Page 72 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

But maybe… a shared space of uncertainty?

It’s not much. But after the chaos of the last few days, it feels like a goddamn miracle.

21

Leo

The entire weekend has felt like walking through a dream.

Or maybe a hallucination brought on by residual pain meds and existential shock.

Mia.

Mydaughter.

The concept is still bouncing around inside my skull like an undisclosed liability discovered during late-stage due diligence.

Friday afternoon, holding her in my arms… it wasn’t just seeing my eyes in her face. It was the weight of her. The warmth. That weird, primal tug in my chest that felt suspiciously like… something important.

Somethingreal.

Unlike the usual transactional arrangements and temporary distractions, or the hollow fucking victories and empty suits.

Then her grandmother. Diane fucking Taylor. Grilled me like I was facing a hostile investor.

What are your intentions?

Shit if I know, lady. Get back to you in ten to fifteen years? But I said the right things. Or things that sounded right.

She didn’t buy it, obviously. Nobody with half a brain would.

We’ll be watching your actions.

Yeah, no kidding. EvenI’mwatching my actions, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do next.

But the rage? It’s mostly subsided. Replaced by this weird, jittery energy. A need todosomething. Fix something. Control something in this completely out-of-control situation.

Which is why I’m currently staring down a flat-pack box containing something called a ‘Secure-Step Baby Gate’ with the kind of bewildered fury I usually reserve for SEC regulators or Luca when he’s being a particularly smarmy dickhead.

Baby-proofing.

Apparently, my multi-million dollar penthouse, previously optimized for closing deals and seducing supermodels, is now considered a fucking deathtrap for anyone under three feet tall.

According to Thomas, my household manager.

Sharp corners? Everywhere. Glass tables? Lethal weapons. Low-hanging abstract sculptures? Impalement hazards. Open-plan staircases? Obvious invitations to disaster.

My meticulously designed palace in the sky needs to be bubble-wrapped.

And in all honesty, I don’t really mind doing it.

For Mia.

I smile when her name enters my thoughts.

Little Mia.

So innocent.

---