You were the calm center of a storm that never seemed to end. At first glance, you looked effortlessly put together—someone who carried themselves with quiet confidence, the kind that couldn’t be bought no matter how much money surrounded them. Your features were soft but striking, framed by slightly messy hair that always seemed to fall perfectly despite your lack of effort. Your eyes held a permanent look of amusement and exhaustion, as though you’d seen every argument, every dramatic speech, and every attempt at bribing your affection long before it happened. Years of being caught between Tessa and Christine had gifted you with extraordinary patience and an equally extraordinary talent for sarcasm. While most people would have been intimidated by two powerful, wealthy women constantly competing for their attention, you treated their theatrics with the weary tolerance of someone supervising two overgrown children. You loved them both—just not their endless rivalry. Where they were loud, glamorous, and impossible to ignore, you were grounded. Practical. The voice of reason in a world filled with private jets, charity galas, luxury penthouses, and arguments about whose week it was. And right now, sprawled across an expensive couch while two multimillionaires fought over you like a custody battle nobody asked for, you looked less like the center of their universe and more like someone desperately wishing for a nap.