Page 160 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

But I can’t think about that now. Not when Luca is in the ICU, fighting for his life.

I quickly make the calls. Jonas and Terrence confirm they’ll have the armored SUV ready to go. I grab my purse, my laptop bag. A quick glance at the baby monitor shows Mia still sleeping peacefully,oblivious.

I ring Thomas. Bless his unflappable soul, he confirms he’ll come right up from his staff quarters downstairs to watch her. She’s safe.

The ride to Mount Sinai is tense. Jonas drives with calm efficiency, Terrence sits beside me in the back, radiating quiet vigilance.

I try to focus on work, on drafting potential holding statements, anticipating media fallout.

Because you know this will leak. Everything around Leo eventually leaks.

But my mind keeps drifting. Leo’s voice on the phone. That raw fear. It’s a side of him I haven’t heard before. The vulnerability peeking through the cracks again.

At the hospital, the scene is controlled chaos. Darius, part of Leo’s own security detail, meets us at a private entrance. He blends seamlessly with Jonas and Terrence, a small army of grim-faced men in dark suits creating an impenetrable perimeter.

Inside, the air hums with that specific hospital tension. You know, the cloying smell of antiseptic, the hushed voices, the beep of distant monitors.

We’re directed to a private waiting area near the ICU. Leo is already there with Charlie. He’s pacing restlessly, his limp more pronounced than usual. He’s shed the suit jacket, his shirtsleeves are rolled up, and his hair is mussed from running his hands through it. He looks… wrecked. Pale, strained, his green eyes haunted.

He stops pacing when he sees me. There’s a flicker of relief in his eyes.

“Sabrina. Thanks for coming.” His voice is tight.

“How is he?” I ask quietly.

He shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Still unconscious. Doctors aren’t saying much. Critical. Touch and go.”

Charlie’s not alone in the uncomfortable seating area. Two unfamiliar guys in suits, built like they eat security threats for breakfast, sit near him. Luca’s detail, no question.

And beside one of them, looking impossibly chic even in crisis, is Vivian Wong, Luca’s assistant. Her usual poised composure is gone, replaced by red-rimmed eyes and a palpable anxiety.

She looks up as I approach Leo.

“Vivian,” I murmur, a silent acknowledgment.

She gives me a shaky nod. “Sabrina.” Then, her gaze flicks towards Leo, laden with something that looks unnervingly like accusation.

“What happened?” I ask her.

“Luca has been… spiraling,” she says, her voice low, trembling slightly. “Ever since… well, ever since Chamonix. Since things… changed.”

She doesn’t have to elaborate.

Since Leo’s accident. Since Leo got a daughter. Since Leo started pulling back from the old life. From Luca.

The implication hangs between us.

This is your fault.

I glance at Leo. I see him flinch, almost imperceptibly.

He blames himself for this. Or me. Or both of us.

Leo turns away, takes a deep breath, then focuses on me. His expression hardens, shifting into business mode. His default setting.

“Sabrina. This… this is going to get out. Luca Briggs. OD. The press will be all over it. We need…” He sighs. “It’s another goddamn thing we need to control.”

“It is,” I agree, stepping into my ownprofessional role. It’s easier than dealing with the raw emotion swirling around us. “Any thoughts on what you want the narrative to be?”

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