PlotHoleHero

Alt Title: Single Mom by Mistake, Audience Trauma by Design A heartwarming family tale brought to you by the felony division and a missing birth certificate.

Nothing says fate like a billionaire identifying his toddler from a moving car and just... taking them home.

This review has it all: A dumpster baby reveal that somehow gets less insane when it's revealed to be her long-lost, drugged-up amnesia child.

Nate: Billionaire by trade, vigilante dadnapper by hobby.

Elena: A woman so allergic to legal protocol she thinks "Hmm yes, this child could be mine!" is a reasonable response to dumpster-side destiny.

A script that's 70% fainting and 30% slaps per episode.

And Ryan Vincent, bless him, trying to act his way out of the sinking plot like it's Titanic and he's clinging to a floating copy of The Art of Seduction for CEOs.

You open with a woman who thinks "found baby next to dumpster" is a sign from the universe, not, you know, a crime scene. Elena, bless her barely-there logic, doesn't go to the police, a hospital, or literally anyone with a badge. No, she just shrugs and adopts this child with zero paperwork like she found him on Craigslist under "Free: Lightly Screaming." Enter Nate, the wealthiest man in town (as required by Vertical Romance Law §2021), who casually drives by and immediately goes: "That child I haven't seen in 6+ years? Yeah, that's my son." HOW?? Is this man part hawk? Does he have face-recognition software built into his retina?

Nope. Doesn't matter. He just knows. Which is code for "the plot needed to keep moving and nobody had time for evidence." Naturally, the next step is... kidnapping.

Not co-parenting. Not a custody hearing. Just good ol' fashioned "get in my limo, we're a family now." And somehow this is the beginning of a romance? It's like if Taken and The Notebook had a baby and dropped it... in a dumpster.

Mid-Plot Mayhem: Nate pretends to be poor, because of course he does. This is to test Elena's motives, despite her literally raising his abandoned son for a decade on nothing but vibes and canned soup.

Elena gets hired at Nate's company, because vertical fate cannot be avoided, and cue: Evil female coworkers.

Bullying by the coffee machine.

"Accidental" tripping.

PowerPoint sabotage.

Slaps that echo through eternity.

Fainting? You bet. Emotional hospital scenes? At least four.

At one point, I believe someone faints during a slap. Peak drama. No notes.

Plot Twist That Makes the Brain Cry: Just when you think we've reached maximum nonsense... BOOM: Dumpster Baby = Elena's Real Kid.

The one she lost during a drugged one-night stand with - wait for it - Nate.

So yes, the baby she "found" was actually hers all along, making the whole adoption arc just a glorified lost-and-found moment.

Because that's what this show thinks love is: Shared trauma.

Accidental pregnancy.

Surprise custodial entanglement.

And a deeply inappropriate power imbalance.

Moira's Final Line Suggestion: If this is what fate looks like, I'm ghosting the cosmos. 3/10 stars for Ryan. Ryan Vincent, I see you trying. You deserve better. So do we. So does the legal system.

Opening Scene: A woman walks in on her boss having Olympic-level intercourse with a subordinate and reacts with...what? A casual insult? Jamie, honey, that's not "headstrong," that's "mildly inconvenienced." He invites her to join - because of course he does, this is Corporate Kink: Volume 78 - and instead of filing a report with HR, she files it under "Hmm, maybe later." Act One: Flirtation Nation We're gifted a series of scenes where Jamie and Mason volley banter like two sexy lobotomized tennis players. He's cold and broody, and she's "not like other girls" - because, you see, she wears blazers and has a tendency to call him out on his BS. Groundbreaking.

Every line is either a smirk, a threat, or a contract clause delivered with the erotic tension of a broken office printer.

Act Two: Triangle of Delirium Suddenly, Jamie is dating another man. Who? Doesn't matter. His name is "Plot Device #2" and he's only here so Mason can glare through a window and deliver his one emotionally available line: "I don't want you to see me... like that." Like what, Mason? Human?

Jamie has Mason sign a contract - which, let's be honest, probably says "I consent to all plot contrivances henceforth" - and they fall into bed in a scene that plays like the editors ran out of footage and just said, just pull her hair and dry hump her.

Act Three: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Get Me Out Now Mason is getting cold feet, because apparently being known emotionally is scarier than dating your colleague who just narrowly avoided kidnapping by your romantic competition. And Jamie? She's pregnant because of course she is. No condom, no plan, just pure plot acceleration.

Then the ex turns full Netflix true crime, and in the grand finale Mason shows up, punches the crazy out of him, and proposes like this is some twisted romcom version of Mortal Kombat.

"Marry me, Jamie. For love... and also shared custody." Moira's Final Thoughts: This movie has more red flags than a Soviet parade. The "romance" is a 90-minute HR case study, the pacing is whiplash-inducing, and the acting veers between "audition tape energy" and "soap opera villain monologue." At one point, I think Jamie literally says, "I don't want to be your employee, Mason. I want to be your everything." Sirens. Blinking lights. Exit stage left.

Mark Vega acts with his jawline. Bella Walker emotes like she's trying to order a sandwich and cry at the same time. And the director clearly thought the word "tension" meant "turn up the dramatic lighting until someone confesses or combusts." The Verdict: 2 out of 10 moist NDA agreements.

One point for effort. One point because the cinematographer at least tried to light a conference room sex scene like it was Blade Runner. The rest? A flaming pile of bad choices and worse dialogue.

Moira's legal note: Do not use this movie as a reference for workplace conduct or human relationships in general.