Page 76 of Falling for Mr. Billionaire

“No,” I say, voice low and sharp. “You were doing yourself a favor—because God forbid someone else gets a piece of me you think you still own.”

Her expression hardens. “I don’t want you, Carter.”

“Then stop acting like it.”

We lock eyes.

“We haven’t been together in years,” I continue, “but you sure as hell don’t want anyone else to have me. You blow up every relationship I try to have and justify it like you’re protecting our daughter, but let’s be honest—this has nothing to do with her and everything to do with you not liking anyone who threatens your control.”

She scoffs. “Control? Please.”

“I told you about Ivy because I respected you. Because I wanted our kids to grow up knowing each other. Because I thought—stupidly—that we could be grown-ups about this.”

“She’s the reason your company almost crumbled.”

“She’s also the reason I remembered what love feels like,” I snap. “And you don’t get to punish her because you’re bitter.”

She stands now, arms crossed, lips tight. “So, what? You’re in love with her?”

I meet her stare without hesitation. “Yes.”

Silence.

“I love Ivy,” I repeat, slower this time. “And I’m going to fix this whether you like it or not. So from now on, stay out of it.”

Savannah is only here because Laura’s nanny, Dani, told her about a ballet competition Laura really wanted her mother to attend. I told her she could stay with us in the mansion so she could be with Laura, but I will put her ass in a hotel if she tries some shit like this again.

One thing Savannah doesn’t understand is that I can live without my company, but I can’t live without Ivy. I won’t.

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Good. I turn and walk out without another word, because I’ve wasted enough time trying to manage the past. It’s time to fight for my future.

Before I even think about trying to fix things with Ivy, there’s something else I have to do.

We need to do right by her brother. And by every single family our company hurt.

So I schedule a meeting with my father and our legal team. No PR fluff. No spin. Just solutions.

“We’ll settle the lawsuit,” my father says, sitting back in his chair. “Give each family a home valued at five hundred thousand. Free and clear.”

“No, Dad,” I say, voice firm. “Not each family. Each person. Those children are adults now. They deserve their own fresh start.”

He scowls, but nods. “Fine. There’s that new community your mother and I have been looking into. Nice place. Good schools. We’ll use that. They get the deeds, clean titles. But I’m not covering property taxes after the first year.”

“I don’t expect you to,” I reply.

“And then you issue a public apology, Mr. Volcor,” our senior attorney chimes in, tapping his pen on his notepad. “Short, direct, as we discussed.”

“I’ll handle it,” my father nods.

Dad stands and stretches. “If everyone’s done hounding me, I’ve got a pretty lady waiting at home with dinner on the table. Y’all don’t mind, do you?”

Oh, Dad.

He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m heading back home, son. I’ll be back in a few days. We’ll clear up the rest then. You know how your mother gets when I’m late.”

“Alright, old man, tell her I said hi.”

He smirks. “You know, if I’m old, your mother’s old, too. We’re the same age.”

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