Chapter 1
Working for Rafael “Raf” Luna has its perks. As his assistant, Isabella “Izzy” Morales gets to hobnob with celebrities, attend exclusive galas, travel around the world, and earn a decent paycheck. But the downside? Raf Luna is a walking catastrophe, the very definition of a charming but irresponsible man-child.
Raf is impossibly immature, his spontaneity barely kept in check by his devoted team. He loves to party, he has no filter, and he is more than willing to abandon all reason for his whims. The hypocrisy is endless: he’ll refuse anything processed but has no problem inhaling substances that he can’t even pronounce. More than once, Izzy has had to scrape him off a yacht party deck, guiding him home while he teetered on the edge of consciousness.
One particularly memorable incident had her flying to Paris to retrieve him after he’d run off with some hot European model. Raf had been determined to stay in France forever, convinced that abandoning his Hollywood career for love was the right move. By some miracle, Izzy managed to drag him back just in time for the Academy Awards—which he somehow managed to win, because luck always seemed to be on his side. Lucky bastard.
Izzy’s mother despises him. She reads the tabloids, sees every headline about his wild nights, and thinks Izzy’s job is a waste of her potential. And, honestly, Izzy can’t entirely disagree. But this job pays the bills, and more importantly, it helps her save enough to pay off the mortgage on her family’s home. Once Izzy has saved enough, her mother won’t need to pull double shifts as a Home Health Aide anymore. Izzy could move out, and maybe then she’d finally go back to school to finish her master’s program—the dream she had to put aside after her father’s unexpected death.
Landing the job with Raf had been pure luck. Izzy stood out among a group of starstruck models eager to be Rafael Luna’s assistant, their chatter filled with excitement about working for the megastar. But Izzy had held onto her resume, focused only on the salary that could change her life. When she walked into the interview with her conservative outfit and no-nonsense demeanor, Miguel, Raf’s manager, had been intrigued. Izzy didn’t gush about Raf’s movies; in fact, she’d admitted she hadn’t seen many of them. That honesty had won her the job on the spot.
And Raf? Well, he hadn’t exactly been thrilled to see Mig’s new hire. He’d looked Izzy over, his expression disappointed—he was clearly expecting someone more glamorous, more fun. She’s not a sore in the eyes, but not exactly the fun-loving kind of person who used to work for him. He wanted someone carefree, someone who could easily fit into his lifestyle. Instead, he got Izzy: meticulous, serious, and determined to do her job well. She organized his life, made sure he was on set when he needed to be, and handled his appointments. When the tabloids circled, she delivered him to his publicist, Alexa, who handled the damage control.
She’s a glorified babysitter. But it comes with a paycheck so good that it allows her to focus on this one job, without needing to break her back working multiple poorly-paid other jobs.
Izzy had developed an unexpected tolerance for Rafael Luna’s antics. Over time, she’d learned to endure his nonsense and filter through Raf’s constant stream of ideas—ignoring the worst while nodding at the rest. Raf’s latest obsession had come up during a late breakfast, where he’d casually dropped it into conversation like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“I’m gonna be a dad,” he said, with a sly smile, but his tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
“Oh yeah? Who’s the lucky lady?” Izzy replied, barely glancing up from her tablet, focused on Raf’s schedule for the week.
“Dunno. Haven’t decided yet.” Raf leaned back on his chair, looking far off with a dreamy smile on his face.
Izzy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She figured this “dad” idea would go the way of his llama meditation retreat—another passing fascination that would be forgotten in a week or two. But then again...despite how absurd it sounded, the Llama Meditation Retreat actually ended up being a surprising success, spawning multiple retreats over the years due to its unexpected popularity.
But this was ridiculous, right? He once decided he wanted an alpaca as a pet, and though he got it, he quickly grew bored. Izzy and Migs ended up having to find a new home for the poor creature—eventually shipping it off abroad. After an intervention from his team about his outlandish choice of pets, Raf hadn’t tried again (mostly thanks to Izzy and Migs subtly steering him away from the idea every time it popped up).
Since then, Raf hadn’t brought home another pet, claiming it was ‘too much work’ and that he was ‘far too busy to take care of it’—which, of course, was code for expecting Izzy to do all the work.
Surely, this baby idea would be the same—a passing whim, and once he got bored, Izzy would be the one left holding the bag.
She didn’t sign up to babysit yet another baby... well, an actual baby. Then again, with Raf’s inability to keep himself alive on a daily basis without a full staff, she might as well be taking care of a real infant—a more demanding, over-one-hundred-pound, six-foot-something baby.
So she wasn’t too worried that he’d actually follow through and try to get his Kit-Kat-stained fingers on an actual baby. She brushed it off as soon as the conversation ended, thinking it was the last time she’d ever hear about it.
But a month later, Raf came storming into the house, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the walls.
“I thought women wanted commitment!” he growled, flopping dramatically onto a chair across from Izzy.
“I’m sorry. What?” Izzy looked up, surprised by the sudden outburst.
“Clara,” Raf said, his face flushed with frustration. “You remember her?”
““Yeah, your ex—the one who wanted kids, and you didn’t.“”
“Exactly! So I figured, she’s perfect for this! I went to her, told her I wanted to settle down and have a baby.”
“W-wait... what?”
“I went to her, told her I wanted to settle down and have a baby,” he repeated, his tone dripping with exasperation, as if Izzy were the one being unreasonable.
“Jesus, Raf...” Izzy sighed, pressing her fingers against her temples in an attempt to ward off the impending headache. “And what did she say?”
“To leave her yoga studio and later to her art gallery and never speak to her again,” Raf grumbled.
Izzy blinked. “Wait. You went to her yoga studio?”
“And her art gallery,”
Izzy blinked in disbelief. “For fuck’s sake, Raf!”
“Well, her fiancé said she’d be there and I couldn’t wait to tell her that I changed my mind and we have so much to talk about,” Raf said, sounding exasperated, as though his logic made perfect sense.
Izzy sighed, shaking her head. “Raf, she’s engaged. What did you think would happen?”
Raf huffed, crossing his arms, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his usual bravado. “I’m not getting any younger, Izzy. I don’t want to end up being some senior dad who can’t keep up with a toddler because I walk with a cane.”
Izzy looked at him for a long moment, her skepticism clear. Raf Luna, a father? The idea seemed almost laughable. He was a man-child in every sense—always seeking the next hedonistic thrill. His entire life is all wild nights filled with drugs, booze, and sex—men, women, sometimes both. It is all a blur of indulgence, from one excess to another, barely holding himself together between movie shoots.
“If you’re that desperate to be a dad, why don’t you adopt?” she said, knowing full well it would never happen. Raf would never survive the scrutiny of an adoption process.
“No, I want my genes,” Raf said, frowning. He ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “I want my baby to have all these...” He spread his arms wide, as if he were a grand offering, something invaluable—like a prized gift meant for a king.
Izzy raised an eyebrow. Sure, Raf had great hair and nice eyes, good bone structure, and the man barely goes to the gym but other than the soft belly, have a pretty good build for his age. But it’s the same genetics that make up his reckless behavior and addiction to the chaos that he “manages” through thrill-seeking and excessive spending.
“What about your friend Monica?” Raf suddenly asked. “Didn’t she have trouble having kids?”
Izzy frowned, surprised that Raf had remembered anything about her personal life. “Yeah, surrogacy. She paid someone to carry her baby for her.”
“That’s it!” Raf slapped the table, his face lighting up. “I’ll get into that surrogacy thing. I need someone who can balance me out—someone sharp and reliable. You know, someone who could balance out my crazy—a mix of their stability and my good genes.”
Izzy barely contained a laugh. The whole idea was borderline absurd—frightening, even—because it was dangerously close to playing with eugenics. Raf spoke of surrogacy like it was just another TikTok trend, like those groups of men talking about ‘trad wives’ who were almost immediately canceled—something he could casually try on a whim, without any real grasp of how serious it was.
This is just another phase, Izzy thought, watching him with a mix of pity and disbelief. He’d get bored of the idea, just like all the others. She sighed and went back to his schedule on her tablet.
But Raf’s gaze shifted, settling on her. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her, and a thought seemed to take hold.
“I need someone educated,” he mused aloud.
“Mmmhmm,” Izzy murmured, by this time, her attention have completely shifted to work.
“Where did you go to school again?”
“Columbia,” she replied absently.
“I thought so...” Raf nodded, his eyes lingering on her.
He could not deny that Izzy is amazing at her job. She’s been with him for longer than most of his previous assistants. She’s always there—steady, dependable, and completely unimpressed by his antics. She was sharp, organized, and more than capable of keeping his chaotic life together.
She was the kind of person who always made sure every detail was covered, who stood at his elbow during galas, whispering names and reminders to keep him from making a fool of himself. And despite the plain clothes and practical demeanor, Raf had noticed—Izzy was good-looking.
He wondered, just for a moment, what she’d look like if she let herself relax, if her hair wasn’t pulled back so tightly, or if her clothes weren’t so deliberately unflattering. And he couldn’t help but imagine, what would she look like pregnant? Would her figure soften? Would her breasts swell? The thought stirred something in him, something that felt both thrilling and forbidden.
“Does diabetes, cancer or heart disease run in your family?” he suddenly asked.
Izzy looked up, her eyes narrowing. “Rafael... I swear, if you’re suggesting what I think you are, just stop right now.”
Raf gave her a pleading look. “Why not? Our baby would be perfect—my looks, your brains!”
Izzy scoffed. “Or your brains and my looks, have you considered that?” She shook her head, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Would that be so ba--”
“Besides, I don’t plan on having babies.” Especially not with you, she thought.
She’d never understood the appeal of motherhood. She wasn’t even sure which aspect turned her off the most, but seeing what her friend Monica’s surrogate went through was enough to convince her that she was making the right decision. And if she were ever foolish enough to think motherhood was a wise venture, the absolute last person she’d want to share that journey with would be Rafael Luna.
“I’ll pay you!” Raf blurted out, desperation coloring his voice.
Izzy sighed, setting her tablet down. She tried to keep her tone professional. “Listen to me, Raf.” She started, “Do you really think you’re ready for fatherhood, huh?”
He scoffed and frowned. “Of course I am.”
“You seriously think that snorting line after line of coke, drowning yourself in booze, partying until dawn, and jetting off across the globe for film sets—or worse, chasing after another model you think you’re in love with—is an environment fit for raising a baby?” Izzy asked, her disbelief evident.
“Lots of actors have kids—”
“You think someone who needs a full-time assistant just to keep his life in order can handle the responsibility of raising a child alone?” Izzy shot back. “Have you even changed a diaper?”
Raf clenched his jaw. “I wasn’t born into luxury, Izzy. I know how to handle things on my own. I’ve even changed diapers before—remember that ‘Dad Duty’ movie I starred in?“”
Izzy couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. Raf was referring to the ridiculous newborn parenting crash course that he and his co-star had gone through for a movie—a slapdash two-day ordeal where they were taught to change diapers, mix formula, and generally pretend like they knew how to be parents. It was supposed to help them act more convincingly on screen, but Raf had clearly taken it as some sort of real qualification. Apparently, the chaos hadn’t deterred him nearly as much as it should have.
“You honestly think someone who needs an entire team just to keep his public image from crashing and burning should be raising a kid?” she shot back, incredulous.
“I get it!” Raf snapped, springing up from his chair. “You think I’m a piece of shit who shouldn’t have kids. Thanks. Message received.”
Izzy watched him storm off, frustration tightening in her chest. She hadn’t meant to be cruel, but honestly, imagining Raf being responsible for another human being—a tiny, helpless one at that—seemed like a recipe for disaster.
