One photograph can deport her-or topple his empire.

Esperanza "Espe" Morales arrived in Miami with a backpack, her late grandmother's rosary, and one unbreakable promise: keep her mother and little sister alive. By day she is invisible in a luxury-garment factory, her nimble fingers stitching hems she cannot afford; by night she studies business at community college, practicing the language and the margins that might someday buy a small boutique and a different kind of life. Her undocumented status is not a plot device-it is constant pressure, a quiet hunger that shapes every joke, every refusal, every risk.

Kieran O'Sullivan builds skylines. At thirty-two he has the kind of wealth that photographs well and hurts worse. Publicly he is Miami's golden playboy; privately he is a man hollowed by inheritance and a sister's death he can't stop replaying. He hides his guilt behind suit jackets and engineered charm-until a spilled glass at a charity gala spits out something neither of them expected: a line sharp enough to cut through pretense and a look that refuses to look away.

What begins as fascination becomes insistence. Their stolen hours-midnight pupusas in a cramped kitchen, whispered confidences on a terrace-feel like rescue. But rescue, in this city, has a price. A stray ledger surfaces: gray payments and subcontracted factories that trace back to Kieran's circle. A violent figure from Espe's past follows the money north. A razor-sharp business partner sees liability where Kieran sees a person. The glitter of the skyline becomes a theatre for power plays that weaponize anyone in the wrong place.

When a photo of Espe's family surfaces online-blurred, menacing, intimate-the choice is immediate and brutal: disappear to protect her mother and sister, or step into the light and make her fear an instrument for change. If she vanishes, she may save them but lose the only person who has shown her tenderness without calculus. If she speaks up, she risks deportation, public shaming, and a fight that will not stop until the ledger is exposed or her family is broken. Kieran must decide what matters more: the empire he was taught to defend or the moral cost of keeping silent. Choosing both will cost him everything he thought worth keeping.

Not My Type...Yet is a contemporary, socially conscious romance about power, accountability, and the exacting work of love. It excavates invisible labor-sewn hems, unpaid overtime, and the legal gray zones that let money flow while people fall through the cracks-and asks how intimacy can be both shelter and strategy. From glittering gala rooms to cramped sewing tables to rain-lashed streets, this page-turner balances corporate intrigue and legal reckonings with warmth-grandmother's rosary, midnight pupusas, and small acts of fierce care.

For readers who love billionaire romance with emotional teeth and those who want stories that wrestle seriously with immigration, class, and accountability without flattening anyone into a symbol. Expect corporate betrayals, last-minute rescues, courtroom pressure, and a love that refuses easy answers.

Who pays when love becomes the only leverage left-and what is true repair worth?