The Santa Baby Adoption

He stole me for Christmas. Now he wants to keep me forever.

My bad attitude was my best defense—sarcasm, side-eyes, and eye-rolls for days. I never noticed the man in the corner, always watching while I snapped at customers and pushed every limit I could behind the counter. I didn’t know he owned the place. I didn’t know he’d been waiting. One minute I was a brat in a coffee shop; the next, I was waking up in his penthouse nursery—in padded, crinkly diapers with holiday prints, dressed in onesies, and no longer in charge of anything at all.

Chase Phillips doesn’t yell. He doesn’t explain himself. He just gives orders—and expects obedience. Timeouts when I act out. Rules I never agreed to. Boundaries I can’t push past no matter how hard I try. And when I behave? He’s warm, gentle, and so achingly attentive it makes me forget to fight. He sees through every tantrum, every lie, every little accident I swear wasn’t on purpose. And the more he handles me, I start to see the man who will never let me go.

My name is Holly, and this is the story of how I became the Santa Baby.