Page 204 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

My schedule, once meticulously managed by Michelle to maximize deal flow and discreet assignations, is now dictated by nap times, feeding schedules, and the urgent, non-negotiable need to make goofy faces at a tiny human who finds my attempts at paternal charm endlessly fascinating.

It’s chaos.

It’s exhausting.

It’s…fucking incredible.

Which brings me to today.

My mother.

Karen Maxwell.

She called yesterday, and when she discovered Sabrina and I were back together, she immediately insisted on her monthly supervised visit, saying that she had waited long enough.

I reluctantly agreed.

“Are you sure about this, Leo?” Sabrina asked last night, curled against me in bed. “After… everything? Are you ready?”

Ready? Am I ever fucking ready for anything that involves my mother?

But I remembered her words on the phone, that unexpected flash of steel, that fierce maternal fire when she told me to move mountains to get Sabrina and Mia back.

“Yeah,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “Yeah, I think I am. For Mia’s sake. And maybe… maybe for mine too.”

So, here we are. The penthouse living room. Neutral territory, or as neutral as it gets when you’re the billionaire son trying to navigate a lifetime of complicated bullshit with the woman who, for better or worse, is your mother.

Sabrina is here, beside me. Mia is in her lap, happily chewing on a teething rusk, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in the room.

The private elevator dings.

Thomas, ever the stoic professional, ushers Karen Maxwell into the room.

She looks… different than she did in the café. More… hesitant. Almost fragile.

She’s dressed simply, in a soft knit sweater and slacks, her blonde hair neatly styled, but her hands are clasped tightly in front of her. She looks like she’s walking into a goddamn lion’s den.

Which, to be fair, isn’t far from the truth.

Her gaze flicks from me to Sabrina, then settles on Mia. And just like before, her face crumples. Tears well in her eyes, genuine,unfeigned.

The carefully constructed composure shatters, revealing the raw vulnerability underneath.

“Leonardo,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “Sabrina. And… oh, Mia.” She takes a tentative step towards us, then stops, as if unsure of her welcome.

“Mom,” I say, my own voice surprisingly steady. “Come in. Sit down.” I gesture towards the armchair opposite the sofa.

She sinks into it, her gaze still fixed on Mia. “She’s… she’s gotten so big.”

“Babies do that, Mom,” I say, trying for a lightness I don’t entirely feel.

Sabrina, bless her, steps in. “She’s had a growth spurt, Karen. And she’s just started… well, almost crawling. More like a very determined, slightly uncoordinatedscoot.”

Mia chooses that moment to let out a happy shriek, waving her half-eaten rusk in the air.

Karen laughs. “Oh, she’s… she’s so beautiful. Just like her mother. And she has your eyes, Leonardo. Definitely your eyes.”

The tension in the room eases slightly.

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