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

02

Chapter 02

Jackson Ortega's POV

I was seven years old when my father abandoned us for his mistress, leaving behind nothing but broken promises and unpaid bills. From that moment on, my mother became both father and mother to me, working multiple jobs just to keep food on our table and ensure I could continue my education through high school.

She never complained, never showed me how exhausted she was from working sixteen-hour days cleaning offices at night and taking care of elderly patients during the day. I only learned years later that she had been skipping meals so I could have proper lunch money for school, that she had been wearing the same three dresses for years while making sure I always had clean uniforms.

My mother was my hero, my entire world. She was the one who taught me to respect women, to work hard for everything I wanted, and to never give up even when life seemed impossible. She would sit with me every night, helping me with homework she didn't fully understand, encouraging me to dream of a future she could barely imagine.

But bodies have limits, and my mother's finally reached hers when I turned eighteen. The diagnosis came like a thunderbolt: severe heart disease, years of stress and overwork having taken their toll on the organ that had loved me so fiercely. The doctor's words echoed in my mind like a death sentence: she needed a heart transplant, and the cost was astronomical—more money than our family had ever seen in our entire lives.

The day I learned about her condition was the day my world collapsed. It was also the day I met Paris Rivas, though I didn't know then that she would become the answer to my desperate prayers.

---

**Flashback**

I stumbled out of the hospital in a daze after the doctor delivered the devastating news about my mother's condition. The fluorescent lights of the corridor seemed too bright, the antiseptic smell too overwhelming, the sound of my own heartbeat too loud in my ears. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of medical terminology I didn't understand and financial figures that might as well have been written in a foreign language.

"Where am I going to get money for the operation when I don't even have a thousand pesos to my name?" I whispered to myself, tears streaming down my face as I walked aimlessly through the busy streets of Manila.

The weight of responsibility crushed down on my shoulders like a physical force. My mother had been hiding her condition from me for months, maybe even years, suffering in silence so I wouldn't worry. She had continued working even when her chest hurt, even when she could barely breathe, because she knew I needed her income to survive.

In my desperation, I swallowed what little pride I had left and went to my paternal grandmother's house. I had visited her maybe three times in my entire life—she had never approved of my mother, considering her beneath our family's social status despite the fact that we were hardly wealthy ourselves.

I knelt on the concrete floor of her small living room, my knees scraping against the rough surface as I begged her to lend me money for my mother's operation. The humiliation burned in my throat like acid, but I pushed through it because my mother's life was worth more than my dignity.

"Please, Lola," I pleaded, my voice breaking with emotion. "I'll pay you back, I promise. I'll work every day for the rest of my life if I have to. Just please help me save my mother."

But my grandmother's face remained cold and unmoved. She looked at me like I was something distasteful she had found on the bottom of her shoe.

"Your mother made her choices," she said with cruel indifference. "She chose to have a child with my son knowing he couldn't provide for a family. She chose to stay poor instead of finding a man who could take care of her properly. These are the consequences of her decisions."

The rejection hit me like a physical blow. They turned me away without a second thought, closing the door in my face as if I were a stranger begging for scraps. The people who shared my blood, who should have cared about my mother because she was the woman who raised their grandson, dismissed us like we were nothing.

Lost in my grief and desperation, I wandered the streets without paying attention to where I was going. My mind was consumed with dark thoughts—how unfair life was, how helpless I felt, how I was failing the one person who had never failed me.

I was so deep in my anguish that I didn't notice I had wandered into the middle of a busy intersection until I heard the screech of brakes and saw a red luxury car bearing down on me at high speed.

The impact sent me flying through the air like a rag doll. I hit the asphalt hard, my body skidding across the rough surface before coming to a stop several feet from where I had been standing. Pain exploded through every nerve ending, and my vision blurred as blood began to pool beneath my head.

"s**t! Are you okay?!" a woman's voice shouted, filled with panic and concern.

Through my fading consciousness, I saw her face hovering above me—the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her features were so perfect, so ethereal, that for a moment I thought I was already dead and she was an angel come to escort me to the afterlife.

She had long, dark hair that fell like silk around her shoulders, and her green eyes were wide with shock and worry. Her skin was flawless porcelain, and she wore clothes that probably cost more than my mother made in a year. Everything about her screamed wealth and sophistication, from her designer handbag to her perfectly manicured nails.

In my delirium, words tumbled out of my mouth without any filter from my rational mind. "Don't take me to the hospital," I begged, my voice weak and slurred. "Just give me money. Please, I need money to save my mother."

The woman stared at me like I had lost my mind, which I probably had. What kind of person gets hit by a car and asks for money instead of medical attention?

"I want to get my mother treated," I continued, tears mixing with the blood on my face. "Please, she's all I have left in this world."

I tried to sit up, but the movement made my head spin violently. When I touched the back of my skull, my hand came away covered in blood. The sight of it made my stomach lurch, and I realized dimly that I was probably more seriously injured than I had initially thought.

"Why is everything going wrong today?" I whispered, my strength fading rapidly as shock began to set in.

The last thing I remembered was the world tilting sideways and darkness swallowing me whole.

When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed with white ceiling tiles staring down at me. The harsh fluorescent lights made my head throb, and I could feel various medical devices attached to my body—an IV drip in my arm, monitors tracking my vital signs, bandages wrapped around my head.

I bolted upright in panic, immediately regretting the sudden movement as pain shot through my skull like lightning. "I can't pay for the hospital bills," I said frantically, reaching for the IV line to pull it out. "Get me out of here before the charges get too high—"

A gentle but firm hand stopped me from removing the medical equipment. I looked up to see the same beautiful woman from the accident sitting in a chair beside my bed. She was even more stunning in the bright hospital lighting, and I could see now that her clothes were designer brands that probably cost more than most people's monthly salaries.

"Who said you're paying for the hospital bills?" she asked, her voice carrying an authority that made me instinctively want to obey. "I'm covering all the expenses."

Desperation made me throw away what little dignity I had left. I looked down at my hands, unable to meet her eyes as I made my pathetic request. "I'll forget this accident ever happened," I said quickly. "Just discharge me from the hospital right now so the bills don't get bigger. Give me some money, any amount you can spare."

She stared at me like I was completely insane, which I probably was. The look in her eyes was a mixture of disbelief, pity, and something else I couldn't identify.

"What do you need the money for?" she asked. "And why are you so desperate? Do you realize you almost died earlier? Yet you still managed to tell me not to bring you to the hospital and to just give you money instead."

I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of my helplessness crushing down on me. I didn't know who this woman was or why she was helping me, but something about her presence made me want to tell her everything. Maybe it was because I had nothing left to lose, or maybe it was because she was the first person in days who had shown me any kindness.

So I told her about my mother's condition, about the heart transplant she needed, about the impossible amount of money required to save her life. I told her about my father's abandonment, about my grandmother's rejection, about how I was completely alone in the world except for the woman who was slowly dying in another hospital across the city.

The woman listened to my story without interruption, her green eyes never leaving my face. When I finished speaking, she was quiet for a long moment, as if weighing something important in her mind.

"If I gave you double the amount you need for your mother's treatment," she said finally, her voice carrying a weight that made me look up at her in surprise, "would you do anything I wanted in return?"

The question hung in the air between us like a challenge. I met her gaze directly, seeing something in her eyes that I couldn't quite understand—a hunger, a loneliness, a desperate need that matched my own.

"Anything," I said without hesitation. "I'll work for you for the rest of my life if necessary. I'll give you my life if that's what it takes. Just please save my mother."

**End of Flashback**

---

Now, as I sat beside my mother's hospital bed holding her hand, I remembered that moment with perfect clarity. Instead of regret, what I felt was gratitude. Maybe that's what happens when you're truly desperate—you're willing to make deals that would seem impossible under normal circumstances.

My mother was lying in a spacious private room that was nothing like the cramped, overcrowded ward where she had been confined before. The room was equipped with state-of-the-art medical equipment, and there was always a doctor or nurse nearby monitoring her condition. The contrast was stark—this was the kind of medical care reserved for the wealthy, the kind of treatment I could never have afforded in a million years.

Paris had kept her promise. She had saved my mother's life, and in return, I had given her mine.

I brought my mother's hand to my lips and kissed the back of her palm gently, tears streaming down my face as I watched her peaceful expression. The surgery had been successful, but she was still unconscious, her body recovering from the trauma of the operation.

"Mama, please get better, okay?" I whispered, my voice breaking with emotion. "You can't leave me yet. You need to attend my graduation. Isn't that what you always wanted—to see me finish school? Ma, please get well."

I closed my eyes and prayed with every fiber of my being that my mother's recovery would continue smoothly. Because if I lost her now, after everything I had sacrificed to save her, I didn't know what purpose any of it would serve.

"I'm scared to be alone, Mama," I admitted quietly, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

---

**Third Person's POV**

Dahlia and Paige exchanged glances as they watched Jackson's emotional display from across the room. They could see the depth of his love and devotion to his mother, exactly as Paris had described to them when she explained why she had chosen him for their arrangement.

After a few more minutes, Jackson stood up from his chair beside the bed. He leaned down to kiss his mother's forehead gently, whispering a promise to return soon, before walking over to where Dahlia and Paige were waiting.

"Let's go home," he said softly, his eyes still red from crying but his voice steady.

"If you want to stay longer, that's fine," Dahlia offered, her voice unusually gentle. "We can wait here with you."

Jackson smiled and shook his head. "Even if I stay here, I can't talk to her yet. It's still early in the day—let's go to that park nearby. I know where to find good street food. My treat."

Dahlia laughed at his offer. "You got that generosity from our sister," she said with amusement.

"Come on, don't be killjoys sometimes," Jackson teased, his mood lightening slightly. "You're hurting my pride here."

Both sisters laughed and linked their arms through his as they prepared to leave the hospital. As they walked through the corridors and out into the busy street, many people turned to stare at them. It was hard not to notice—Jackson was walking with two incredibly beautiful women, each holding onto one of his arms like he was some kind of celebrity.

"The company is close to here," Paige observed, pointing toward a towering skyscraper that dominated the city skyline.

Jackson followed her gaze and his eyes widened when he saw the massive "R.V. COMPANY" sign adorning the top of the building. Suddenly, everything clicked into place in his mind.

"Wait—that's the R.V. Company?" he asked, stopping in his tracks to stare up at the imposing structure.

Now he remembered where he had seen Paris before their accident. Her face had been on billboards all over the city when she became the youngest business tycoon in the country's history at age twenty-three. She was famous not just for her wealth, but for her ruthless business acumen and her ability to turn failing companies into profitable enterprises.

"Can we go there?" Jackson asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

The sisters looked at each other uncertainly. "We're technically banned from going there," Dahlia admitted. "But if you're with us, maybe it would be okay. Let me ask."

Dahlia pulled out her expensive smartphone and attempted to video call Paris. After the fifth missed call, her patience snapped completely. She threw the phone to the ground and stomped on it with her designer heel, crushing the device into pieces as passersby stared in shock.

"Hey, calm down," Jackson said quickly, grabbing her arm to prevent further destruction. "Let me try calling her."

Jackson carefully pulled out his own phone—a top-of-the-line model that Paris had bought for him in case of emergencies. It was probably worth more than his family's old television, and he treated it like a precious artifact. There was no way he was going to let Dahlia anywhere near it after witnessing her violent outburst.

He couldn't help but feel sorry for Dahlia's destroyed phone, but he was also grateful that his own device was safely in his possession.

After four rings, Paris answered the video call. Her face appeared on the screen, and Jackson could see that she was in what looked like a conference room with several other people in business suits.

"What?" Paris's voice was clipped and professional, clearly indicating that she was in the middle of something important.

Dahlia immediately began cursing at her sister through the phone screen, complaining loudly about how Paris had ignored her calls. Jackson quickly intervened before the situation could escalate further.

"Can we come visit you at the office?" he asked politely. "We just came from the hospital."

Paris's expression softened slightly when she heard his voice, though her professional demeanor remained intact. "That's fine," she said simply.

"Great! She said we can come!" Jackson announced excitedly to the sisters. "But first, let's buy some food to bring with us!"

Paris ended the call, explaining that she was in the middle of a conference meeting and couldn't talk longer. After the screen went dark, Jackson took both sisters by the hand, making sure he was holding each of their hands equally as they walked toward the nearby food vendors.

The simple gesture of holding their hands seemed to brighten both Dahlia and Paige's moods considerably. Despite their wealth and sophistication, they seemed to crave these small, intimate moments of connection—proof that their unusual arrangement was becoming something more meaningful than just a business transaction.

As they walked hand in hand through the busy streets of Manila, Jackson couldn't help but reflect on how dramatically his life had changed in such a short time. Just weeks ago, he had been a desperate young man with no prospects and a dying mother. Now he was married to three of the most powerful women in the country, living in luxury he had never imagined possible.

But more than the material benefits, what surprised him most was how much he was beginning to care for these women as individuals. Dahlia, despite her volatile temper, had shown genuine concern for his well-being. Paige, with her youthful enthusiasm, brought lightness to even the darkest moments. And Paris... Paris had literally saved his mother's life and asked for nothing in return but his presence in hers.

Maybe this arrangement, as unusual as it was, could actually work. Maybe they could all find something they needed in each other—love, companionship, family, purpose. Maybe his desperate bargain with Paris would turn out to be the best decision he had ever made.

Only time would tell, but for now, walking through the streets of Manila with two beautiful women holding his hands and the knowledge that his mother was safe and recovering, Jackson felt something he hadn't experienced in years: hope.