Page 186 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Another pause.

Here it comes. The “official” announcement. There’s no turning back after this. Oh Leo. Why did you have to accept the invite?

I swear, I’m never drinking a Red Bull again.

“After my accident,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, “I had a lot of time to think. About risk. About reward. About what truly matters.” He looks down at his hands, then back up, his green eyes, Mia’s eyes, finding mine again across the crowded room.

“And what I realized,” he continues, his voice vulnerable in a way I’ve never heard it publicly, “isthat some risks are no longer worth taking. Some victories are hollow if they come at too high a price.”

My heart stops.

What is he saying?

Oh god. He’s going to make me cry right here in front of all these people.

“Therefore,” he continues, his voice gaining strength, “I am officially announcing my permanent retirement from competitive wingsuiting. Effective immediately. I will not be participating in the Chamonix Invitational, or any future competitions.”

And there it is, the tears of happiness flow.

Around me, a collective gasp ripples through the room. Reporters are scribbling furiously. Cameras are flashing.

But I barely notice.

This wasn’t in the script. This wasn’t the narrative we prepped. This is…

God I love him.

A babble of questions erupts from the press corps. Leo holds up a hand, silencing them.

“I know this might come as a surprise.” His gaze sweeps the room, but somehow, I feel like he’s talking directly to me. “And I know some of you, especially my sponsors and partners at Red Bull, might be… disappointed. But my priorities have changed.”

He takes another deep breath. “Recently, I became a father.” Another wave of murmurs, more intense this time. Cameras flash like a fucking lightning storm. I’m trying to hide my face... the tears, my ruined mascara.

“My daughter, Mia,” he says, the name soft, almost reverent, “has shown me what true courage, true resilience, looks like. And my responsibility to her, my commitment to being present,to being a father she can rely on… that’s the only adrenaline rush I need anymore.”

He actually smiles then, a genuine unguarded smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“Being her father,” he continues, “is the greatest challenge, the greatest adventure, I’ll ever undertake. And it’s one I intend to face with both feet firmly on the ground.”

Before anyone can recover from that bombshell, before I can even finish wiping the tears from my cheeks, a new voice cuts through the stunned silence.

“WAIT.”

Luca Briggs.

He strides onto the stage from the opposite side, grabbing a spare microphone.

He’s wearing a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. No, those eyes... they glint with a cold fury.

Oh, shit. This isn’t good.

“Well hello, Leo!” Luca says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Quite the performance. Truly touching. Almost brought a tear to my eye.” He turns to the bewildered press corps. “But while we’re making grand announcements about changing priorities and newfound domestic bliss, perhaps I should make one of my own.”

Leo stiffens beside him, his expression unreadable.

“Effective immediately,” Luca announces. “I am resigning from Maxwell & Briggs. I’ll be launching my own venture capital firm. One that still understands the value of aggressive risk, of pushing boundaries, of actually making fucking money instead of… playing house.” He shoots a venomous glare at Leo. “Apparently, Mr. Maxwell has lost his appetite for the game. I, however, am still very much hungry.”

And just like that, the press conference devolves into chaos. Two bombshells in less than five minutes. Leo Maxwell retiring from competitive wingsuiting? Luca Briggs splitting from the firm? This isn’t just a PR crisis anymore. This is a fucking earthquake. Maxwell & Briggs, the titan of venture capital, is suddenly… imploding.

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