Page 99 of Sexting the Billionaire

"Cassie," Roman interrupts, his eyes finally meeting mine. What I see there stops me cold. Not anger or panic or resignation, but something that looks suspiciously like wonder. "We're having a baby."

This time, it's not a question. Not a shocked repetition. It's a statement of fact, accompanied by the slow spread of a smile I've never seen before—unguarded, genuine, almost boyish in its sudden joy.

"You're not upset?" I ask warily, still braced for the moment when CEO Roman replaces this surprisingly delighted version.

"Upset?" He laughs, the sound slightly unsteady. "I'm... I don't even have the word for what I am. Terrified. Amazed. Completely unprepared."

"But not unhappy?" I press, needing certainty.

He sets the test down on the nightstand and takes my face in his hands, his gaze intense. "Not unhappy," he confirms. "The opposite of unhappy. Though 'happy' seems inadequate for whatever this is."

I feel tension I didn't realize I was holding release from my shoulders, tears springing to my eyes. "I thought you might freak out."

"I'm absolutely freaking out," he admits, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that have escaped down my cheeks. "But not in the way you're thinking."

He guides me to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of me in a posture so unlike the powerful CEO that itmomentarily disorients me. "Talk to me," he urges. "How are you feeling about this?"

It's such a simple question, but no one has asked it yet—not even me. How do I feel? Beyond the shock, beyond the fear, what's actually happening in my heart?

"Scared," I admit, the word catching in my throat. "Excited. Overwhelmed. I never expected this to happen now, like this."

"But you've thought about it? Children, someday?"

I nod, surprising myself with the truth of it. "I always assumed it was in my future, just... later. After my career was established. After I figured out who I was outside of work."

"And now?"

"Now I'm terrified of losing everything I've worked for." The admission tears itself from somewhere deep inside me, a fear I've barely acknowledged even to myself. "I've seen what happens to women in this industry when they become mothers. They're sidelined, overlooked, passed over for promotions."

Roman frowns. "Not at Elysian."

"Even at Elysian," I counter. "When was the last time a mother was promoted to senior leadership? How many women with children are on your executive team?"

His silence is answer enough.

"And it's not just the corporate politics," I continue, unable to stop now that the dam has broken. "It's the practical reality. The late nights, the travel, the constant need to be available. I watched my mother do it alone, and even with her superhuman effort, she still missed school plays and parent conferences and?—"

"You won't be doing it alone," Roman interrupts, his voice firm.

"No, but?—"

"No buts," he says, taking my hands in his. "This isn't a choice between your career and this baby. I refuse to accept that those are the only options."

His certainty should be comforting, but it only intensifies my anxiety. "You say that now, but you don't understand what it's like. The constant judgment, the impossible standards. No matter what choice a woman makes, she's doing it wrong in someone's eyes."

"Then we'll be wrong together," he says simply. "Because I have no idea how to be a father, Cassie. None. My own father was a case study in what not to do. But I want to learn. With you."

Something in his voice—vulnerability mixed with determination—breaks through my spiral of fears.

"My mom used to say that motherhood was like being split in two forever," I say softly, remembering her words from childhood. "Half of you goes out into the world with your child, never to return. And you spend the rest of your life balancing between the part of you that remains and the part that will always belong to someone else."

"That sounds terrifying," Roman admits.

"It is. But she also said it was the only kind of love that made all the sacrifice worthwhile."

Roman is quiet for a moment, his thumbs tracing circles on the backs of my hands. "Tell me about her," he says. "Your mother."

The request surprises me. "She was... extraordinary. A force of nature. After my dad left when I was eight, she worked three jobs to keep us in the same school district. She didn't want us to lose our friends on top of everything else we'd lost."

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