Page 124 of Sexting the Billionaire

"Yes, you can," he whispers, his voice breaking. "You're the strongest person I know, Cassandra Monroe. Our daughter is waiting to meet you. Just one more."

I search his face, drawing strength from his certainty. With a deep breath, I bear down one final time, channeling every ounce of determination I've ever possessed.

A cry fills the room—fierce, indignant, and absolutely perfect.

"She's here," the doctor announces, lifting a tiny, wriggling body. "Dad, would you like to cut the cord?"

Roman looks stunned, like he's been struck by lightning. He nods wordlessly, carefully taking the surgical scissors. His hands, always so steady in billion-dollar negotiations, tremble slightly as he performs this most basic act of separation—the first step in our daughter's independence.

And then she's on my chest, a squalling, perfect miracle with a shock of dark hair. She stops crying immediately, her tiny body settling against mine like she recognizes the heartbeat she's been listening to for nine months.

"Hello, Harmony," I whisper, counting her fingers, her toes, marveling at the miniature perfection of her fingernails. "We've been waiting for you."

When I finally tear my eyes away from our daughter, I'm startled by the expression on Roman's face. He's crying openly now, tears streaming down his cheeks without any attempt to hide them.

"What is it?" I ask softly.

He shakes his head, seemingly unable to speak. When he finally finds his voice, it's raw with emotion. "I never understood before. Why people say it changes everything. But looking at her..." His finger traces the delicate curve of Harmony's cheek. "I finally get it. I'd burn the world down to keep her safe. To keep both of you safe."

A nurse approaches, smiling kindly. "Dad, would you like to hold your daughter while we help Mom get comfortable?"

Roman looks terrified but nods. With careful instructions from the nurse, he cradles Harmony against his chest, his large frame making her look even tinier. Something profound happens in that moment—I can see it transforming his face, rearranging his priorities, reshaping his soul.

"I will never be like him," he whispers to our daughter, so quietly I barely hear it. "I promise you. I will be present. I will listen. I will never make you doubt that you're loved."

The vow to be different from his father breaks my heart and stitches it back together all at once. I close my eyes, letting exhaustion claim me for just a moment, knowing that my little family is complete, whole, and forever changed.

"Ms.Monroe,we need a decision on the fabric weight for the Marchesa collaboration by tomorrow morning."

My assistant, Taylor, hovers in the doorway of my home office, tablet in hand. At four months postpartum, I've settled into a rhythm that somehow works—three days in the studio, two days working from home with Harmony nearby.

"The heavier weight," I answer, shifting Harmony to my other breast as she nurses. "The drape will be better for the structured pieces."

Taylor nods, making a note. "And the meeting with the department store buyers?—"

"Can we push it to Thursday? Roman has that investor meeting on Wednesday, and one of us should be home with Harmony."

"Already handled. Just wanted to confirm." She smiles at Harmony, who's now dozing, milk drunk and content. "She's getting so big."

Pride swells in my chest. "I know. It's going too fast."

After Taylor leaves, I gently transfer Harmony to the bassinet beside my desk. Unlike many of my friends who struggled with returning to work, I've found an unexpected balance. The creativity that once went solely into my designs now flows between motherhood and career, each enhancing the other rather than competing.

The Marchesa collaboration that had seemed so potentially overwhelming in the final weeks of my pregnancy has become a career-defining project. Eliza Winters had specifically sought me out for my "fresh perspective on elegance"—words I still can't quite believe described my work. The capsule collection launches next month, just in time for the annual Fashion Forward Gala.

My phone buzzes with a text from Roman:Meeting ended early. Taking the helicopter back. Home in 40. How are my girls?

I smile, snapping a quick photo of sleeping Harmony and sending it with the caption:One is sleeping. One is designing. Both missing you.

His reply comes seconds later:Board members asked about the baby. Showed them her picture. Martinez cooed. Actually cooed!

I laugh, imagining stern-faced Martinez—Roman's most challenging board member—reduced to baby talk. Roman has changed in a thousand subtle ways since Harmony's birth, but perhaps the most surprising is how he's integrated fatherhood into his corporate identity. The man who once compartmentalized every aspect of his life now proudly displays Harmony's photo on his desk and adjusts investor calls around her feeding schedule.

A knock at the front door interrupts my thoughts.

I check the security camera on my phone—it’s Camden, holding what looks like a manuscript box.

Over the past few months, Camden and I have settled into something resembling a cautious friendship. He’s been dating a food photographer and recently joined Langston Reed’s fashion & IP division, blending his legal expertise with his industry roots.

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