Page 70 of Falling for Mr. Billionaire

Before he can answer, the woman steps in. “Jeremy, you need to relax.” Then she turns her attention to me, “As Mr. Monroe’s legal counsel, I’m advising him not to answer any further questions. Anything you say can and will be used—”

My attention drifts past her and freezes.

On the arm of the couch sits a prosthetic leg.

My stomach drops.

Jeremy… Jeremy Monroe. The kid who lost his leg during that scandal.

He’s her brother.

I barely hear the rest of the yelling. Something slams. Maybe the door. I don’t know.

We’re already back in the car when Liam finally speaks.

“Yo. What the fuck was that?”

I rub my jaw. “That… was Jeremy Monroe. And Ivy’s his sister.”

Liam lets out a low whistle. “Wait. So you went on vacation, met a woman writing a takedown piece about our company—who didn’t even know you were you—and she wrote it because her brother is the guy who lost his leg? And she didn’t even want to run it after she met you?”

I stare at the windshield, everything spinning.

“She’s pregnant. She didn’t cash your checks. And now she won’t speak to you.” He exhales, low and disbelieving. “Bro… you’re living in a fucking soap opera.”

And suddenly, it all hits me.

The way she would sneak off with her laptop, shutting it the second I walked into the room when we were in the bungalow. How she’d close the screen like she was hiding something, right before I pulled her into bed and lost myself in her body.

The quiet way she held me that night on the beach. The way her entire body tensed when I told her I loved her.

I knew something was off. I felt it. But I never imagined it was this.

The woman I fell for? She wasn’t just a fling. She wasn’t just a journalist on assignment. She was the sister of the boy our company destroyed. The article that nearly burned everything down? It wasn’t just professional. It was personal. And I never gave her the chance to explain.

Didn’t even ask. I just shut the door and left her standing in the wreckage of what we could’ve been. Now she’s carrying my child. And I’ve turned it all into a war I don’t know how to win—when all she wanted was the truth.

I press my palms into my eyes, jaw clenched so tight it aches.

“I need a fucking drink.

CHAPTER 19

Ivy

It’s been a month since that text.

Just one line, but enough to slice me wide open.

I want to know the minute my child is born. Until then, tell me where to send the checks.

After that? Nothing. No calls. No follow-up. No questions about how I’m doing.

Just silence—cold, infuriating silence. Well, silence… and the money.

The first check showed up in a plain white envelope about a week after the text. Vanessa had been over, helping me sort through the millions of bassinets online, when it slid through the mail slot like a bomb wrapped in paper. I picked up all the mail and put it away. That one, however, I grabbed my pen and wrote “return to sender” on it.

It was from Carter Volcor, and the address on it, I assume, is one of his properties. I dropped it back on the floor so I could remember to grab it on my way out to put in the mailbox so it could be returned.

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