Page 48 of Falling for Mr. Billionaire

“Oh my god. Please don’t.”

“Anyway,” he exhales, shifting gears, “I just left court. Finally, Jesus, that system is brutal. I feel like I got cross-examined just for existing.”

“How’d it go?” I ask, softening.

“Long. Messy. You know how it is—drag it out, grind you down. But luckily, I’m sleeping with a badass attorney who makes people think twice before running their mouths.”

I grin. “Marissa’s still out there saving your ass?”

“Every damn day,” he says, pure pride in his voice.

A pause lingers, quieter now.

“So,” he says, “how’s the story going?”

I glance toward the bedroom door. Carter’s still on a call. He shut the door when he started talking, which was a bit weird, but honestly? I appreciate the privacy.

“I’m close,” I say, lowering my voice. “Really close.”

“You find the paper trail?”

“Yeah. Sons & Bell was just a shell. There’s something off in the acquisition docs, but the connection to V Corp? It’s way deeper than I thought.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly. I need those eviction files from Carlton. The utility shutoffs, code violations—everything. If you can scan and send them today, I’ll weave it into the final version.”

“Already on it. Marissa’s got them in a Dropbox folder. I’ll send it over when I get back.”

“Perfect.” I chew my cheek. “Ben wants a draft by tomorrow night.”

“Think you can pull it off?”

“I have to.”

Another pause. Then Jeremy asks, more quietly, “Have you seen Mom lately?”

I blink. “Not since she and Ness were over helping me plot Matt’s murder after I caught him cheating. I called her from the airport, but… I’ve had a lot going on. You know she wants me to leave this case alone. But those people destroyed families. Kids. They destroyed her. They destroyed you.”

He goes quiet. Finally, he says, “She texted me yesterday. Just asking if I was okay. It was weird. Said she was in Atlanta.”

“She lied,” I say automatically.

“Yeah.” A sigh. “Still… I think she’s trying. Sort of.”

“Trying isn’t enough. Not anymore.”

“I know.” His voice softens. And for a second, we’re just kids again—sitting on the bumper of Mom’s beat-up SUV, arguing over who has to sleep in the passenger seat that night.

“I just thought I’d ask.”

I nod, staring at the faint bruise on my thigh—Carter’s fingerprint, from last night. “Thanks for checking in.”

“Always.”

“I’ll call you when I finish the first draft. And tell Marissa she’s a saint.”

“She knows. And hey, Ivy?”

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