My best friend and I saved a billionaire’s son. His father asked us what we wanted as a reward. My friend held up one finger. The billionaire said, “Done. A million dollars for you.” Her jaw dropped. I knew she was thinking of a single dollar for a lollipop. Then, his gaze fell on me. I slowly raised one finger and shook my head. Before he could process that, I dropped to the ground and hugged his leg. “Dad!” He gently declined. So I pivoted, let go of the father, and wrapped my arms around the son I’d just saved. “Husband!” At the time, I was seven years old. The billionaire’s son was eight. 1 At seven years old, you’re basically a public nuisance. A feral little creature running on instinct and sugar. That was me, anyway. I’d just led my best friend, Chloe, through a gap I’d painstakingly widened in the chain-link fence behind St. Jude’s Home for Children. Our mission: the creek deep in the woods, where rumor had it the crawdads were massive. We didn’t find any crawdads. Instead, tucked away in a thicket of ferns, we found a boy. Maybe eight years old, passed out cold. He was wearing a little blazer, the kind of thing you see in magazines, fancier than anything the boys at the home owned. Now, though, it was smeared with mud and blood. Chloe and I put our shoulders into it, grunting and straining, but we couldn’t move him an inch. “Maya, is he… is he dead?” Chloe’s voice was a high-pitched wobble, tears already welling up. My name is Maya. The director at St. Jude’s, Mrs. Gable, gave it to me. She said it meant I was destined for great things. I hoped “great things” meant “lots of money.” I knelt down, mimicking a scene from one of the cheesy dramas our housekeeper, Maria, was always watching. I put my fingers under his nose. “Still breathing,” I announced. I stood, scanned our surroundings, and yanked a handful of broad-leafed weeds from the ground. I found a flat rock and smashed them into a green, pulpy mess, then slapped the whole concoction onto the gash on his forehead. “Master healer,” I said with a deadpan expression, meeting Chloe’s wide, worshipping eyes. I had no idea what those weeds were or what they did. All I knew was that in the shows, whenever the hero fell off a cliff, this is how they saved themselves. “You stay here with him. I’ll go get help.” I gave Chloe her orders, then tugged at my own faded t-shirt. I wished I had a flowing cape. If I had a cape, I’d look exactly like a superheroine, sprinting off to save the day. My superhero moment was unceremoniously crushed by Mrs. Gable’s hand connecting with the back of my head. I spent the whole way back to the woods sniffling, tears tracking paths through the dirt on my cheeks as I led the way. By the time we got there, Chloe, that little glutton, was long gone—probably lured away by the thought of dinner. The boy was still lying there alone, the poultice I’d made for him dried into a sad, flaky cracker on his forehead. Mrs. Gable hadn’t actually believed me. The color drained from her face when she saw him. She fumbled for her phone, calling 911, her voice trembling. The world dissolved into a dizzying symphony of sirens. The boy was lifted onto a stretcher and carried away. I was hauled to the local police station to give a statement. I’m loyal. I didn’t rat Chloe out. But she had no such qualms. The second she saw Mrs. Gable, she burst into tears and pointed a trembling finger at me. She told them how I’d dragged her through the fence, how it was my idea to hunt for crawdads, how I’d mashed up weird plants and put them on the boy. It had nothing to do with her. I lunged for her, my fingers curled into claws, but Mrs. Gable caught me by the scruff of my neck. When we got back to St. Jude’s, I found the gap in the fence sealed with a fresh patch of concrete. My adventures were now confined to the dusty yard. I was so mad at Chloe that I gave her the silent treatment for a whole week. She was too scared to even come near me. Then, one afternoon, a car with a tiny, gleaming silver angel on the hood pulled up to our gate. A Rolls-Royce. A man stepped out. The fabric of his suit shimmered, looking so expensive it probably cost more than our entire building. He radiated an aura of power, exactly like the billionaires in Maria’s dramas who were always saying things like, “Here’s a hundred million. Get out of my sight.” Trailing behind him was the boy. He looked nothing like the snot-nosed kids I usually fought with in the yard. His clothes were immaculate, his teeth were perfectly white and straight, and there wasn’t a single runny nose in sight. It was him. The boy from the woods. I was lazily swinging, hanging upside down, when Mrs. Gable marched them right over to me. “Maya, get down from there this instant!” Her voice was tight. I could see the impulse to grab me flicker in her eyes, but with important guests present, she reined it in. I saw my opening. No discipline today? My courage swelled. I scrambled upright on the wobbly swing seat, struck a flamingo-like pose on one leg, and, for dramatic effect, let go with one hand. That was the last straw. My death-defying act finally broke her. Distinguished guests or not, she yanked me down and gave me the scolding of a lifetime right there in the yard. I was still sniffling, hiccupping with tears, when she finally positioned me in front of them. “I am so sorry,” Mrs. Gable said, her cheeks flushed. “She’s… spirited.” The rich man just chuckled. “Don’t apologize. If it weren’t for her being so spirited, my son, Liam, might not have been found. A little wildness is a good thing.” Mrs. Gable managed a tight smile. “Well, your son is very lucky. Those woods are treacherous; even locals avoid them. Maya here…” Her hand twitched again as she pulled me closer, visibly fighting the urge to give me another shake. “Which is why we are so grateful,” the man continued. “In addition to the five-hundred-thousand-dollar donation we’re making to the home, we’d like to offer the children a personal reward. Something just for them.” Chloe must have heard the commotion because she suddenly appeared at my side. The man learned that she had been there too, and he smiled kindly at her. “Is there anything you’d like, sweetie?” She shyly held up one finger. The man sighed in relief. “Of course. One million dollars is yours.” Chloe’s jaw dropped. Her little brain was probably trying to calculate how many lollipops a million dollars could buy. A million dollars didn’t mean much to me either, but I knew it was a hell of a lot more than the single dollar she’d been about to ask for. Finally, the man’s gaze fell on me. I slowly raised one finger, then gave it a little wag, shaking my head. His brow furrowed slightly. As he was trying to calculate what my finger-wagging math might mean, I dropped to the ground, wrapped my arms around his leg, and shouted with all the force my little lungs could muster. “Dad!” The sound was sharp and clear, vibrating through the still afternoon air. The man froze, staring down at me. For the first time, the perfectly managed expression of a corporate titan cracked, revealing pure, unadulterated shock. Mrs. Gable squeezed the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as if praying for strength. Behind his father, the boy—Liam—let out a quiet snort of laughter. The man recovered, offering a strained smile as he gently tried to pry me off. “I’m sorry, little one, but how about… how about five million dollars instead?” I slowly unwrapped my arms. Just as he breathed a sigh of relief, I launched myself sideways and latched onto his son. “Husband!” The world went silent. I was seven. Liam Sterling, the rich man’s son, was eight. His mouth hung open, revealing those perfect teeth. A deep blush crept up his neck, flooding his handsome face. He instinctively tried to back away, but I held on tight. I was strong and wiry, and he lost his balance, tumbling backward onto the grass with me still attached. The next thing I knew, I was being lifted into the air by my collar. This time, Mrs. Gable truly lost it. As she disciplined me, she ranted, “I told you to stop watching those ridiculous shows with Maria! You’re seven years old! What is wrong with you? Maria?! Where is Maria!” Maria did not appear. The ordeal only ended when the rich boy himself, Liam, tugged on his father’s sleeve and mumbled something. I was finally released. “Ma’am, perhaps there’s another solution,” Mr. Sterling said after a long pause. “This girl… I’d like to take her in. I’ll raise her, see to her education, all the way through college. What do you think?” I don’t know what he and Mrs. Gable discussed after that. My backside was stinging so badly that the words just floated over my head. All I know is that Mrs. Gable insisted she “couldn’t show favoritism,” and so, when the Rolls-Royce with the little silver angel pulled away, both Chloe and I were in the back seat. 2 We moved into the Sterling mansion. The place was like a palace, a sprawling estate worth millions, and our host, Mr. Sterling, was a widower whose son was named Liam. Given that Liam seemed to get kidnapped every other Tuesday, his father quietly enrolled him in a new, exclusive private school. I had the honor of attending with him. So did Chloe. We were given princess bedrooms with beds so soft you’d sink into them. A private chef cooked us meals that were a hundred times better than Maria’s. We wore beautiful new dresses every single day. The only strange part was the young master of the house, Liam. He was always quiet and gloomy, and he hardly ever smiled. I didn’t know the full extent of Mr. Sterling’s wealth, but I knew this: where kidnappers used to only target Liam, I was now the buy-one-get-one-free bonus prize. The moment I was bundled onto the helicopter, I ignored the ropes binding my wrists and pressed my face against the window, screaming with delight. “Liam! Look! The ocean is so beautiful! Wow! We’re so high up! Liam, I forgot to tell you something important. I’m actually a warrior princess from another dimension, here on a secret mission—” My monologue was cut short when one of the exasperated kidnappers slapped a piece of duct tape over my mouth. Silence at last. They landed on a desolate island and threw Liam and me into a small wooden shack. I saw the glint of a gun, black and terrifying. A loud bang echoed through the trees, and I swear it shook the birds right out of their nests. We were left in there for a day and a night, starving. Outside, the kidnappers were constantly on the phone, cursing and shouting about how “that bastard Sterling double-crossed me.” While they were distracted, I took the bobby pin from my hair and started scraping at the rusty old lock on the door. It was a survival skill I’d taught myself back at St. Jude’s whenever I got locked in the time-out closet. As their angry shouts grew louder, I finally heard a click. The lock gave way. I grabbed Liam’s hand and pulled him out into the twilight. We ran. I relied on pure, wild instinct, leading him through the dense woods until we found a hidden cave, its entrance veiled by a curtain of thick vines. It probably belonged to some wild animal, but right now, we didn’t have a choice. Night had fallen completely, and Liam was shivering, his lips turning a faint shade of blue. I remembered what they did in Maria’s dramas. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him tight against me. My own heart was pounding. “Don’t you dare die,” I whispered fiercely. “If you die, what am I supposed to do?” “You’re too young for this. You have to fight,” I went on, my voice rising with dramatic urgency. “Think about it! You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You have more money than you could ever spend! If you die, some other guy is gonna sleep with your wife and boss around your kids…” He managed a weak cough, the corner of his bloodless lips twitching. “Just how many of those toxic dramas… has Maria made you watch?” I thought about it seriously. “She watches them every day. When she’s cooking, she just listens to the audio. In her free time, she’s always scrolling. The longest one had three hundred episodes. She had to watch hundreds of ads just to unlock them all.” His eyes started to flutter shut again. Panic seized me. I took a deep breath and, using every ounce of strength in my body, I roared into the darkness. “I WILL NOT GO QUIETLY INTO THE NIGHT! WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, YOU WILL ALL PAY!” The body in my arms jolted, and his eyes snapped open. It worked. When Mr. Sterling and his search party finally found us, we were huddled together, both having passed out from exhaustion and cold. I have a feeling if they’d arrived just a little later, I might have actually met that warrior princess from another dimension. Back home, Mr. Sterling kept dabbing at his eyes, his voice thick with emotion as he called my name over and over. “Maya… oh, Maya.” I peered up at him through my eyelashes and whispered weakly. “Dad!” Mr. Sterling’s expression froze for a second, but then he looked at my pale, small face, and all the resistance melted away. He sighed, and this time, he whispered it back. “Okay.” And just like that, the billionaire became my dad. Well, sort of. I called him “Dad” so relentlessly that he finally gave in. He said I could call him my godfather, and we’d make it official. Godfather, real father, what was the difference? I had achieved my ultimate drama-inspired goal: I had a rich dad. I wished Maria was there to see it. She used to say I was so wild because I didn't have a father. Well, now I had one, and he was exactly the kind of billionaire she obsessed over. Chloe stood nearby, her eyes filled with envy. I shot her a look, trying to encourage her with my eyes. She wanted to try it too, but one glance at Mr. Sterling’s stern, unsmiling face and she lost her nerve. Mr. Sterling, for his part, showed no interest in collecting a second goddaughter. So that was that. After the kidnapping, I started having nightmares. For the first time, I was scared to sleep alone. But Chloe was still angry that she hadn’t been made a goddaughter, too. She ignored me, preferring to cuddle a fancy porcelain doll instead of letting me sleep in her room. So, late at night, after the house was quiet, I would tiptoe down the hall to Liam’s room. “You should have just said you were scared to sleep alone,” I’d whisper, climbing into his bed. “It’s okay, I’m here now.” He would patiently explain that he was perfectly fine sleeping by himself, that he was used to it, but I’d already be burrowed under his covers. Eventually, he’d give up, sighing in resignation as my soft snores filled the room. I had sinus issues that made me snore. It was quiet, but the other kids at the home used to make fun of me for it. I never believed them, because I could never hear it myself. The next morning, Liam would emerge from his room with dark circles under his eyes. I’d feel a small pang of guilt, but it always vanished by the time darkness fell again. Chloe started locking her door, so my only option was Liam. Thankfully, no matter how annoyed he seemed, he never locked his. I always won. I was a chaotic sleeper. I’d toss, turn, sprawl, and kick. He, on the other hand, slept like a soldier at attention, perfectly still. He’d wake up in the exact same position he’d fallen asleep in. I, however, would wake up horizontally, diagonally, or with my head at the foot of the bed. Our positions were a mystery every morning. Years flew by. When we got older, Liam finally learned to lock his door. But he found a new routine. Before he went to sleep, he’d FaceTime me, promising he’d hang up after I fell asleep. In the dark of my room, I’d clutch my phone and whisper. “Liam?” “Go to sleep,” his voice would crackle back, impatient. Five minutes later. “Liam.” “Maya, if you don’t go to sleep, I’m hanging up.” Ten minutes later, the faint sound of my snoring would travel through the speaker. He never hung up. In the morning, I’d see the call log: seven hours and counting. Life at the Sterling house was carefree. If I was home, I’d drag Liam out of his art studio to play in the yard with me. Chloe never joined. She said he was no fun, always wearing a “frosty little face like an ice cube,” and that he was terrible at every game. “Okay, we’re playing house! You’re the husband, I’m the mom, and Chloe, you can be the dad!” That particular game did not get off the ground. The other two participants just stared at me like I was an idiot and flatly refused. Time kept slipping by. The fall after we graduated high school, Liam left for one of the best universities in the country. Chloe and I were left behind, facing the frantic, final sprint of our senior year. “I don’t have high expectations for you, sweetie,” my godfather told me over dinner, his tone serious. “It doesn’t matter what your grades are. When you graduate, there’s a job waiting for you at my company. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” I shoveled rice into my mouth. “Dad, I don’t want the corporate 9-to-9 grind. Can’t you just find me a decent trust fund kid from your circle? I think I’d make a great trophy wife.” A sharp flick hit my forehead. Mr. Sterling was looking at me with the same look of profound disappointment Mrs. Gable used to give me. “My own father beat me with a coat hanger when I was a boy. I thought, for sure, my son would be a little hellion like me. I was almost looking forward to it. But no, my son is a perfect angel, and my daughter turns out to be a wild monkey! Get out of here. And if you bomb your finals, you can forget about that condo I promised you.” A lightning bolt of pure horror shot through me. The condo! My condo was on the line! Fuming, I snatched the fresh cup of coffee his assistant had just brought in and chugged the entire thing, not leaving him a single drop. “Mr. Sterling…” the poor assistant stammered, looking heartbroken. My godfather rubbed his temples. “Does saying my name magically refill the cup? Go on, try calling me Mr. Sterling too.” The miserable assistant and I left his office at the same time. I trudged back to school, miserable myself. I should have just agreed. Who wasn't a corporate drone? Mr. Sterling worked harder than anyone, up before the sun and in bed long after midnight. It was way worse than 9-to-9. Ugh. “Liam? Could you help me with my calculus?” I don’t know when it started, but even Chloe had started calling him by his first name, her voice sweet as sugar. I was in the stairwell at school, drinking a juice box, when I overheard her on the phone with him. I couldn’t hear his replies, but I saw the bright, triumphant smile on her face when she hung up. She saw me on her way down the stairs. I started to wave, but she just gave me a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, flipped her hair, and walked right past me. Things had gotten weird in high school. Chloe and I stopped being roommates; she got her own room. Sometimes she’d make little digs at me in private, but in front of my godfather or Liam, she was the picture of gentle, quiet grace. If I ever called her on it, her face would instantly harden, her eyes welling with tears. “You’re his goddaughter now, Maya. I’m just a guest here, an outsider. I have to walk on eggshells every single day. What more do you want from me? Are you going to bully me too, just like everyone else?” Before I could even argue, she’d slam her door in my face. She had her own friends now, and she’d started wearing makeup behind my godfather’s back. With me, she grew more and more distant. With Liam, however, she was getting closer and closer. The boy she used to call an “ice cube” was still an ice cube, but now she was the one constantly orbiting him, her smile bright and persistent. And to be fair, Liam had grown up to be ridiculously handsome. He had the kind of proportions you only see in comics, and his hands, long-fingered and elegant, were beautiful. His hobby, of all things, was painting. I could watch those hands move a brush across a canvas for hours. I wasn’t the only one. The girls at our school were obsessed with him. He had the looks, the talent, the money, the grades, and that aloof, sophisticated personality. He was a romance novel hero come to life. Girls had been confessing their love to him since freshman year. It was no exaggeration to say he could get asked for his number just walking the dog. But the guy was an impenetrable fortress of ice, completely clueless when it came to romance. “Oh, my brother… you know how he is.” The smarter girls learned to try and get to him through me. I’d squint my eyes mysteriously at some hopeful heiress who’d just slipped me a hundred-dollar bill. “Okay, look,” I’d whisper, leaning in conspiratorially. “He’s into the cutesy, anime-type girls. You know, chibi style? That’s all I can give you. You have to figure out the rest. If he finds out I told you, I’m dead…” It was top-secret intel I’d gathered by risking my life to peek at his sketchbook. There wasn’t a single realistic portrait of a beautiful woman in it. They were all these adorable, big-headed cartoon characters, cute but with a hint of mischief. I didn’t dare say more, afraid the rumor would get twisted. After all, who would believe that the cool, untouchable god of our school secretly liked to draw cute, bubbly cartoons? The thought of my condo, so close and yet so far, spurred me into action. I was going to get serious. I tied my hair back into a messy bun and marched over to the desk of my class vice president, Alex. “Alex, can you tutor me? I’ll pay you. No freebies.” I pulled a crumpled wad of cash from my pocket and slapped it on his desk. He stopped fiddling with his pen, pushed his glasses up his nose, and gave a single, cool nod. “Okay.” And so my life became a frantic blur of studying. I’d see messages from Liam pop up on my phone late at night, but I was too tired to reply. Then I’d be rushing out the door in the morning and forget all about them. This happened several times. One day, I was at a coffee shop owned by Alex’s mom, deep in a tutoring session. He spoke softly, so I had to lean in close to hear his explanation of a complex formula. I was concentrating so hard that when I finally looked up, I was startled to see Liam standing right in front of our table. His face was a mask of ice. And next to him, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips, was Chloe. She was clutching a stack of books to her chest, looking like an innocent, studious bystander. “Maya, there you are,” Chloe said, her voice just loud enough for the few other patrons in the cafe to turn and look. “Liam was texting you, but you weren't answering. We were so worried. We thought something might have happened to you.” Her words were dripping with concern, but the smug satisfaction in her eyes was impossible to miss. Before I could say a word, Liam strode forward. He didn’t even glance at Alex. His gaze was locked on me, his voice colder than a Siberian winter. “We’re going home.”
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