Aizawaâs daughter shows up suddenly and is demanding money that her mother left in a trust fund designated to him. Heâs used to having kids but not any of them are biological. She is loud, rude, bratty, spoiled and nothing like him.
Diego stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, no shirt, skin still glistening from the steam. He made his way to the kitchen, where a green smoothie waited on the marble counter. He grabbed it, took a slow, deliberate sip, thumb scrolling through his phone like he owned the world.