of the sidewalk.

Right next to the massive transfer receipt was the sender’s name.

Tyler Brooks.

My billionaire boss, CEO of the company where I scrubbed toilets at night.

The stoic, forbidding titan of industry who probably made more in a minute than I did in a year.

I gasped, suddenly remembering the mandatory emergency contact update from HR last month.

I had saved his private number as a joke, thinking it was hilarious to have a billionaire in my phone.

“What an idiot,” I groaned, horrified by my own stupidity.

I had sent my desperate plea with emojis to Tyler freaking Brooks.

I wanted the concrete sidewalk to swallow me whole.

He had sent eight hundred dollars without a single question.

That night, I pushed my cleaning cart onto the executive floor at one in the morning.

The space was eerily silent, bathed in the glow of city lights.

Tyler was the only one who ever stayed this late.

Light spilled from beneath his heavy mahogany door.

My hands grew clammy around the mop handle.

I couldn’t just keep his money without thanking him.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked lightly on the wood.

No response came from inside.

I knocked louder, but the silence remained unbroken.

Steeling myself, I pushed the heavy door open.

“Mr. Brooks, I just wanted to—” I started, but the words died in my throat.

The unapproachable billionaire was fast asleep at his massive desk.

I almost backed away from the terrifyingly intimate sight.

His usually rigid jaw was relaxed, and his rolled-up sleeves revealed surprisingly muscular forearms.

“Mr. Brooks,” I whispered, stepping cautiously into the room.

He didn’t stir.

For eight months, I had been completely invisible to this man.

Now I stood close enough to see a faint scar near his right eyebrow.

I reached out hesitantly, gently touching his arm to wake him.

The effect was instantaneous and violent.

He jolted awake, his icy blue eyes flying open as he recoiled from my touch.

“Who are you?”

he demanded, his voice rough with sleep.

“I’m Megan, the night cleaner,” I stammered, raising my hands defensively.

“I came to thank you for the money.”

Understanding slowly dawned across his sharp features.

“You’re the night cleaner who texted me about a hungry baby,” he realized.

“It was an accident, but I only asked for twenty dollars,” I rushed to explain.

He straightened his tie, his mask of composure snapping back into place.

“Consider it an advance on your salary,” he said dismissively.

“That’s actually really decent of you,” I admitted.

Without thinking, I placed my hand on his forearm again in a simple gesture of gratitude.

The change was instantaneous and terrifying.

One moment, my fingers rested on warm, solid skin.

The next, the air crackled with raw static electricity.

His designer clothes tore apart at the seams.

His body expanded, bones shifting with a sickening crunch.

I stumbled backward, knocking over an expensive side table.

A massive, silver-and-charcoal wolf stood exactly where my boss had been seconds ago.

The beast’s front paws rested on the scattered papers of the mahogany desk.

He looked just as startled as I felt, his ears flattened tight against his skull.

We stared at each other, a terrified cleaner and a mythical predator.

He bared his teeth, trapped with me on the twenty-second floor.