All Chapters of ONE NIGHT STAND WITH MR.BILLIONAIRE : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Melinda’s POVThe cemetery was quiet.Not the kind of haunting quiet that presses against your skin.Just… still.It was the twins’ first time here. I’d never brought them before. Not because I didn’t want to — but because I didn’t know what I’d say.How do you explain to your children that the strongest woman you ever knew gave up everything so you wouldn’t have to break the same way?Elijah held my hand tightly. Elena picked wildflowers along the edge of the path, tugging petals like she was counting something only she understood.James trailed behind us a few steps, respectful. Silent.He hadn’t asked questions when I told him where we were going.He just said, “I’ll drive.”I stopped at the headstone and crouched beside it.Patricia Holt. 1959–2004. Mother. Fighter. Teacher.“She died when I was seventeen,” I said, mostly to the kids. “Breast cancer. She worked through the chemo. Tutored kids between rounds. Didn’t stop smiling until the very end.”Elena knelt beside me. “She was

Melinda’s POVThree days after Marcus’s threat fell flat, the world still hadn’t exploded.Not publicly, anyway.But I knew better than to wait for the bomb to drop. He hadn’t lost — not yet. He’d simply retreated, regrouping like men with money and entitlement always did.And that meant we had a choice:Wait for the next attack…Or tell the truth first.James sat across from me in the living room, elbows on his knees, scrolling through the drafted press statement on my laptop.“You sure you want to do this?” he asked.I looked at him — not as the billionaire, not as the father of my children, but as James.The man who knew every version of me and stayed.“Yes,” I said. “Because this time, I want them to hear it from me. Not from gossip. Not from boardrooms. Not from men with grudges.”He nodded once, then passed the laptop back to me.“No edits,” he said. “It’s perfect.”It wasn’t perfect.It was honest.And that was enough.We released it the next morning.A Joint Statement from Mel

Melinda’s POVWe met in a park.Not a restaurant.Not an office.Not some controlled, media-safe place.A public park near the edge of Silver Lake, where the traffic hummed like static and toddlers screamed near a splash pad.It was neutral ground.Safe.Anonymous.I sat on a bench, hands folded in my lap, every nerve in my body wound tight. James stood a few feet back with the twins, letting them feed ducks near the pond. He didn’t ask if I wanted him nearby. He just was.Then I saw her.She looked like me.Not exactly — her hair was shorter, dyed a soft copper. Her skin was lighter. But the bone structure was the same. So were the eyes. That deep, stubborn kind of brown that always looked like it was waiting for you to say something real.“Lena,” I whispered.She walked slowly.Then stopped in front of me and said, “Hi.”Just that.And it broke me.I stood. She opened her arms.And we held each other.Not long.Not like movies.Just enough.Just real.We sat for nearly an hour befor

Melinda’s POVClaire West was exactly what I expected.Perfect posture. Crisp blazer. No visible flaws.The kind of woman who spoke in statements that felt like they’d already been edited and approved for publication.We met in a private conference room at the Hotel Belvedere. James sat between us, but not as a buffer.He knew better.Claire offered a tight smile. “Melinda Holt. In the flesh.”I returned it. “Claire West. Still wearing black and judgment, I see.”She blinked — just once.Then smiled wider.Touché.James cleared his throat. “Let’s keep this focused.”Claire opened a folder. “Agreed. I’ll skip the warm-up. Someone — I’m guessing Marcus or someone he’s paid — is trying to build a narrative. That the two of you weren’t a coincidence.”“Define narrative,” I said.“They’re looking at your firm’s connection to O’Connor developments prior to your Vegas encounter. Claiming your first expansion crossed paths with a subcontractor tied to one of James’s early tech parks.”My hear

Melinda’s POVThe news broke before sunrise.I was sitting at the breakfast table with a still-warm mug in my hands when my phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.Carrie’s name lit up the screen.“You need to see this now.”I opened the link and read the headline out loud.“Marcus O’Connor Assumes Family Seat — Immediately Freezes Philanthropic Trusts for Review.”James appeared behind me, holding Elijah, who had just asked for cereal.“What is it?” he asked.I turned the screen toward him.He read the headline.Said nothing.Just handed Elijah the spoon and sat down slowly across from me.At 10:00 a.m., my office conference line exploded.Five projects were stalled.Three matching grants had been paused.One major partnership — a scholarship program for young women in STEM — was pulled “pending a review of funding priorities.”All of it under the O’Connor Foundation banner.All of it tied to me.To my firm.To us.“He’s coming after you,” James said, voice low, unreadable.I nod