Page 125 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Maybe.

33

Sabrina

Life in the Gilded Cage, Week Two.

Status: Still weird.

Still complicated.

Still haven’t spontaneously combusted from the sheer cognitive dissonance of it all.

That’s gotta be a win, right?

Living in Leo Maxwell’s penthouse is like living inside a very expensive, very minimalist submarine. Everything gleams. Everything is automated. Everything smells faintly of ozone and fig leaf and probably hundred-dollar bills.

Thomas, his unflappable household manager, anticipates needs I didn’t even know I had. Rafael, the personal chef, creates meals that make my usual cereal-for-dinner routine look like something out of Oliver Twist.

It’s… luxurious.

Life-changing.

And comfortable.

Dangerously comfortable.

And Leo? He’s the biggest source of cognitivedissonance. One minute, he’s the ruthless Venture Capitalist on a conference call, making decisions worth more than the net worth of small countries with chilling efficiency.

The next, he’s sitting on the floor, patiently enduring Mia repeatedly trying to put sticky Cheerios in his ear, looking… soft. Almost domesticated.

Almost.

Then there are the nights. After Mia’s asleep. The sex. The mind-blowing sex.

Nope. Don’t go there.

Too late.

Even though we don’t sleep in the same bed, that doesn’t stop us from sharing slow, toe-curling goodnight kisses outside my guest suite door that somehow transform into hour-long ‘strategic alignment’ sessions that definitely blur professional boundaries. Afterward, feeling breathless and confused, we retreat to our separate rooms and sleep alone.

Professionally? Things are… working. Which is almost more confusing. The PR campaign is gaining traction. The narrative is shifting.

‘Leo Maxwell: Resilient Survivor, Dedicated Father, Focused Leader.’

It’s spin, yes, but it’s spin rooted in a surprising amount of truth.

Heisfocused.

Heisdedicated to Mia in a way that still kind of blows my mind.

And watching him push through his physical therapy without the cane these last few days, his jaw tight with pain but his eyes fiercely determined… yeah, resilient doesn’t even begin to cover it.

So now it’s Saturday. Usually my catch-up-on-work-while-Mia-naps day. Until Leo intercepts me after breakfast, looking… tense.

More tense than usual.

“Need a favor,” he says, avoiding eye contact as he stares out the window at the park below.

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