26. Sabrina
26
Sabrina
S unrise over Central Park is spectacular. The pinks and reds reflecting off the glass towers are beautiful. Even when viewed through the filter of sleep deprivation and that cocktail of endorphins still swirling through my veins from last night’s… encounter … not to mention the vague panic currently sitting somewhere deep in my gut.
I woke up an hour ago in the guest suite. Alone. Which was both a relief and, confusingly, a disappointment. After the kiss, after the sex against the window...
God, did that really happen?
Yes. Yes it did.
And I’d retreated. Pulled away emotionally the second the physical intensity subsided. Slammed the door shut on that moment of connection, on the terrifying vulnerability he’d coaxed out of me.
It was pure self-preservation. A reflex honed by years of expecting the other shoe to drop, expecting charm to curdle into indifference, expecting men like Leo to leave .
He’s not father material , the familiar refrain screamed in my head, even as my body hummed with the memory of his touch. He’ll disappear. Protect yourself. Protect Mia.
So I pulled back. Built the wall brick by brick. And watched his face shutter, his own vulnerability vanish, replaced by that familiar guarded mask.
I did that.
My fear did that.
But am I being fair? Am I so trapped in my own history that I’m not even giving him a chance to be different? The thought niggles, unwelcome and persistent. Because this morning… this morning was… unexpected.
I’d found him changing Mia’s diaper. In the nursery. Leo Maxwell, billionaire master of the universe, looking slightly bewildered but focused as he navigated wipes and Velcro tabs.
He wasn’t calling for staff. He was just… doing it.
Handling it.
Like a dad.
The image is stuck in my head, disrupting my carefully constructed narrative of him being incapable and uninterested. Seeing him like that, competent and gentle with our daughter after the raw intensity of last night… it chipped away another brick from that wall I’m trying so desperately to maintain.
It made me question everything I thought I knew, everything I’d used to justify hiding Mia from him.
He looked… like he cared.
And I mean really cared.
And now? The fragile bubble of our tentative truce, this weird co-parenting-potentially-something- else arrangement, is about to be shattered by the harsh glare of public opinion.
Because the world knows.
Or at least, Page Six knows, which is practically the same thing in Leo’s circles.
The ‘mystery brunette’ and the ‘secret love child.’ My carefully guarded anonymity, Mia’s privacy… gone.
Vaporized by one walk in the park and some photographer with a lens longer than my arm.
This isn’t personal anymore. Well, it is, agonizingly so, but it’s also professional.
He’s my client. Maxwell it’s about controlling access. You need real protection right now. She needs real protection.” He pauses, his voice softening almost imperceptibly, losing the sharp edge of command. “Please, Sabrina. This is beyond some asshole reporter on the sidewalk now. Let me handle the security aspect. Let me keep you safe. Both of you. Here. Where I know I can.”
His words… they hit differently. Not threats. Not demands fueled by anger. Just… protection. Offered without hesitation, without calculation. Prioritizing us , our safety, over whatever business implications this creates.
My carefully constructed independence, my fierce determination to not rely on him, crumbles in the face of that simple, direct offer. Because he’s right. My apartment isn’t safe. And Mia… Mia needs to be protected. From the photographers, from the speculation, from the toxic fallout of her father’s fame.
And maybe I need protection, too. Not just physical, but… from the overwhelming fear of doing this alone against the glare of the world’s spotlight.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word feeling like both a surrender and a lifeline. My pride takes a backseat to the primal need for security. For Mia. “Okay, Leo. We’ll come.”
“Good,” he says, relief evident even in that single word. “Charlie just texted. They’re five minutes out now. Pack a bag for you and Mia. Overnight stuff. Just essentials for now.”
Overnight. Right. He didn’t say how long this would last.
“All right,” I agree, my mind already racing, trying to process the logistics, the implications. Staying at Leo’s. Living under the same roof. Not just for a supervised visit, but indefinitely? Until the ‘crisis blows over?’
How am I supposed to do that, after the mind-blowing sex we had. After the—
I shake my head.
My entire life just became the crisis.
“Sabrina?” Leo’s voice pulls me back. “You sure you’re okay?” He sounds genuinely concerned.
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m okay. We’ll be ready.”
I hang up, leaning my forehead against the cool wood of the apartment door. Mia’s cries have subsided into whimpers again.
I scoop her up, holding her tight.
“Well, kiddo,” I murmur against her soft curls. “Looks like we’re moving on up. Temporarily, anyway.” To a penthouse palace with wall-to-wall windows, minimalist llamas, and a very complicated, very protective billionaire baby daddy currently throwing his considerable resources into keeping us safe.
Against my better judgment, against every instinct honed by years of self-reliance and a deep-seated fear of abandonment, I said yes.
Because when it came down to it, his offer wasn’t about control or power.
It felt… genuine.
Like maybe the man beneath the damaged reputation was finally starting to emerge.
And that?
That scares me more than any reporter lurking on my doorstep.
But I guess we’ll just have to see how it goes...