Semua Bab Running from My Billionaire Baby Daddy: Bab 21 - Bab 26

Damien Anderson was the first person to come into my office that morning. He walked with a gait that was much too funky for his age, and he had a smug look on his face. I hadn’t signed the documents yet —not until I reviewed the case owner profiles. From the looks of it, he was walking in with them now. Trust Anderson to always do the most in situations like this. It's why he was the leader of the legal team. I trusted him to get the job done, sometimes he did so a little too well. "Sir, I have the case files here," he said as I gestured for him to sit. "A simple email would've sufficed, Anderson," I said, taking the file for him and placing it on the desk in front of me. "You know me, I'm more of a traditional man." "Less talk about cultural preferences and more on efficiency." He sighed and then spoke. "Well, we won't be needing this anymore." "What do you mean?" "Their representative reached out. They're pulling out. They want to take the deal." "What?" "Th

DamienI hadn’t stopped thinking about that file since the moment I closed it.It was the kind of thing that settled in your head. Quiet, but sharp. Every time I tried to move on, it was there again. And of all the things I'd found out, the most jarring was that she'd had a son.Cassian.The name stuck with me, like a distant memory. I'd never imagined Callie as a mother, but now that she was one, it seemed like a perfectly normal thing to hear.And about her being unmarried, I didn’t know what exactly I was feeling. I was angry, sure. She’d lied to my face. Played along when I assumed she had a husband. I thought all this while that she'd been trying to make me feel like the villain in our story, but she hadn't actually done anything. Everything I'd felt was of my own accord. Maybe she was right to keep her life under wraps, away from me.But there was this other thing —something heavier. Guilt, maybe. Or just confusion that had curdled into frustration.She had left me. Vanished. An

Callie I was at Clara's apartment helping her pack her things. The sound of packing tape ripping across cardboard had become the new soundtrack and gradually the place was starting to look emptier, less lived in. Boxes lined the living room like tired soldiers, each one labeled in Clara’s neat handwriting — Kitchen, Donate, Storage. The air smelled faintly of old takeout, dust, and the lemon cleaner Clara always used when she was stressed.“You sure you don’t want to keep this one?” I held up a ridiculous gold cat figurine, its paw frozen mid-wave.Clara shot me a look over her shoulder. “That thing? Absolutely not. It creeps me out.”I grinned and carefully tucked it into the Donate box anyway. “Someone out there’s going to love it.”She laughed softly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The moment passed, and I glanced toward the window. The late afternoon sun cast pale light across the floor, and I felt a strange tightness in my chest, like we were packing up something more than