Page 49 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

A secret she guarded for almost two fucking years while I was... while I was beingme.

“Yourdaughter?” I repeat, the words tasting like acid.

I take a step towards her, ignoring the sharp protest from my leg.

“Well that’s funny. Because she has my fucking eyes.” I lock my gaze onto hers, pinning her in place. “You want to talk aboutsubstance, Sabrina? Fine, let’s talk about substance. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me I had a daughter?”

15

Sabrina

The question hangs between us.

Why the fuck didn’t you tell me...

His voice was dangerously low, the barely restrained fury making the hair on my arms stand up. His green eyes... Mia’s eyes... bore into me, pinning me in place.

“I...” My voice fails.

What can I possibly say that won’t sound like a pathetic excuse?

My mind scrambles, desperately searching for the right words, the strategic angle, the damage control narrative.

There isn’t one.

This isn’t a client crisis; this is my life imploding. My carefully constructed professional world, my painstakingly guarded personal life... both shatter like cheap porcelain around me.

There’s no PR spin for this.

No carefully worded statement that can contain the fallout.

My heart merely hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden roaring silence.

His face contorts, a mask of disbelief warring with his rage. “Don’t just stand there, Sabrina! Answer me! You knew? You knew all this time and you saidnothing?”

He takes another step closer, invading my personal space, the faintly familiar scent of ozone and something else filling my nostrils. He’s crowding me, using his size, his presence, even leaning on that damn cane, to intimidate me.

It’s working.

My cheeks flush hot with a mixture of fear and shame.

My own terror starts to curdle into a defensive anger.

Mydaughter.

The one I carried, birthed, and have cared for every single second while he was god knows where.

“You want a reason, Leo?” I finally manage, my voice trembling but gaining strength, laced now with a tremor of fury instead of just fear. “Okay, fine! Here’s a reason? Because I looked you up! After Vegas, after the shock wore off and I realized... this,” I gesture helplessly between myself and the nursery door where Mia has started whimpering again, “I realized this was happening, I Googled ‘Leo Maxwell’.”

I tick the points off on my fingers, the PR strategist in me instinctively structuring the argument even as my world falls apart. “Billionaire tech investor, check. Notorious playboy, check. Rotating cast of models and actresses? Check, check, check! Fixture on gossip pages? You betcha!” My voice rises, fueled by months of suppressed anxiety and resentment. “And the hobbies, Leo? Seriously? Wingsuiting? BASE jumping? You literally fly off cliffs forfun!That doesn’t exactly scream ‘stable father figure,’ does it?”

He recoils slightly, momentarily thrown off by the attack. “That’s... that’s bullshit! That’s my life, my business...”

“Exactly!” I cut him off. “Your life! The one that involves flirting with death on a regular basis and fucking every female in sight! And then Chamonix happened! I told you I saw the news, Leo! The crash! You almostdied!How could I possibly thinkthatman,” I point a shaking finger at him, “was ready or even remotely suitable to be a father? How could I risk bringing my daughter into that chaos, that instability? How could I set her up to wait for a dad who might disappear off the face of the earth, as in literally, at any moment? Just like mine did?” The last part comes out raw and unplanned, I regret saying it as soon as the words leave my mouth. I don’t want to expose my wounds to him. Don’t want to be vulnerable.

His expression shifts again, the anger momentarily overshadowed by something unreadable. Confusion? Maybe a flicker of guilt?

But then it’s gone, replaced by renewed fury.

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