Sweet Mischief’s Rollercoaster Romance novel Chapter 1649

Mars realized where he’d tripped up and quickly set things straight. “Listen up, kiddo. Here’s the main thing: if her name is Milka, you call her godmother. Everybody else, you call ‘Auntie.’ Got it?”

Henry just sighed to himself. Honestly, life seemed way tougher these days. He missed being a little baby—back when he didn’t have to do anything but be cute, always getting picked up, cuddled, fed when he was hungry, and soothed if he fussed. Those were the days.

At 6:10 p.m., Milka came out of the office building.

She was surrounded by a few coworkers, including Mr. Grant, who happened to be Mars’s least favorite manager. “Milka,” Grant called out, “I’ve noticed you driving to work lately. Did you get a new car?”

He’d seen the car in the lot and tried to do a little digging. He was sure, with the make, model, and the license plate number, he’d be able to find out who it belonged to. But nothing turned up. Not a single lead. That just made Mr. Grant even more convinced: if the car’s details were locked down that tight, then the owner had to be someone with serious pull—probably military.

Whenever Mr. Grant looked at Milka, his expression was nothing but flattery.

Milka had, in fact, been using Mars’s car to get to work lately.

Mars’s car wasn’t some over-the-top sports car, but it was still a luxury sedan, easily worth a small fortune. And the license plate? The kind you couldn’t buy even if you had the money—one of those coveted, exclusive numbers.

It got people talking. “Milka, that car of yours must’ve cost a fortune! Where’d you even get a plate like that? Did you win the lottery or something?”

Milka would just laugh, never bothering to explain.

Truth was, she’d moved into the military compound. Taxis couldn’t even get in—if the driver didn’t have a pass, they were stopped at the gate. The place was home to generals, commanders, and top officials.

Her father’s house was a good walk from the entrance, and she couldn’t keep asking his aide to chauffeur her around every day.

Mars’s car, though, was registered in the compound system, so she could come and go without a hitch. She’d just borrowed it for now.

She hadn’t expected her coworkers to get so nosy.

Milka stopped in her tracks, her face lighting up as soon as she spotted Henry in Mars’s arms. “Hey, my little dumpling!” she called out, delighted.

Henry frowned. “Not a dumpling anymore!” He got called chubby so much, even the family dog, Cooper, said he was as skinny as a kitten now.

Milka couldn’t resist; she squeezed Henry’s tiny hand, her eyes lingering on his squishy cheeks. He was so soft and adorable—even his little grumpy face was cute.

How did Andre’s son end up so cuddly?

Mars and Mr. Grant made eye contact, and Mr. Grant finally placed him.

The last time they’d crossed paths, Mars had been driving Milka home. The car window had hidden half his face, so he hadn’t gotten a good look. But now, seeing him standing there, with that confident stance and those sharp features, Mr. Grant instantly felt a pang of unease.