Page 139 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Every carefully crafted statement I release about his ‘renewed focus on the firm’ feels like a lie when I know he’s probably picturing exit points and wind shears in between conference calls. My entire PRstrategy for him hinges on projecting stability, calculated risk, not…this... the shadow of the reckless thrill-seeker still lurking beneath the surface of the recovering father.

Anyway, so here I am, holed up in my makeshift office... Leo’s actual home office, which he’s more or less ceded to me today. Mia’s napping at the moment, making the silence in the penthouse without Leo almost… too quiet.

Like the calm before the inevitable freefall.

I’m drafting a statement to yet another blogger when the private elevator dings.

My head snaps up. Leo? Back already? Or Thomas with my mid-morning latte?

I get up, instinctively tuck my phone into a pocket, and head down the main hallway.

Ahead of me, the elevator doors hiss open, and my blood runs cold.

It’s not Leo.

Nor Thomas.

It’s Jen Takahashi.

In the flesh. Looking like she just stepped off the cover of ‘Fitness Model Monthly’ in skintight leggings and a crop top that leaves very little to the imagination. Her expression is pure, unadulterated venom as her eyes lock onto mine.

Oh, holy hell.

How did SHE get up here?

She stalks into the living room, all predatory grace, her expensive sneakers silent on the plush rug.

“Well, well, well,” she purrs, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If it isn’t the ‘mystery brunette.’ Sabrina Taylor. Looks like you’ve made yourself right at home.” Her gaze sweeps disdainfullyaround the living room, lingering on Mia’s stray teething ring on the corner of one couch.

My heart is hammering against my ribs.

Stay calm. Assess the threat. Control the narrative.

“Ms. Takahashi,” I say, my voice surprisingly cool. Professional detachment is my superpower, even when faced with a clearly hostile ex. Or fuckbuddy. Or whatever he calls her. “I wasn’t aware Mr. Maxwell was expecting you.”

She lets out a harsh laugh. “Oh, please. Leo always expects me. Or he used to, beforeyoushowed up with your… surprise package.” Her eyes flick towards the hallway leading to the nursery.

“If you have business with Mr. Maxwell, he’s at his downtown office today,” I say, keeping my tone professional. Trying to project an authority I absolutely do not feel.

She’s got a keycard? Or Thomas let her up?

This is a massive security breach.

“Oh, I know where Leo is,” Jen sneers, taking a step closer. She smells faintly of sweat and expensive perfume. “And I know what he’s doing. Or rather, what he’snotdoing. Thanks to you.” She stops directly beside me, leaning her hands on the edge of the couch, invading my space. “He hasn’t been returning my calls. He’s cancelled all our sessions. Blew off our usual… arrangements.” Her eyes narrow. “You think you’re special, do you? Think because you popped out his kid, you’ve somehow won?”

My cheeks flame. This is… mortifying. And terrifying.

This woman is clearly unhinged.

And probably knows a hell of a lot more aboutLeo’s ‘usual arrangements’ than I want to contemplate.

“My relationship with Mr. Maxwell is a private matter,” I say coldly, trying to regain control of the situation. “And frankly, none of your business.”

“Oh, itbecamemy business,” Jen says, her voice becoming dangerously soft, “when he started treating me like yesterday’s garbage. When he started prioritizingyou.” She leans closer, her eyes glittering with malice. “You think you know him? You think this new ‘devoted dad’ routine is real? It’s an act. A phase. He’ll get bored. He always does. And then he’ll come crawling back to the women who actually understand him. Women like me.”

“I think you should leave,” I say, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts. My hand inches towards the intercom button on the coffee table, the one that connects directly to Thomas and security.

Jen sees the movement. Her smile widens, cruel and knowing. “Not before we have a little chat.” She straightens up, folding her arms across her impressive chest. “See, I know things about Leo. Things that wouldn’t look too good in those glossy PR statements you’re undoubtedly cooking up. Things about his… recreational habits. The kind of things that make investors very, very nervous.”

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