Page 48 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

I approach the door. I expect Sabrina to try to intercept me, but she does nothing. She just stands there, frozen.

I reach the door and push it open with my cane.

In the crib, the kid turns her head slightly, catching the light spilling in from the hallway.

Her eyes find mine.

Green.

Piercing.

Startlingly familiar.

Eyes that are staring right fucking at me across the distance.

Myeyes.

The air leaves my lungs. The room tilts. It’s like hitting the granite wall all over again.

Time slows.

Vegas.

Twenty months ago.

The kid looks about... a year old, maybe?

I do themath.

Fuck.

I turn slowly, deliberately, back to Sabrina. Her face is sheet white now, confirming everything.

She knows.

She knows I fucking see it.

The cane feels suddenly redundant. Raw adrenaline surges through me, overriding the pain.

“Taylor,” my voice is dangerously low, stripped of all pretense. “Who the fuck is in that room?”

Her composure shatters completely. Her carefully constructed walls crumble. Fear, raw and undisguised, floods her eyes. As do tears.

“She’s... she’s my daughter,” Sabrina whispers, her voice trembling, barely audible.

Her daughter.

With my fucking eyes.

The timeline fits perfectly.

And she’s fucking kept this from me for almost two years?

Rage, cold and absolute, washes over me, followed by a bewildering, possessive surge I can’t comprehend or control.

My child.

A child I never knew existed.

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