Page 120 of Sexting the Billionaire

She launches herself into my arms, the pendant clutched tightly in her hand. I hold her close, my cheek pressed against her hair, and realize with startling clarity that this—this moment, this woman, this child we've made—is the foundation I've been building my entire life.

25

CASSIE

The reflection staring back at me in the full-length mirror seems both familiar and foreign. My hand instinctively cradles the swell of my belly, now impossible to hide at six months along. Not that I want to hide it—not anymore.

"Five minutes, Ms. Monroe." The event coordinator's voice floats through the door of my makeshift dressing room.

"Thank you," I call back, smoothing the fabric of my hand-designed maternity dress, a flowing masterpiece in emerald that makes my eyes pop and somehow manages to make me feel both powerful and feminine.

Roman appears in the doorway, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored charcoal suit, his tie matching my dress in a way that makes my heart flutter. We hadn't planned it, which makes it all the more perfect.

"Ready to conquer the world?" His voice is low, intimate, meant only for me despite the chaos of the event staff buzzing around us.

"As ready as I'll ever be." I take a deep breath, watching my chest rise and fall. “Ten months ago, I was sketching designs in my tiny apartment, wondering if I'd ever make it. Now I'mlaunching my own line with an actual team behind me, carrying your child, and?—"

"And absolutely crushing it." Roman approaches, standing behind me in the mirror, his hands sliding around to rest atop mine on my belly. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

"A whale in designer clothing?"

He chuckles against my hair. "I see the woman who brought color back into my life. The most talented designer I've ever met. And yes, the extraordinarily sexy mother of my child who somehow manages to make pregnancy look like a fashion statement."

The baby chooses that moment to deliver a swift kick, right against our joined hands.

"See? Even our daughter agrees."

"We don't know it's a girl," I remind him, though we've both taken to using female pronouns more often than not.

"Call it intuition," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple, careful not to smudge my meticulously applied makeup. "Two minutes. Ready to shine?"

I nod, letting him lead me toward the door, toward the culmination of years of dreaming, months of relentless work, and a partnership that has defied every expectation.

The launch event for "Cassandra:Reinvented Classics" couldn't be going better if I'd scripted it myself. The large industrial space in Manhattan's Garment District has been transformed with my aesthetic—clean lines meeting unexpected bursts of color, just like my designs. Fashion editors from Vogue, Elle, and Harper's Bazaar mingle with buyers from majordepartment stores. I catch snippets of their conversations as I move through the crowd, Roman never more than a step away.

"The construction is impeccable—" "Fresh perspective on workwear—" "Can't believe this is her debut collection?—"

"Ms. Monroe!" A reporter from Fashion Week Daily approaches, recorder already extended. "Your collection is being heralded as ‘approachably luxurious.' Was that your intention?"

I smile, feeling surprisingly at ease. "Absolutely. Luxury shouldn't be untouchable. I wanted to create pieces that make women feel elevated in their everyday lives—pieces that work as hard as they do."

"And speaking of working hard," the reporter's eyes flick briefly to my stomach, "how are you balancing your career launch with impending motherhood?"

Before I can answer, Roman's hand finds the small of my back. "If I may," he says smoothly, "Cassie isn't 'balancing' anything. She's excelling at everything she puts her mind to, simultaneously. That's who she is."

Warmth floods through me at his defense, but I place my hand on his arm. "It's okay," I murmur, before turning back to the reporter. "The truth is, I don't know yet. I'm figuring it out day by day, just like every working mother does. What I do know is that this collection—and this baby—are both expressions of love. And I've never been afraid of hard work."

The reporter seems satisfied, jotting down notes before moving on to another question about my design influences. As we continue the interview, I spot Mia across the room, confidently showing a fashion blogger through the collection's key pieces. Her knowledge of every stitch and design decision makes pride swell in my chest.

When I hired her as my first intern a few months ago, whispers immediately circulated that it was nepotism—Roman's little sister getting special treatment. Those whispers diedquickly. Mia has an instinctive eye for fashion and a work ethic that puts most industry veterans to shame. Just last week, she presented a capsule collection concept that left me speechless with its innovation.

The interview wraps up, and Roman guides me toward the refreshments. "You need to sit. And hydrate," he instructs, pulling out a chair at a high-top table.

"Yes, Dr. Kade," I tease, but gratefully sink into the seat. My ankles have been swelling after just an hour of standing these days.

"Just looking out for my two favorite people," he murmurs, signaling a server for sparkling water.

I'm about to respond when I spot a familiar figure approaching through the crowd, and my breath catches.

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