Sweatpants and Secret Billionaires
By @john1208
I just wanted to nap. But after striking a desperate deal with my nagging mother - one blind date in exchange for six months of absolute peace - I dragged myself to the meeting spot in my favorite stained sweatpants, fully expecting the guy to run for the hills. Instead, Corso, a remarkably handsome but supposedly broke freelance techie, didn't even blink. I proposed a strictly fake, tax-benefit marriage of convenience to solve both our family problems. I thought I was a genius who had hacked the system. I was wrong. I completely misunderstood the rules: the marriage was legally binding, and my 'broke' husband was playing for keeps.
Now, I'm exhausted. I'm secretly Korsaka City's top retrieval operative, forced to fight off rival syndicates while pretending to be a normal civilian housewife. Meanwhile, Corso keeps spoiling me, treating me to stays in a hyper-luxurious mega-mansion that he swears is just an 'Airbnb he got a promo code for.' I almost believed his poor-guy act, until his ultra-rich, terrifyingly snobby mother kicked down the door of our crappy cover apartment, screaming about her billionaire heir living in a dumpster. Just who exactly did I marry?
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