Page 92 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

“Apparently.” The silence stretches again, but it’s less awkward this time. More… tentative. Filled with the unspoken events of the night before. The kiss. The sex. The vulnerability.

My phone buzzes sharply from the pocket of the sweatpants I threw on. Interrupting the moment.

Fucking figures.

I glance at the caller ID.

Luca.

“Shit,” I mutter. “Gotta take this.” I gesture vaguely with my free hand. “Probably business.”

Sabrina nods, her expression becoming guarded again instantly.

I shift Mia carefully in my arms, debating whether to hand her over, then decide against it.

I answer the call, keeping my voice low. “Briggs. What?”

“Morning, sunshine!” Luca’s voice is obnoxiously cheerful. Bad sign. Means he’s probably about to deliver shitty news. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important?”

“Just spitit out, Luca.”

“All right, all right. Little situation developing. You didn’t happen to take a little trip to Central Park last week? With your kid in tow? Did you?”

My gut clenches. “Ah. Sh—” I clip back the swear, well aware of Mia in my arms.

Be better.

“Yes, I was there,” I admit. “With my daughter. But so were Charlie and Darius. They swept the area.”

“Well, maybe they missed the freelancer hiding in the bushes with a long lens. Point is, Page Six just dropped an online piece. Grainy photos of you, a baby that looks suspiciously like you, and a ‘mystery brunette.’ Speculation is running rampant. ‘Billionaire Maxwell’s Secret Love Child?’ is the current headline.”

Fuck.

Fucking tabloids.

Fucking paparazzi.

Can’t even take my own daughter to the fucking park without it becoming a media circus.

“Mystery brunette?” I repeat, glancing involuntarily at Sabrina. Her eyes are wide, her face pale.

She heard.

“Yeah,” Luca continues, oblivious to the implications on my end. “Naturally, the comments section is exploding. And more importantly, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Investors. Wanting clarification. Assurance. Remember that stability narrative we’re trying so hard to build?”

“Have any pulled out?”

“Only one so far. Accel Partners.”

“No...” I tell him.

“Yes. They cited the photos, the ‘unforeseen personal complications,’ and concerns about yourstability and focus. Seven hundred million withdrawn from our latest round.”

Seven hundred million.

Just like that.

Because of one fucking walk in the park.

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