In The Rich Woman' World, Love Can Shared Not Stolen

01

Chapter 01

Third Person's POV

"Wait, is this supposed to be our husband, sister?"

Jackson Ortega stood frozen in stunned silence after being brought to a luxurious penthouse unit by someone who had introduced herself as one of his wives. The spacious apartment was decorated with expensive furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Everything about the place screamed wealth and sophistication—a world completely foreign to Jackson's humble background.

One of the two women standing before him was someone he recognized from magazines that his male classmates used to pass around secretly during lunch breaks. She was even more stunning in person, with platinum blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through him.

Jackson's eyes widened in shock and he instinctively stepped backward when one of the women reached out and boldly grabbed the front of his pants. His face turned crimson red as blood rushed to his cheeks, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a trapped bird.

"Oh my God! This is real? Sister! Sister, it's so big—" the youngest of the three women exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement and wonder.

Dahlia Rivas quickly clamped her hand over her younger sister's mouth, shooting her a warning look. "Keep quiet," she hissed, then turned her attention back to Jackson, who looked like he wanted to disappear into the expensive marble flooring beneath his feet.

The woman who had introduced herself as Paris stepped forward, her presence commanding immediate attention. At twenty-five, Paris Rivas was the epitome of power and elegance. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek chignon, and her emerald green eyes held an intensity that made Jackson feel like she could see into his very soul. She wore a tailored business suit that probably cost more than Jackson's family made in six months.

"From now on, you'll be living here," Paris announced, her voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. "You won't need to work because, as stated in the contract, we'll provide everything you need. You can attend a private school and continue through college—all expenses paid. All you need to do is fulfill your responsibilities as our husband. Clean this unit, cook for us, and handle the rest of the household duties. That's all we're asking."

Jackson's mind reeled as he tried to process the surreal situation he found himself in. Just days ago, he had been a struggling twenty-year-old working multiple part-time jobs to pay for his mother's medical bills. Now he was standing in a penthouse apartment, being told he was married to three of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—women who looked like they belonged on magazine covers or movie screens.

The contract marriage had been presented to him as a business arrangement, a way to secure the medical care his mother desperately needed. But the reality of living with these three women was proving to be far more complicated than he had anticipated.

"What if I don't agree to... to s*x?" Jackson asked hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air like a challenge, and he could feel the weight of their stares pressing down on him.

All three women stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him with varying degrees of surprise. Paris's expression went completely blank—her poker face that had intimidated countless business rivals over the years.

"Are you gay?" Paris asked bluntly, her tone suggesting that this was a legitimate concern rather than an insult.

The two younger sisters burst into laughter at the question, which only made Jackson's embarrassment worse. His eyes widened in horror and he quickly shook his head, his face turning an even deeper shade of red.

"No! I'm not gay!" he protested, his voice cracking slightly with embarrassment. Feeling overwhelmed by their attention and his own mortification, Jackson quickly retreated behind the large sectional sofa and crouched down, trying to hide from their penetrating gazes.

"It's up to you," Paris said with a casual shrug, though her tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced by his protest. "If you don't want to, we won't force you."

However, the words that came out of Paris's mouth were completely contradicted by the actions of her two sisters. Over the next few days, Jackson found himself constantly being harassed by Paige and Dahlia, who seemed to take his reluctance as a personal challenge rather than a boundary to be respected.

Despite being a man with normal physical desires, Jackson felt uncomfortable with their aggressive advances. He barely knew these women, and his respect for the opposite s*x made it difficult for him to engage in casual physical intimacy without some form of emotional connection.

"I feel like I'm going to lose my mind any day now," Jackson muttered to himself as he huddled under the king-sized bed in the master bedroom, his face burning with embarrassment as he clutched his arms around his body protectively.

Paige and Dahlia had been harassing him relentlessly, with Dahlia going so far as to hide all of his clothes so he would have nothing to wear inside the apartment. They seemed to think that if they could keep him in a state of undress, he would eventually give in to their advances.

"Where's Jackson?" Paris's voice echoed through the apartment, and Jackson immediately froze at the sound of her authoritative tone.

Unable to resist the pull of her voice, Jackson quickly scrambled out from under the bed, forgetting in his haste that he was completely naked. The cool air of the apartment hit his skin, reminding him of his state of undress just as Paige tackled him from behind.

"Got you!" Paige declared triumphantly, pinning him to the floor with surprising strength for someone so petite.

Jackson called out desperately for Paris, his voice filled with genuine distress. The bedroom door burst open, and Paris strode in with the commanding presence of a general surveying a battlefield. Her eyes immediately took in the scene—her youngest sister straddling a naked Jackson, who was clearly trying to cover himself while looking mortified.

Without hesitation, Paris grabbed Paige by the collar of her school uniform and hauled her off Jackson with enough force to make the younger woman yelp in surprise.

"Kyah! Sister!" Paige shrieked as she was unceremoniously pulled away from her target.

Paris's cold gaze then shifted to Dahlia, who was standing nearby with her eyes fixed on Jackson's exposed form with undisguised appreciation. The middle sister seemed completely unrepentant about her role in the harassment.

"Jackson has only been here for two days," Paris said, her voice carrying a dangerous edge that made both of her sisters take a step back. "Aren't you going to let him adjust to living here?"

Paige's lower lip jutted out in a petulant pout that made her look even younger than her nineteen years. "But he has responsibilities to us, sister! It's so unfair!" she whined, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance.

Jackson remained on the floor, his face burning with shame and embarrassment. These women were undeniably beautiful—any man would be interested in them under normal circumstances. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to even look at them directly, let alone touch them in the way they seemed to expect.

"For God's sake," Paris snapped, her patience finally reaching its limit. "Jackson is still a human being, not some kind of s*x doll. He's our husband—don't you think you should also fulfill your responsibilities as his wives? You're acting like starving lions fighting over a piece of meat."

Dahlia scratched her head sheepishly, while Paige continued to glare at her older sister with obvious resentment. Paris's tone brooked no argument as she ordered Dahlia to return all of Jackson's clothes immediately.

---

Jackson Ortega's POV

My first impression of them wasn't exactly positive, but gradually, the three sisters began to improve their behavior toward me. It turned out they had no idea how to properly entertain me as a husband—their first instinct had been to jump straight into s****l relations because they thought that was the best way to show their sincerity and commitment to our arrangement. I couldn't believe how naive they were in some ways, despite their obvious worldliness in others.

The cultural gap between us was enormous. I came from a working-class family where physical intimacy was something that developed slowly over time, built on trust and emotional connection. They came from a world of wealth and power where everything could be bought or negotiated, including relationships.

"Wait, a kiss?" I repeated, wanting to make sure I had heard correctly. Dahlia nodded enthusiastically, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

I scratched my cheek nervously, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck. When Paris and I had gotten married in the judge's chambers, we had kissed briefly as part of the ceremony. It hadn't been my first kiss, but it had been perfunctory—a legal requirement rather than an expression of affection.

We were sitting on the plush carpet in front of the sectional sofa, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the massive windows and casting everything in a warm, golden glow. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of city traffic far below.

I reached out tentatively and placed my hand on the back of Dahlia's head, my fingers threading through her silky platinum hair. Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to hers in what I hoped was a gentle, respectful kiss. It was soft and brief—the kind of kiss you might give someone you were just getting to know.

Dahlia burst into laughter the moment our lips separated, and I immediately felt my face flush with embarrassment and wounded pride. Her reaction made it clear that my kissing technique was lacking, and she wasn't shy about letting me know it.

"Don't laugh at me," I said, my voice coming out more defensive than I intended. "I've never had a girlfriend before!" The admission made my cheeks burn even hotter, and I wished I could disappear into the expensive carpet beneath us.

Paige, who was sitting on my left side, giggled at my confession. Despite being the youngest, she had an infectious laugh that made it hard to stay embarrassed for long.

"I want a kiss too, husband!" Paige announced, raising her hand like an eager student in class. Her enthusiasm was both endearing and slightly overwhelming.

I turned to face her, noting how her hazel eyes sparkled with excitement. Cupping her face gently in my hands, I leaned in and kissed her lips with the same soft, respectful approach I had used with Dahlia. Her lips were softer than her sister's, and she tasted faintly of the strawberry lip gloss she favored.

"One more!" Paige demanded immediately after we separated, her eyes bright with delight.

"No more for now," I said, pulling back with a gentle but firm shake of my head. "Maybe later, when I'm better at kissing."

My initial fear that they were all perverts was gradually fading as I spent more time with them. The sisters were indeed bold and direct in their approach to physical affection, but I was beginning to understand that this was simply their way of expressing interest and affection. They weren't trying to be predatory—they just had very different boundaries and expectations than I was used to.

The harassment had stopped completely after Paris's stern warning that I would disappear for a year if they continued to make me uncomfortable. I hadn't expected that threat to be so effective, but it had worked like magic. Both Paige and Dahlia had immediately backed off and started treating me with more respect.

We continued watching Korean dramas on the massive flat-screen TV, with Paige providing running commentary on the romantic scenes and Dahlia making sarcastic remarks about the plot twists. It was surprisingly comfortable, this domestic scene that felt almost normal despite the unusual circumstances of our relationship.

The sound of the front door opening made me look up from the television screen. I caught sight of Paris entering the apartment, still dressed in her business attire from whatever meeting she had attended that day. Her presence immediately changed the energy in the room, commanding attention even when she wasn't trying to.

"Paris!" I called out happily, automatically starting to get up to greet her properly.

Before I could take more than a step, both Paige and Dahlia grabbed my arms, holding me in place with surprising strength for their size.

"This is so unfair!" Dahlia protested loudly, her grip tightening on my left arm. "Why do you get so excited when Paris comes home? You greet her right away!"

Paige nodded vigorously in agreement, her own grip on my right arm equally firm. "Yeah! You never get that excited to see us!"

Their complaints caught me off guard, and I found myself genuinely confused by their reaction. "Wait, don't you two go out sometimes? You're always here when I wake up and when I go to sleep."

Both sisters stopped their protests abruptly, and I noticed something shift in their expressions. There was a darkness that crept into their eyes that made me instinctively nervous. I had learned to recognize this look over the past few days—it was the expression they wore when they were contemplating something that would probably end badly for me.

They laughed awkwardly, the sound forced and unnatural. "Of course we go out," Paige said quickly, though her tone suggested otherwise. "It's just vacation right now, so I don't have school. And Dahlia took vacation leave from work. She doesn't go back until next week."

I was still looking at them with suspicion when I felt a gentle hand touch my chin, turning my face away from the sisters. Paris had approached while I was distracted, and now she was standing directly in front of me, her green eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

Without warning, she leaned down and kissed me, her lips soft but confident against mine. The kiss was different from the ones I had shared with her sisters—there was an authority to it, a sense of ownership that made my heart race for reasons I didn't fully understand.

"I was contacted by the private doctor I assigned to take care of your mother," Paris said when she pulled away, her voice carrying good news that made my entire world brighten. "Her condition has stabilized, and you can visit her tomorrow."

The relief that flooded through me was so intense that I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. For weeks, I had been living with the constant fear that my mother might not survive her illness. The medical bills had been crushing our family, and the experimental treatment she needed was far beyond what we could afford.

"Really?" I asked, my voice thick with emotion. "She's really okay?"

Paris nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she watched my reaction. "She's going to be fine, Jackson. The treatment was successful."

I couldn't contain my gratitude, thanking Paris repeatedly as tears of relief rolled down my cheeks. My mother was safe—that was all that mattered. The weight that had been pressing down on my chest for months finally lifted, allowing me to breathe freely for the first time since this whole arrangement had begun.

"Can I visit her tomorrow?" I asked eagerly, already planning what I would say to her, how I would explain my absence without revealing the truth about my marriage arrangement. "I promise I'll come back right away."

Paris shrugged casually, already turning away from me as if the matter was settled. "You can visit her anytime you want, but one of us has to go with you."

"We'll go with Jack tomorrow!" Paige announced excitedly, bouncing on her toes with enthusiasm. "I want to meet my mother-in-law!"

I laughed at her excitement, but quickly held up a hand to stop her. "Please don't introduce yourselves to my mother as my wives," I said, my tone becoming serious. "If I tell her I have three wives, she might have another heart attack."

Dahlia crossed her arms and fixed me with a challenging stare. "We have plenty of money," she said matter-of-factly. "We can buy her as many hearts as she needs."

I immediately shook my head, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "No, please. Let her recover first before we complicate things. She's been through enough already."

The thought of my mother's reaction to learning about my unusual marriage arrangement was both amusing and terrifying. She had raised me with traditional values, emphasizing the importance of finding one good woman to love and cherish for life. The idea of having three wives would probably seem like something out of a soap opera to her.

But as I looked at the three sisters—Paris with her commanding presence and hidden vulnerability, Dahlia with her sharp wit and protective instincts, and Paige with her infectious enthusiasm and genuine warmth—I realized that my feelings about this arrangement were becoming more complicated than I had ever expected.

What had started as a business transaction to save my mother's life was slowly evolving into something that felt surprisingly like a real family. These women, despite their wealth and power, seemed to genuinely care about my well-being and happiness. They were learning to respect my boundaries while still expressing their affection in their own unique ways.

Maybe, just maybe, this unusual arrangement could work out after all.