25. Leo
25
Leo
T he gray light of dawn filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the Manhattan skyline in shades of red. The city that never sleeps is taking a fucking breather.
Unlike me.
Sleep never really came. I’ve been up all night thinking about what happened... after that kiss, after the raw fucking honesty, after the sex against the goddamn window that felt like mainlining pure adrenalin, she retreated. Fucking retreated. Physically, pulling her clothes back, avoiding my gaze. And emotionally, slamming those walls back up so fast I practically felt the reverberation.
And my own walls? They snapped right back into place, too, of course. It’s a defense mechanism I guess. She pulls back, I pull back harder. Basic physics of fucked-up relationships. Or whatever the hell this is.
She’s right to pull back, a voice whispers in my head. What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Maxwell? Playing house? This isn’t you .
I heard Mia cry at around 3 AM. A sharp wail that suddenly cut through the penthouse silence. I got up, not sure what to do, but before I could even step out of my bedroom I heard soft, quick footsteps from the guest suite down the hall. Sabrina. Then I heard her murmuring voice through the nursery door, low and soothing, until the crying subsided back into silence. She handled it. Alone. While I stayed in my massive, empty bedroom, feeling… useless.
I sigh, then ease myself out of the bed. My leg aches like a motherfucker.
I reach for the cane beside the nightstand, the carbon fiber cool beneath my hand. I tread lightly, trying to avoid the cane’s usual loud clicks and thuds so as not to wake my guests. I don’t want to face the awkward morning-after conversation just yet.
I need to see Mia.
The thought is automatic.
As I pass the guest suite in the hallway, I pause instinctively. The heavy door is ajar, maybe from her middle-of-the-night dash to the nursery. Inside, bathed in the soft pre-dawn light filtering through the blinds, I see Sabrina fast asleep in the center of the king-sized bed. She’s curled peacefully on her side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other flung out across the white duvet. Her dark curls are a messy halo against the pale sheets.
Even in sleep, there’s a faint line of worry etched on her brow. Still, seeing her like this, unguarded and peaceful despite the chaos surrounding us, sends another confusing jolt through me. A mix of tenderness and a fierce, unfamiliar urge to protect her from… well, from guys like me, probably.
Shaking the thought off, I continue silently down the hall .
The nursery is hushed, dim. The fancy decorative llamas rotate slowly overhead, casting faint shadows on the wall. And in the center, in the hi-tech crib I still don’t fully know how to operate, lies my daughter.
My daughter.
The words still feel foreign, yet fundamentally true.
She’s sleeping on her back, tiny fists curled near her face, dark lashes resting against her chubby cheeks. Her breathing is soft, even.
She looks so fucking small.
So vulnerable.
A fresh protective wave washes over me, so intense it makes my chest tight. I don’t want anyone to harm her. Fucking ever . This tiny human... the only truly real thing in my hollow, gilded life. Everything else feels like smoke and mirrors compared to this.
I want to be better for her.
The thought surfaces again, unbidden but insistent. Less reckless. More… present. The kind of father who doesn’t just show up, but stays . The kind her mother deserves.
Who the fuck am I kidding? The cynical voice returns. You? Better? You’re hardwired for self-destruction, Leo. It’s in the goddamn DNA.
Look at my father. Look at my life choices. Jumping off cliffs isn’t exactly stable parenting material. And Sabrina knows it.
Vegas. She finally told me the truth about that night. She ran away because she thought sober me wouldn’t want her.
The worst part? I still don’t know if she was right or wrong about me. Fuck. Because what I feel for her now… it’s tangled up with Mia, with guilt, wi th this bewildering sense of connection. But back then? Maybe her instincts were spot on.
Still... there is something about her. Why else would her face be the last thing I remember before my near fatal wingsuit crash? Could it be the Vegas memory was hidden in my subconscious, waiting for a near death experience to surface? Or is there something else to her? Something else that draws me in...
It’s not just that she’s beautiful... though she is, undeniably, with those dark eyes and killer curves that drive me fucking crazy even when she’s trying to hide them. It’s her strength. Her intelligence. The way she stood up to me, to Luca, to her own mother. The fierce protectiveness she has for Mia.
Jesus, now that’s a woman. A real woman.
I want to protect them both. Keep them safe. Build some kind of fucking fortress around them.
If she’d let me.
Which she probably won’t.
Because she’s smart enough to know I’m damaged goods.
And then there’s the rest of my life. The relentless pace. The deals. The travel. The drugs. The… fuckbuddies. How the hell does that correlate with being a reliable father? A partner?
It doesn’t.
It’s like oil and fucking water.
To be the man Mia needs, the man Sabrina might, eventually, trust… I’d have to dismantle the entire life I’ve built. Burn down the carefully constructed persona. Give up the adrenaline, the easy escapes. Give up… Luca? That thought lands surprisingly easily. Cutting ties with my toxic fucking partner wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Might even be necessary .
But am I ready for that? Can I actually do that? Change decades of ingrained behavior? Walk away from the only life I know? The silence in the nursery feels heavy with unanswered questions.
Mia stirs, whimpering softly in her sleep. Her face scrunches up. Oh, shit. Is she waking up? Hungry? Wet? What the fuck do babies need at dawn?
My first instinct is to call Sabrina, or hit the intercom and summon Thomas, or one of the rotating nannies I apparently need to hire now. Let the professionals handle it.
But… no.
Be present. Consistently. Reliably.
That’s what I told Sabrina’s mother.
And that’s what I need to fucking do.
Hesitantly, I reach into the crib. Mia’s eyes flutter open, find mine, and thankfully, she doesn’t immediately start screaming. Progress. I run a quick, awkward hand under her back.
Yep. Definitely wet.
Okay. Diaper change. How hard can it be?
I resist the urge to Google “diaper change.”
You got this, Leo.
I’ve closed billion-dollar funding rounds. Surely I can handle some Velcro tabs and baby powder.
I lift her carefully out of the crib. She feels small and fragile in my arms, and makes a protesting squeak.
“Easy there, Killer,” I murmur awkwardly. “Just… routine maintenance.”
The changing table is stocked with military precision thanks to Thomas. Wipes, cream, powder, diapers stacked like ammunition.
Thank god, man. Note to self: Thomas is getting a big fucking raise.
I lay Mia down. She kicks her little legs, regarding me with wide, slightly confused green eyes.
Okay. Tabs off.
Wipe.
Cream? Powder? Both?
Fuck knows.
I grab the cream. Apply generously.
Place the new diaper. Tabs on.
Did I get it tight enough? Too tight?
Shit.
She seems okay. Not screaming, anyway.
I bundle the used diaper. The smell is atrocious.
What the hell do I—
Right.
The Diaper Genie.
Dom’s miracle suggestion.
I find the sleek, futuristic-looking bin and manage to shove the offending package inside without incident. I can almost hear the video game reward sound playing in the background.
Congratulations, you changed a diaper!
Achievement Unlocked: Tier I - Basic Parental Functionality.
“Well, look at you.”
I turn, startled. Sabrina stands in the nursery doorway, wrapped in a plush white bathrobe I recognize from the guest suite. Her hair is tousled from sleep, her face free of makeup. She looks soft, approachable, and unfairly beautiful in the dim morning light.
A small, amused smile plays on her lips.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see the day,” she says, her voice husky with sleep. “Leo Maxwell, billionaire venture capitalist, vanquishing a dirty diaper at sunrise. ”
I feel a ridiculous flush creep up my neck. “Yeah, well. Someone had to do it.” I pick Mia up again, settling her against my shoulder. She feels warm, smells clean now. It’s… nice. “Consider it part of my seed funding round in ‘Project: Fatherly Duties’. Early stage, high risk, potential for massive disruption.”
Sabrina giggles. “Wow. Do you actually filter everything through a Venture Capitalist lens? Wait, don’t answer that.” She walks further into the room, leaning against the doorframe. “How was she, by the way?”
“Wet. Now less so. Didn’t even cry. Apparently, I have hidden talents.”
“Apparently.” The silence stretches again, but it’s less awkward this time. More… tentative. Filled with the unspoken events of the night before. The kiss. The sex. The vulnerability.
My phone buzzes sharply from the pocket of the sweatpants I threw on. Interrupting the moment.
Fucking figures.
I glance at the caller ID.
Luca.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Gotta take this.” I gesture vaguely with my free hand. “Probably business.”
Sabrina nods, her expression becoming guarded again instantly.
I shift Mia carefully in my arms, debating whether to hand her over, then decide against it.
I answer the call, keeping my voice low. “Briggs. What?”
“Morning, sunshine!” Luca’s voice is obnoxiously cheerful. Bad sign. Means he’s probably about to deliver shitty news. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important?”
“Just spit it out, Luca.”
“All right, all right. Little situation developing. You didn’t happen to take a little trip to Central Park last week? With your kid in tow? Did you?”
My gut clenches. “Ah. Sh—” I clip back the swear, well aware of Mia in my arms.
Be better.
“Yes, I was there,” I admit. “With my daughter. But so were Charlie and Darius. They swept the area.”
“Well, maybe they missed the freelancer hiding in the bushes with a long lens. Point is, Page Six just dropped an online piece. Grainy photos of you, a baby that looks suspiciously like you, and a ‘mystery brunette.’ Speculation is running rampant. ‘Billionaire Maxwell’s Secret Love Child?’ is the current headline.”
Fuck.
Fucking tabloids.
Fucking paparazzi.
Can’t even take my own daughter to the fucking park without it becoming a media circus.
“Mystery brunette?” I repeat, glancing involuntarily at Sabrina. Her eyes are wide, her face pale.
She heard.
“Yeah,” Luca continues, oblivious to the implications on my end. “Naturally, the comments section is exploding. And more importantly, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Investors. Wanting clarification. Assurance. Remember that stability narrative we’re trying so hard to build?”
“Have any pulled out?”
“Only one so far. Accel Partners.”
“No...” I tell him.
“Yes. They cited the photos, the ‘unforeseen personal complications,’ and concerns about your stability and focus. Seven hundred million withdrawn from our latest round.”
Seven hundred million.
Just like that.
Because of one fucking walk in the park.
Because I wanted an hour of normalcy with my daughter.
It’s like I fucking said. To be the man Mia needs, I’ll have to dismantle the entire life I’ve built.
“Fuck!” The word explodes out of me.
Mia startles in my arms, her face scrunching up, ready to cry.
Damn it. Be better!
“Shhh, shhh,” I soothe her automatically, rocking her gently, my heart pounding with a mixture of fury and… surprisingly little panic about the money. The dominant feeling is anger. Anger that my attempt to connect with my daughter is being twisted into tabloid fodder. Anger that investors are reacting like skittish sheep. Anger at Luca’s barely concealed ‘I told you so’ tone.
I hit the mute button on my phone.
“Guess I should have listened to your advice about not appearing in public with Mia,” I say tightly, looking directly at Sabrina now. Her face is a mask of professional concern, but I see the underlying ‘I warned you’ in her eyes too. “But she’s my daughter, damn it. I want her to have a normal life. Or as normal as possible.”
“So much for your ingenious Clark Kent disguise,” she mutters, then sighs. “Nothing involving you will ever be truly normal, Leo. You know that. This,” she gestures vaguely between me, Mia, and the phone still pressed to my ear, “requires strategy. Careful management. Which is literally my job.”
She’s right. This isn’t just personal anymore. It’s professional. The leak, the investor panic… it falls squarely into her court now.
“You there, bro?” Luca asks.
I unmute the phone.
“Luca,” I tell him, my voice cold, decisive. “Get Ms. Taylor everything on the Accel Partners withdrawal and the new Page Six article. And line up calls with our top five Limited Partners. Sabrina’s handling the response strategy.”
I hang up before Luca can argue, dropping the phone onto the changing table. I look at Sabrina, meeting her wide, slightly stunned gaze.
“Well,” I say, forcing a grim smile. “Looks like your PR campaign just got a whole lot more complicated. And personal.”
No thanks to me.
“Okay,” she says, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”
I want to be with her and Mia.
I really do. And while I don’t care all that much for the money (or so I tell myself, anyway), I’m not ready to dismantle my entire life.
Not yet.