Page 35 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

The coke makes everything feel easy, consequence-free.

Still, I shake my head slightly at Luca, giving him a silent ‘I’ve had enough.’ Michelle catches the exchange and gives me a disappointed smile before turning back to her drink.

The chopper rideto the city was quick and efficient, like the sex with Jen.

Now, back at the penthouse, I’m finally alone. Jenand Michelle are gone. Luca’s gone. My staff have gone home.

It’s just me, the silence, and the lingering chemical hum in my veins.

I should feel good. It was a great day. Closed an investment round yesterday, nailed a dangerous jump (though admittedly cut it a little close, but hey I’m alive), got laid.

Living the fucking dream, right?

So why does my gut feel like it’s full of cold, gray stone?

This relentless pace, this constant chase… it used to be enough. The investments, the risks, the women… they filled the void. Or at least they kept me moving too fast to notice it.

But lately… lately the highs feel shorter, and the emptiness afterward feels deeper.

And then there’s Chamonix. The Red Bull competition. That fucking ridiculous line Luca wants us to fly.

A knot tightens in my stomach, cold and unfamiliar. Fear? No. I don’t do fear. Not real fear. But… dread. A heavy, formless sense of an impending...something.

I think back to the jump today. That V-shaped exit. The way the rock rushed up. I almost didn’t make it. If the wind had gusted just a fraction harder…

Splatter.

I shake my head, pouring myself another whiskey, neat.

It’s just nerves, I tell myself. Pre-competition jitters. Happens every time I prep for a big jump. Especially after the Norway crash.

Yeah. That’s allit is. Nerves.

But deep down, I’m starting to wonder, is this really the life I want to live?

Don’t think about the landing.

Focus on the flight.

It’s all I know how to do.

11

Sabrina

Two months later...

Apparently, pushing a human being out of your body is less ‘glowing miracle of life’ and more ‘primal scream-fest meets extreme wrestling match...’ where you’re both the wrestler and the mat at the same time.

“You’re doing amazing, Sabrina! Just one more big push! You got this!” Tatiana’s voice cuts through the haze of pain and exertion. She’s been a freaking superhero... coaching, hand-holding, wiping sweat, and somehow managing not to look remotely grossed out by the whole thing. Which is impressive, considering she’s about eight months pregnant herself and probably has her own sympathy pains kicking in.

Note to self: Owe Tatiana approximately one lifetime supply of chocolate and foot rubs. Maybe a kidney.

Though I suppose I’ll be paying her back in a month anyway when it’s my turn to beherbirthing partner.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital room buzz overhead, harsh and unforgiving. The beeping of monitors provides a relentless soundtrack. It’s all so... sterile.

“Ican’t,” I groan, collapsing back against the pillows, utterly spent. “Tell her to use the emergency exit. There’s gotta be one, right?”

---