Page 185 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

I’m still not sure how I’m actually going to break the news to him.

“Hey, Leo, great job on the press conference, love the new family man daredevil vibe, also, I quit?”

It’s going to be one of the toughest conversations of my life. Right up there with walking out of his penthouse, which felt like ripping out a vital organ.

I smooth down the lapels of my suit, trying to wear my PR game face. But internally?

I’m a gibbering mess.

Leo is backstage, presumably getting pumped upby Auger, his drill-sergeant, and probably Luca Briggs, who I’m sure is probably high again, even though he went through rehab.

I haven’t seen Leo since… well, since I walked out of his penthouse. Not counting the video call where I showed him Mia, of course. Otherwise, our only communications have been via the usual email and business-only phone calls.

The lights dim.

A hush falls over the room.

This is it.

The moment he officially tells the world he’s flying Chamonix.

Again.

A slickly produced video montage plays on the massive screens. Leo in his prime, carving through canyons, a fearless blur against breathtaking landscapes. Intercut with shots of his Chamonix crash.

The impact.

The rescue.

My heart still breaks every time I see it, and I have to blink away tears.

Thankfully, the video quickly moves on to his slow, grueling recovery. We get to see the physical therapy. The grim determination. While uplifting orchestral music plays in the background.

It’s a masterful work of PR, framed not as a reckless return to a dangerous obsession, but a testament to the indomitable nature of the human spirit.

My narrative, technically. The one I drafted, the one I hate myself for writing, because it feels like I’m enabling him, paving his way back to the cliff edge.

Then, Leo walks out onto the stage. The man in the flesh. No dramatic entrance. Just… him. Gorgeous, ravishing,him.

His limp is barely perceptible today. He’s wearing a simple dark suit, no tie, looking more like the serious, focused businessman than the daredevil.

He also looks… tired.

But also, strangely calm.

Shouldn’t he be trying to appear... happier?

Something is definitely off.

He quietly approaches the podium, adjusts the microphone, and takes a deep breath.

The room is silent, expectant.

“Thank you all for coming,” he begins, his voice a low rumble that sends an unexpected shiver through me. “I know there’s been a lot of speculation recently. About my recovery. About my future. About Chamonix.”

He pauses, his gaze sweeping the room, lingering for a fraction of a second on where I’m standing. My breath catches.

“The Red Bull Chamonix Invitational,” he continues, “is the pinnacle of our sport. It’s a challenge I’ve embraced in the past. A challenge that… nearly cost me everything.”

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