All Chapters of ONE NIGHT STAND WITH MR.BILLIONAIRE : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Melinda’s POVIt wasn’t a trial.No jury.No sentencing.But it felt like one.The room was a stripped-down municipal hall — hard chairs, low ceiling, two long tables. One for us. One for the hospital’s legal counsel.In the center: a panel of three officials, appointed to oversee the inquest.Their job wasn’t to punish.It was to determine whether Rachel Greene’s death had been misclassified — whether it had been avoidable.Whether someone chose to let her die.River’s POVI wore a black suit.No tie.Rachel’s notebook in my pocket.The night before, I stayed up reading it again.The margins.The lines she crossed out.The ones she didn’t.I didn’t prepare a speech.I knew what I needed to say.Carrie’s POVLeah Sandford went first.She was nervous. Her hands shook. But her voice didn’t break.She told them about the night Rachel gave birth.“I found her in the emergency lot. She was in pain. She said she wasn’t registered. Said she’d been turned away.”“I had supplies in my car. A b

River’s POVThe invitation came through the Initiative’s press team.Subject line:Request for Testimony – House Subcommittee on Maternal Health DisparitiesI read the email three times, not because I didn’t believe it — but because I wasn’t sure I was ready.I’d spoken before crowds.Told my story.Read my mother’s words out loud.But this was different.This wasn’t a panel at a university or a gallery full of survivors.This was Congress.This was policy. Law. Structure.This was the system that once let her die.Now asking to hear from me.Melinda’s POVRiver didn’t rush their answer.They printed the email, folded it into their notebook, and sat on the back porch for an hour.Didn’t speak.Just looked out at the garden, tracing their fingers over the edge of the paper.When they finally came inside, they looked at me and said:“I think it’s time.”And I knew exactly what they meant.Carrie’s POVWe booked the trip for the following week.Three days in D.C.A prep session with the

River’s POVI got the offer in the middle of a quiet Sunday.An email.Subject line: “Book Proposal Inquiry – Rachel Greene Story”The publisher’s name was one I recognized — literary, ethical, a reputation for handling memoirs with care.They weren’t asking for drama.They weren’t asking for spectacle.They were asking for Rachel.“We’d love to discuss a nonfiction project about your mother. Her legacy, your testimony, and the journey toward justice.”I sat with the message for two hours before I told anyone.Not because I was unsure if I could write it.Because I wasn’t sure I wanted to write it like that.Melinda’s POVWhen River showed me the email, I expected celebration.But they were quiet.Leaning on the kitchen counter, staring at the screen.“This is a good thing,” I said softly.“I know,” they replied. “I just… I don’t know if I want it to be nonfiction.”That made me pause.“You want to fictionalize it?”River nodded slowly.“I want to give her an ending she never had.”El

River’s POVIt started with a Google search.Not for Rachel.Not for Holt.Just a name: Maternal Survivors Alliance.A nonprofit I’d read about in a footnote. A group founded by women who had been denied care and lived to tell the story.I thought it might help with the second book.The one about what happens after.About rebuilding.About healing.But I didn’t expect to find her.Melinda’s POVRiver had been writing again.Waking early. Notes on the fridge. Coffee half-drunk in the same spot on the table every morning.But this time, the story felt different.Lighter, maybe. But no less true.They told me, “This book isn’t about her. It’s about because of her.”And I understood.River’s POVThe Maternal Survivors Alliance had an archive.Buried in its online database were scanned forms from early applicants. Testimonies. Handwritten letters. Uploaded PDFs dated between 2008 and 2011.I clicked through them idly.Reading stories. Taking notes.Then I saw it.A scanned intake form.Nam

River’s POVI told myself I wasn’t searching.That it was just research.That I was building a character for the next novel — fictional, distant, imagined.But my browser history said otherwise.“Calla Montgomery Nevada shelter 2012”“Unidentified birth records by region”“Maternal pseudonyms used during intake”I wasn’t writing fiction anymore.I was chasing a ghost.Eliza’s POVI knew the moment River crossed the line between writing and… searching.They stopped sleeping through the night.Started drawing maps again.Started asking questions without asking them.“How long do records stay sealed?”“If someone was trying to protect a child, would they use the real last name?”“What if Rachel wasn’t hiding her — what if she was hiding us from her?”Melinda’s POVI didn’t stop them.I couldn’t.Because deep down, I wanted to know too.Not for Rachel.For River.Because there was something unfinished in them now — a thread they couldn’t untangle unless they followed it all the way.River