Page 126 of Sexting the Billionaire

"That I've been wrong about many things. Including how I've treated you." Sterling looks directly at his son. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm not even asking for a relationship. But I am offering you something I should have offered years ago."

He slides a folder across the coffee table. Roman opens it cautiously, his expression changing as he reads the contents.

"You're transferring controlling interest in Blackwood Industries to me?" His voice is incredulous. "Why now?"

"Because you've proven me wrong," Sterling says simply.

"I thought your relationship with Cassandra was a distraction, a weakness. I was wrong. You've managed to build both a family and a thriving business, something I never managed to do."

He looks at me for the first time. "And you, Ms. Monroe, have shown extraordinary talent not just in design but in understanding what my son needs. Your collection is impressive. As is the way you've balanced motherhood and career."

Coming from Sterling Kade, this is practically effusive praise. I'm momentarily speechless.

"There's something else," Sterling continues, pulling another document from his desk. "A trust for Harmony. Completely independent of the business holdings, with no strings attached. It's already established. You're both trustees until she's of age."

Roman stares at his father. "What brought this on? Really?"

Sterling’s composure slips, just slightly. "Mortality, son. A health scare—nothing immediate, but enough to make me reevaluate. And..." He hesitates. "Seeing you with her. You're already a better father than I ever was."

The tension in the room shifts, not disappearing but transforming into something less hostile, more contemplative. Roman studies the documents, then looks at me, a silent conversation passing between us.

"We'll need our attorneys to review everything," Roman finally says. "But...thank you."

As we ready to leave, Grant asks hesitantly, "May I?" He gestures toward Harmony, now awake and observing the world with curious eyes.

Roman pauses, then carefully lifts her from the carrier, supporting her head as he places her in his father's arms. Sterling Kade, titan of industry and notorious hardass, looks utterly transformed holding his granddaughter for the first time.

"Hello, little one," he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. "You come from good stock on both sides. Remember that."

Six weeks later,I stand before the mirror in our bedroom, smoothing the silk of my gown—the centerpiece of my Marchesacollaboration, reimagined for postpartum bodies with clever construction that celebrates rather than conceals.

"You look stunning," Roman says from the doorway, already dressed in his tuxedo, Harmony cradled against his shoulder in a tiny dress I designed to complement mine.

"So do both of you." I take our daughter, inhaling her sweet baby scent to calm my nerves.

"Are we crazy to bring a not-quite-six-month-old to the Fashion Forward Gala?"

"Probably," Roman admits with a smile. "But when have we ever done things the conventional way?"

The gala is everything I dreamed of and more—my designs prominently featured, industry legends stopping to congratulate me, buyers approaching with new opportunities. But the real triumph is how effortlessly Harmony fits into the evening. She's passed between Roman and me, occasionally charming a trusted colleague, but mostly sleeping contentedly against one of our chests.

Late in the evening, I spot Camden across the room, his girlfriend Arielle beside him. He catches my eye and raises his champagne glass in a toast. I return the gesture, grateful for the friendship we've salvaged from the wreckage of our relationship.

"Ms. Monroe,” a voice says at my elbow. I turn to find Anna Wintour herself appraising my dress. "Excellent construction. And an even more impressive approach to motherhood and career. The industry needs more of this."

With a nod toward Harmony, sleeping against Roman's chest, she moves on, leaving me momentarily stunned.

"Did that just happen?" I whisper to Roman.

"It did." His free arm wraps around my waist. "And she's right, you know. You're changing more than fashion. You're changing expectations."

Later that night, after we've put an exhausted Harmony to bed, I find Roman in my home studio, studying the sketches for my next collection—designs inspired by our journey, featuring unexpected connections and beautiful contradictions.

"These are remarkable," he says softly. "Especially this one." He points to a dress that incorporates elements of traditional menswear reimagined as a fluid, feminine silhouette.

"It's called 'Text Message,'" I tell him, moving to stand beside him. "It's about how sometimes the most profound connections begin in the most ordinary ways."

He turns to me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "One misdirected text."

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